Conversations with God in Vietnam

“How was your day today?”

It was the nice 64-year old (though looks at least 20 years younger than that) Vietnamese lady staying at the hostel, that I had met on my first night in the country.  I had just run down to reception from my room to try and see if I could drop some laundry off to have done the following day.  I was just interested in that, having a quick smoke, and heading back up to the room.  I was in weird head space as it was, having spent the day at the War Remembrance Museum, seeing pictures of massacred children and victims of Agent Orange.  It had left me with a strange mixture of anger that always accompanies my interaction with anything about war, bizarre American guilt about what we had done (even though it realistically had nothing to do with me), appreciation of the fact that I had grown up in a time and place where I could live the cushy life I have, and admiration of the Vietnamese people being able to bounce back from such devastation in such a relatively short time.  Even though I had left the museum hours before, it was still with me, and I wasn’t incredibly interested in making small talk. 

I dealt with my laundry and focused my attention back on her, responding to her question.

“We went to the War Remembrance Museum today.  It was an incredibly good thing to see, but really hard.  I was pretty devastated by it; I was almost in tears the whole time.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s really hard for you to see being an American.”

We had met the first night we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City.  Kelsey and I, in typical fashion, had decided to celebrate our arrival by consuming mass amounts of cheap beer.  The hostel had it on offer for the equivalent of less than fifty cents per bottle, which was slightly less than at a café or bar, so why not hang out there?  We had gone to dinner and had a couple, then came back to the hostel and were sitting downstairs listening to music, trying to do various things online and write, as we knocked back a few Saigon beers.  She was just sitting around down there as well, which I would discover was her nightly routine. 

I replied, “Yes, it is hard as an American to see those images, but I’m glad I went.  Sometimes hard things need to be seen.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette in the hope the conversation might be over after that, and I could escape to the anonymous cacophony of the street outside for my smoke, and then retreat to the cubby hole of a bed I had upstairs to try and unwind a bit.  She went on undeterred by my obvious cigarette ploy.

“What did you do yesterday then?”

I mumbled something about seeing the Reunification Palace, and it being really interesting.  Not wanting to admit to her that I was mildly hung over the previous day from the first night of beer consumption, and had stayed up really late, and so I didn’t get out of bed til almost noon.  So going to the Palace for a few hours was really the only activity we managed to get in, on our first real full day in Saigon.  What an irresponsible traveller I would seem!  I hoped she wouldn’t ask what else we had done with our day.  She didn’t.

“Ah, the palace.  That’s a beautiful place isn’t it?

I agreed, and again muttered something about it being interesting, and cool that it has been left as it was in 1975 when the forces from the North crashed through the gates, ending the war.  I said something to the effect of being able to picture things as they were back then by being in the building.

She continued. “Yes, sometimes it’s good to be the president.”

I thought this was a strange direction for the conversation, but agreed while mindlessly fumbling with my cigarette.

“Would you ever want to be the president of Vietnam?”

I was befuddled by this new line of questioning from her.  I didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer such a query.

“I don’t know what to say to that! (I said trying to buy some time.) I think being the president of any country would be a hard job and I don’t know that I would want that.  But then again being the president does have its perks, like living in a palace like that.”

I was mildly satisfied with my answer.  I thought it was non-committal and diplomatic enough.  Though nothing could have prepared me for the new direction this brought in our conversation.

“Yes, like Obama.  He has a tough job, but he is good.  He killed Bin Laden!”

She was Vietnamese, born in Saigon, but had moved to California in 1970, and had lived there since.  She was back in Vietnam for an undetermined amount of time, as far as I could understand it, as merely a tourist.  She had no family left in Vietnam, so I gathered from her that she was just here to travel and see how things had changed in her home country since her departure.  I agreed with her on the Obama comment.

She replied.  “Not like President Bush, he never could get Bin Laden.”

Ah, I saw my opportunity.  If there is one thing I’ve learned about being an American while travelling, it’s that bashing Republicans is always a useful tool to get others on your side.  I’ve rarely, if ever, met anyone outside the US that thinks the Republican Party is where it’s at. 

I joked back, “Well Bush never really was too good at getting ANYTHING done.”

She seemed a bit confused by this response, and I wasn’t sure if she just didn’t understand my attempt at humor.  I would later find out why she had not enjoyed this response, but as of this moment I was unsure what sort of tenuous foothold I had in this conversation.  I began again nervously fidgeting with the cigarette in my hand, she continued on undeterred.

“I wrote a letter to President Obama telling him that he needed to catch Bin Laden, and he did.  God told me I must send him the letter, so I did, and then Bin Laden was dead.”

Unsure how to react to this, I laughed a bit, until I realized she was serious as a heart attack.

I replied, “Well good you were around then to make sure that was the case!  If you hadn’t written that letter, who knows what might have happened.”

She agreed without a trace of irony in her voice.

“I also wrote a letter to President Bush.  God told me to do that too.  I told Bush that we needed to invade Iraq and kill Saddam Hussein, and right after I sent that he announced we were going into Iraq.  I had written in my letter that it would be ‘difficult, but not impossible.’  When he gave his speech to announce we were going over there, he used those very words.  That’s how I knew he had gotten my letter, and that was his response to me.”   

She began to laugh at this point, which was welcome to me, as I was straining every fiber of my being to not laugh hysterically at the very idea of all of this.  As she laughed, she asked:

“And do you know where I got that quote from?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“The Godfather!  Al Pacino says it in The Godfather!”  (Though after the conversation I googled it, as I did not remember the quote from the film.  It was from the Godfather, however, not spoken by Al Pacino.  Perhaps I should let her know, so she can correctly attribute the quote to Rocco, instead of Michael.)

She chuckled quite hard at this, and again I was happy to do so along with her.  She seemed to have no sense that it was kind of bizarre she would be using a quote from a violent film about a crime family to carry out the “will of God.”  At this point I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I was drawn into a rollercoaster ride with her about her conversations with deities.  She began explaining to me that the Babylonians destroyed a temple thousands of years ago, and that God had pledged to get his retribution for this.  So modern day Iraq was now being punished for it, however many millennia later, as God’s grand revenge plot.  She quoted verses from Revelations predicting both Iraq wars.  I was busying myself by trying to act as though I thought she was sane, while at the same time having visions of running out into the street and being run over by a motorbike to get myself out of this interaction.  Instead I just stood by half-heartedly nodding and smiling at her, all whilst trying my hardest not to bust out laughing at her many proclamations .

“In 1992 God told me to send a letter to the President saying that we needed to kill Saddam, but I didn’t listen.  Then when 9/11 happened I knew that I needed to act.  I thought if this was happening in New York and Washington, it was only a matter of time before they come to L.A. next, and I couldn’t let them come to where I live and get me!  So I listened to God this time, and sent the letter, and we did invade Iraq and kill Saddam!  God finally had his revenge!”

“Well, of course, you couldn’t let something happen to where you live!”

Apparently I had given in to the madness and had begun encouraging this.  I really had no choice.

“Do you remember the first time that President Bush got elected?”

“Yes, of course, all the chaos with the recounts and such.”

“Well I was watching all of that, and God told me that he was going to be the next president, and I knew it needed to be so.  I called my friend and asked her who she voted for, and she said she voted for Bush.  And of course she did, she is a Christian, and God made it so all Christians voted for Bush, so that the rest of it could happen!”

“That makes complete sense.”

I’m not sure how that sentence could’ve escaped my mouth in those circumstances; insanity was obviously infectious in the Budget Hostel that evening.

“And do you know why Bush was never able to get Bin Laden?”

I was breathless waiting for her explanation of this one.  I responded with a negative.

“Because Bush is from Texas.  He is a gentleman.  He gave Bin Laden warning that he was coming for him, that’s the gentleman in him coming out.  Since he had warning, Bin Laden went into hiding in Pakistan or wherever.  Obama is from Chicago, he doesn’t have that problem.  He was able to just go after him without any warning.  Two totally different upbringings.”

She began laughing uncontrollably at herself for this one, and I followed suit.  I wanted to ask her if her letters were so powerful, why she hadn’t sent a letter to Bush telling him to stop being a gentleman and just kill Bin Laden.  I was sure given the track record of her letters this would have worked!  I refrained from this, as I didn’t think I wanted to delve that deep into her theological thinking. 

“I also wrote another letter to Obama telling him that I could see he loved his daughters very much, and that if they ever decided in the future that they wanted to be president, I would support them in that.”

I responded back to her that her comments were nice, all the while thinking how relieved Barack must be to have her blessing on that one.  After all, without her support, how could poor Malia or Sasha hope to make it through a term as president?

“After all of that, you know I still have problems with clergy back in California not liking me?”

“Really?  That seems crazy.” (Though that seemed absolutely plausible to me.)

“Yes, they never like the prophets in their own time.  Prophets are only appreciated after they’re gone.”

Yet another burst of laughter from her, and I knew I needed to act.  I took the split second lapse in her narrative to make my excuses about being tired, needing to go have my smoke and go to bed.  She seemed reasonably satisfied with this and bid me a good night.  I slipped out the door to the sweet relief of the street and the nicotine. 

Finding Ourselves in These Modern Times

I was given the book “McCarthy’s Bar” by Pete McCarthy shortly before leaving the States.  I brought it along with me to read on the first part of my journey.  It’s a fairly entertaining book, written by an English author who’s half Irish by heritage.  He spent a chunk of time traveling around Ireland trying to figure if he belongs there, if he is truly Irish because of his mother’s roots.  I did enjoy it, and I thought he had a lot to say about the current state of things in Ireland, his own journey he was on during the trip, and ultimately about where we all come from and where we feel we fit in.  In a serendipitous twist of fate the day after I finished reading the book, the owner of the B&B brought in his next book “The Road to McCarthy” to leave on the bookshelf here.  I was unaware of the existence of this book even, so it was quite a coincidence.  I grabbed it before it had a chance to make it to the bookshelf, and started reading it a while later.  This one is a sequel of sorts, or really maybe more of a companion piece to “McCarthy’s Bar” in which he travels to other places in the world.  It seems to be a more far-reaching concept, perhaps less about his own heritage, and more about what brings us all together globally.  But I dunno I haven’t finished it yet…  Anyway, I spent like a whole day devouring the first half or so of the book.  I came across the below excerpt in it, and it really struck a chord with me.

“There’s no denying, though, the huge and burgeoning modern need to know where we come from.  When I was a kid it seemed most children would grow up, leave home, then live in the next street to their parents.  That doesn’t happen so much now.  As we become more socially and geographically mobile, so the need to belong to some collective past has rocketed; not an invented need, a plastic heritage, as some cynics suggest, but a genuine yearning that’s always been there but is no longer satisfied.  And for many people…God’s gone missing too.  He may be back one day, but until then people will seek the reassurance of a wider human context, a bigger picture in which their own walk-on role gives life meaning and significance.  Everybody wants to be in a good story.  It’s a natural impulse to shape the random events we live through into coherent narrative, otherwise our lives would feel like experimental theatre or abstract painting, which would be a complete bloody nightmare.  We need a good plot, and if God isn’t available to provide it then an epic human story stretching back in time across far-flung continents fits the bill nicely.  And so history and archaeology are all over our televisions, and genealogical websites implode under the volume of ‘hits’, I believe they’re called.  Americans come to European archives, and Europeans go to Australian prison records, and people tramp around the west of Ireland going into every pub that bears their name and wondering at their place in it all.  In a world that lives increasingly in the moment it’s important to remember where we’ve come from, or we may wake up one morning unable to remember who we are.”

As I read this I was kind of taken aback.  I had never seen what I feel about life and my own need to travel and investigate the world spelled out so plainly.  I think this is the absolute truth.  Our own personal narrative has become increasingly reliant upon what has gone before.  We travel to better understand who we are, where we come from, and where we fit into this giant mess we call human existence.  As we get farther away from the small close-knit communities of the past, we must create our own community and shared history, even if that means traveling to the other side of the world to do so (or at the very least researching online things and people from faraway places).    A shared history and sense of community no longer needs to come from the people geographically right around us who we grow up with and know into old age.  In the information age, a community can be based on people who have never even met face to face, and I think that has made us ever more reliant on the past to create a sense of belonging.  Seeing the tangible places where things from the past have occurred makes us feel the commonality between all people.  After all, the history of what has transpired on this planet binds us all.  All people share in it, and we can all learn from it.  Traveling gives us the ability to feel like we are part of a global community, instead of a just neighborhood community, city community, etc.  It bursts the doors open to where we can feel included.  No longer are we destined to a certain existence simply because of the street we were raised on.  Obviously this does not hold true across all people, but at this point in human history, I would say it is increasingly becoming the norm.  

We all want to feel as though we are important in our own way.  To feel as though our own story IS unique and needs to be told.   We do want to shape our lives into some kind of “story” that makes logical sense.  As he says, “otherwise our lives would feel like experimental theatre or abstract painting.”   Indeed we all do want to have some sort of overarching plot to our lives, and it makes me wonder if this was so in the past?  Have we become so changed by books, movies, etc. that we search for the “plot” in everyday life?  Perhaps living in the past people were not so consumed with this idea, it is hard to say.  As things are now, I think, that is what we are all searching for in life, how to connect the dots between all of the incidents in our lives and have them make chronological sense.  We are trying to assimilate all the chaotic data from one existence and have it be coherent.  Perhaps this is a futile exercise.  Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense, have a plot, or be coherent.  Life is messy, not orderly.  When we try to force it into a narrative, maybe we are trying to change the fundamental nature of life.  But when it comes to your own life, it’s hard to think that objectively.  We all just want things to make sense to us.

So here I am, living as a perpetual traveler for now, searching for that binding past to make me feel like I belong on this planet amongst everyone else.  Trying to add plot points to my story, and figure out what the hell the overarching themes and plot of my own existence really are.

My Afternoon with the Religious Right

I had been planning on writing a couple different blogs on an entirely different topics for a while now, and was going to work on one this evening.  But I read a bunch of things today that made me decide I needed to write this rant instead.  So the others will have to wait. :)

For one reason or another I read a bunch of right-wing nutbaggery today, and I just feel the need to comment on it.  For starters, a friend posted something regarding the Westboro Baptist Church on Facebook, and while I knew a little of this group’s shenanigans I decided to go to my trusty Wikipedia and look them up.  I guess I never realized just how mental this group of people is.  They hate just about everyone and everything, and it’s impossible to hear anything from them that doesn’t involve hate in some way.  It’s just so insane to me.  They hate gay people (most of all, cause y’know we’re what’s ruining America), Jews, Catholics, Protestants, Lutherans, Muslims, Mormons, Hindus, even Baptists!  Not sure why they then call themselves Baptists then, but I guess crazy doesn’t need logic.  They hate anyone who doesn’t agree with them, and since (again according to Wikipedia) there are about 40 of them, that pretty much means they hate everyone on the planet.  They protest anything and everything, mostly funerals of homos and soldiers.  This makes sense, because all of these soldiers are dying in wars that are god’s punishment for the tolerance of homos in the U.S., so there should be no need to mourn these dead men, they were meant to die!  The twisted logic of all of this defies any kind of actual reason, so it’s hard to wrap my mind around it.  I then went on to look at one of their actual websites, godhatesfags.com.  One of many of their sites, some of the others being preistsrapeboys.com, godhatesjews.com, godhatesislam.com, and of course, godhatesyourmom.com.  Ok, I made the last one up…  Now here is where you’ll find some really great content.  There is a counter on the page that tells you how many people god has cast into hell since you loaded the page!  I also discovered song parodies that they have re-written lyrics to and recorded themselves in full streaming glory…  You’ll find all of your favorites here, Including “Rolling in the Heat” (Adele), “Bohemian Tragedy” (Queen), and my personal fave, “God Will Always Hate You” (Whitney Houston, or I suppose Dolly if you’re a purist).  There are song parodies here by the likes of Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Eminem, Nicki Minaj, and countless others.  Which begs the question, how do these people even know who these artists are?  If they are so pure and innocent, why do they know a Ke$ha song to even write a parody of it?  I guess the real question is why does ANYONE know any Ke$ha songs, but a comment about the current tragedy of popular music belongs in a different blog post altogether… :)  If you’re interested, go check this shit out, it will amaze you!  Now, the WBC is crazy and all, but so ridiculously crazy it’s hard for anyone to take them at all seriously.  It's so out there it's almost comedic theatre, if it weren't so sick that these few people actually believe this shit.

There has been so much controversy lately with groups such as the Boy Scouts and Chick-Fil-A, that it's hard to ignore.  The second reason I was reading crap today was just because of this.  Another person I'm friends with on Facebook, posted this little gem today:

Now, in some ways I don't even want to dignify this with a response.  I honestly find it completely inane.  While I obviously know what the person who drew this little morality lesson was intending, if you take it literally, it is ridiculous.  A chicken plus a chicken equals a goose egg?  Two gay chickens will only lay eggs that are geese?  Two straight chickens will have a baby fried chicken sandwich?  It's so dumb, yet so many thought it was so wonderful.  I decided to track this pic from whence it came, the Family Research Council.  An organization for which it seems little is actually researched.  Perhaps they should think about a name change.  I went to this page, and discovered thousands of likes and comments for this picture.  A real "discussion" of the topic, and plenty of people moaning on about the "persecution" of Christians, and about how "liberals" are always screaming for tolerance, but are intolerant of these beliefs.  Now here's the thing about that.  I don't care that you don't agree with me.  That is fine, we are all entitled to our own opinions.  If you simply hated me from afar and I didn't have to hear about it that would be just grand.  The problem here, is that we are being denied the same rights as everyone else.  Someone saying that two consenting adults who love each other can't get married, is denying them the same rights as any two other (straight) people.  The fact that you don't agree with it shouldn't matter, that is not the point.  The point is that we should ALL be entitled to the same rights, not just equal rights for only those that agree with my religious stance.  So often the cry from the right comes "gay people are asking for special treatment, and are pushing their gay lifestyle down our throats."  I don't see how being able to marry our partners is "special treatment" of any kind, and the only reason this debate is going on is because we don't have the same rights.  If we were truly equal, the discussion would go away and you would not have hear about our lifestyle.  Don't be friends with gay people, don't attend a gay wedding, watch a show with gay people, etc.  If you don't agree, don't participate, you won't have to hear anything more about us.  But don't deny us the same things you have just because you disapprove.  That is not for you to do, I am not asking for your approval of my life, just an acknowledgement that I am another human being, and deserve the same things you do.  I honestly don't even understand why this is still going on, why do these people even care about this?  Why do you care what other people do with their lives?  In what way could it possibly affect your life?  The last thing I'll say about this is that this whole thing with Chick-Fil-A seems insane to me anyway.  Why would a business even take a position on this?  Isn't it pretty much common business sense to have as many people patronize your establishment as possible?  So saying something like this that is going to piss off an entire section of your customer base seems like a poor business model at best.  

My last point comes down to the fact of where the above post came from.  This pic was posted by none other than my loving brother.  I'm not sure if he fully understands how posting something like this hurts my feelings, or just didn't even think about it.  I would like to confront him on it, but I feel I can't.  First due to his position I feel I can't publicly ridicule and tear apart the pic on fb, like I would do with someone else.  Secondly if I make a big deal out of it, then I feel like it will just seem like I'm making a mountain out of a molehill and am being whiny.  It's really not about the pic itself, more what it all represents, and the fact that he would post it for the world to see, knowing that I am who I am.  If you would take time out of your day to post something like that, then you clearly have no respect for who I am.  It's all just a (poorly drawn and thought out) cartoon to you.  The whole thing makes me sad, and I just still cannot understand why people are the way they are.  If everyone could live in someone else's shoes for just a day, maybe all this stupid bullshit would stop.

So what did I learn from my afternoon of right-wing web searching??  (I also visited some sort of tea-party we hate Obama-type page that I discovered my cousin was a fan of.  It was not really worth mentioning here, but really it was a day-long event of looking at all of this stuff)  I'd like to say I learned something, but really I don't feel like I did.  These are such complex issues, it's hard to boil it all down to a few sentences on a blog.  I feel so strongly about all of these issues, but so many others do as well, and I know that anything I have to say can just be shot down by them in a word, because they do not understand where I'm coming from.  But then the same could be said about me understanding where they are coming from, so it's just a vicious circle.  I learned that many people are hateful, for seemingly no good reason, but really 

I already knew that.  It strengthened my belief that it's always good to hear the opposing viewpoint of yours.  In this case it made my own beliefs stronger, which I suppose it often does.  And I learned that maybe my brother is not as ok with things as I thought he was.  I guess I learned, to quote a rewrite of Dolly Parton, that God will always hate me.  And finally, sad to say, all of this occurred because of posts on Facebook, so I guess I learned that Facebook really does rule my life.

Bed and Breakfast Banality

While I sit in this "five-star" bonanza of craziness, the days have begun to pass as though time doesn't exist. When you begin something, you look at the time you have stretching in front of you and to some extent, it seems endless.  Moving in here for three months seemed almost an eternity at the outset.  Now having been here for almost half of our time, it begins to look a different way.  While in some ways it seems like we have been here for too long already, it also seems like we've been here no time at all.  Time has a funny way of making you feel that way.  I feel like I have wasted so much time here already, and I don't know how to turn it around.  My chief goal in being in Perth (and Australia in general) was to write as much and often as possible, work on music, be creative.  I often have nothing but time on my hands here, yet I find myself not doing the things I came here and set my mind to do.  I have no one to blame for this but myself, and I know I make excuses for this lack of motivation.

Let me start at the beginning.  We came to Perth with stars in our eyes.  This place seemed so perfect, a place to live for free, some part time work in exchange for our cost of living.  The absolutely imagined endless possibilities of finding extra work for some income, the ideal location, and the limitless supply of inspiration that was of course right there for the taking.  We came here to the B&B for an interview the morning after we arrived in Perth, and amazingly landed the job.  It seemed like we were set.  We quickly found out that this place has it's own set of challenges.

I have certainly never lived anywhere that I also worked, and I don't think I have ever had a living situation quite as ridiculous as this either.  Let me give you a few examples of some insanity that has happened to us thus far in our little "paradise" we have here.  We have been told by one of the owners that we can cause them to have both cancer and heart problems by forgetting to run the "Kreepy Krawly" pool cleaner every day.  We were also told that certain actions of ours, (the specifics of which I hesitate to post here, as I was directly told I should tell no one about the details of the business, and I don't want any trouble as a result of a blog post) could potentially lead to the raping of their teenage daughters.  I could not make this shit up.  At one point four of us were indirectly accused of eating (or stealing?) 15 dozen eggs in four days, as if that would even be possible for four people to do (and especially hilarious given my hatred of any and all types of eggs).  I say indirectly because of course nothing is ever addressed to those it pertains to, all things must be told through the grapevine so as to achieve maximum effectiveness of communication.  One evening, one co-worker, completely unapologetically decided to shut off the dryer with our bedding in it, without informing us.  This was because it was past 8 pm, and for no reason at all this is the time laundry must cease.  Even though laundry never stops by this time, and anyone who could have possibly been effected by our devil-may-care late night washing, was still awake and unscathed.  And these were the sheets we were sleeping on that night.  This same co-worker, the very next night (and right in front of us may I add) BEGAN her laundry at (gasp!) 8:15!!  The irony of this completely lost on her due to her self-centered oblivion.  We were tempted to be spiteful and repay the same favor she had bestowed upon us the evening prior, but restrained ourselves, our dignity intact.  There are endless examples, I could really go on for days.


I'm going to roughly estimate I had about 9,234 reasons for coming on this journey.  One incredibly important one was to get away from humdrum bullshit and really experience life and this world.  To stop dwelling on meaningless things and just be open to what is.  Here, at times it seems like there is almost nothing else to dwell on, but the unimportant things.  Constant squabbles over the scheduling, who's working more or not enough, who's not done their job well enough, or taken too long, on and fucking on it goes.  I came here to escape all of this monotonous crap, and yet here I am being sucked into the same ridiculous drama, and for a job that I'm only doing for three months!  I am trying my level best to not let myself get caught up in it, or add to it.  But it's hard to not let it infect you.  There are times where I still fall hard into my old habits and can't help but bitch and moan.  But other times I surprise myself and just let it all go.

So to get back to where I started, this place has affected me creatively.  I find it hard to do some of the things I came here with my mind set on doing.  In order to be creative, I need to feel like I have some little bit of space to call my own, where I feel comfortable, and feel comfortable being me.  I just feel stifled here most of the time.  I find it hard to be comfortable and have clear headspace to effectively write and do the things I want to do.  As I said, I know that I can't blame this lack of productivity on anything but myself, and I'm hoping maybe writing this and putting it out there, will make me less vulnerable to what's around me.  If anything I can update this blog and have that as an outlet.  Time will tell.  I just need to get over my ennui, or at the very least put it into words, and turn it into something useful.

I am confident, however, as I write this piece that I am in the place I am supposed to be.  As hard as it is sometimes, I still know that I am meant to be here.  I need to be here learning about myself, and about other people.  I can see myself changing, day by day, little by little.  It's like a wall being built (or being torn down, depending on what imagery you'd like to go with), I can see this new person emerging brick by brick.  Things roll off my back in ways they didn't even a few months ago.  I would never have been forced to see some things differently, if not for being thrust into this crazy place.  Being put in a place to not only work, but also live, with complete strangers, who I would never have picked to do so with.  It is a fascinating process, and one which I know will result in me being a better person at the end of it all.  I cannot even begin to describe my experiences here to anyone yet, I think it will take some time and distance before I'll really be able to process it, and see things with some perspective.    Every day is an exercise in patience, personal space, interpersonal contact, and communication.  Even as I see the changes, and know it is all worth the giant headache that living here can sometimes be, I still struggle some days.  Then again, what's life without some struggle?

An Afternoon in the Life of Scarborough Beach

Since we have been in Perth a great deal of my time has been spent on Scarborough Beach.  Especially late afternoons and early evenings.  It is right out my front door, so the convenience is hard to pass up.  The weather is not always agreeable, but when it is I try to make the effort to get down there.  I'm wondering if the novelty of living on a beach will ever wear off for me.  I hope not...  I went down to the beach one such afternoon with camera in hand, attempting to document this day in the life of the beach.  Things that were new and surprising on that particular day (Monday 7/2/12), but almost more importantly the things I see every time I'm down there.  The following is the evidence of my observations of this place that I call home for the time being...


There are always people out and about with their dogs.  This lady was playing with her dog in the surf.  Then when she sat down and stopped playing with him, he immediately started madly digging holes in the sand.  Look closely at the middle three photos, you can see him faceplanted in the sand digging like his life depends on it!  By the end he was completely covered in sand...

A couple of other pups that came my way...















This lil dachshund was bounding through the sand with the wind in his ears like he had not a care in the world!

                  Footprints both human and canine alike.

Always a constant are freight ships in the distance off the coast.

The sand dunes that line the back of the beach along this area of the coast.

        And of course, other tourists taking photos...

                                    My shadow on the dunes

                                I'm a giant!!

The moon rising behind me as the sun sets in front of me...

                   Seashells litter the beach

A seagull munching on something he found that was left behind by a previous visitor

As the sun sets over the Indian Ocean, it's amazing to watch it's progression.  It slips down past the horizon so quickly you can see it moving.  It takes only a minute or two to completely disappear behind the sea.

 

 

 

                Surfers at sunset

You can always spot some runners along the beach as well

WAVES!!

A guy with a metal detector.   I thought this was mildly hilarious!  I hope he had some sweet finds with it...

                Some fisherman trying their luck

                    Silhouette of a sunset admirer

                 A lifeguard tower

Footprints....The silent echoes of the day past on the beach.  By tomorrow these will be washed away by the rising tide and forgotten, and new footprints and memories will be made.