Sabbatical

Inklings

We kept telling ourselves that it surely was true. We kept murmuring a chant of self solace. Spoke of it, trying to hide a obvious doubt. A dream, a hope, is a good and necessary thing to hold. A pilgrim is not much without it. Peculiar things, these hopes, that cannot be contained in anything tangible. Iridescent butterflies caught in glass jars hiding in our pockets. We draw this shared sigh of relief, a singsong of hindsight, as we are forced out into burning midday scorch. There was another day in store, there was cause for these inklings of hope.  

 

Hillside outside of San Francisco shrouded in fog. 

Hillside outside of San Francisco shrouded in fog. 

Anger

It has happened several times now, surprising me every time. A unexpected surge of energy bursting forth through my being. Usually this flood of energy continues through my body out tough my mouth. Not comfortable, and not pleasant to experience. I ponder on whether it is a long overdue boundary setting or a natural consequence of the prejudices I've harbored for the tourist touts of this country. Nevertheless, it is here and needs to be dealt with well. Welcome, anger, I know there is a place for you somewhere in here. 

 

The shadow of a construction worker on a gate in Kep, southern Cambodia. 

The shadow of a construction worker on a gate in Kep, southern Cambodia. 

Western Nostalgia

"The culture is still pure there." 

I have lost count of how many times I've heard that phrase or the many permutations of it. Since when did cultural change become defiling? When will this colonialist dream about the unspolit far away countries stop?

Let others grow as cultures as well. Let yourself realize that you can no longer separate yourself from the "other cultures." We now share the same living room and need to start treating others as adults as well.   

 

View over Machali, Rancagua, Chile. 

View over Machali, Rancagua, Chile.