Happenstance childhood pass times of mine include putting black olives on each of my fingers and eating them one by one. Like sitting around with my finger on the record button waiting to record a song from my favorite band on the radio with a tape. Like trying to follow the rain droplets as they hit the window on fast freeways. One of the reasons why I abhor driving is because I enjoy being a passenger.
I get to see so much more. And for the conveniences of my happenstance childhood pass times I rather enjoy the long bus rides. As evidenced from my previous blog posts I am not having a good time transitioning back to Vietnam. I don't think its homesickness necessarily. I feel it is a helplessness that I can control but don't feel like it. It also has something to do with the energy that is surrounding me.
I was reminded of one of my happenstance childhood pass times as I stared out the window of the big orange bus that I take for 5 hours at least once a month here in Vietnam.
Long Xuyen --> Saigon
Saigon --> Long Xuyen
5 hours at least once a month in Vietnam.
I go to the bus station in Long Xuyen which is a 3 minute walk from where I live. I avoid eye contact with xe om drivers as they ask me if I need a ride. No you twit, I'm at the bus station. I think to myself that, but never say anything. I should be nicer.
I get there approximately 10 - 15 minutes before. I get my ticket from the ticket counter 90, 000 vnd ($4.50 USD) At one point a woman working there recognized me and my name. Why are you going this time Kim? For fun I reply. She smiles and wishes me a good trip. Sadly, I don't recall her face so I won't know if I saw her again. There is something about hegemony, that when are not really a part of it, especially language wise its hard to remember.
From there it is a 30 minute ride to the ferry. Sometimes the wait to get on the ferry can be up to 30 minutes, which drags on for what seems like forever. If there is no wait, then it takes about 15 minutes to cross the ferry. I pretend to sleep so I don't have to get off the bus, since its a "rule" for passengers to get off the bus and onto the ferry by foot. I guess, for our safety. Disregarding my safety and facing the possibility of drowning, I delight in staying in the bus. A small win. Then I proceed to look out my window at the people on the ferry. Little kids jumping from the side into the muddy unclear waters of the Mekong Delta as if no water born diseases exist. Only fun did. That was the only thing on their mind.
Unlike them, that is never the only thing on my mind.
Children, women and men of all sorts, from the small child who sells lottery tickets who doesn't know further than the boundaries of Long Xuyen, but knows more about the hustle than I could ever know to the woman who is trying to raise her two kids on selling fruits and cigarettes from a small basket. I find them fearfully resilient. For them to be positioned where they are, but to be able to somehow make the most of it, I find ever so strong. A strength that I fear. But I suppose its about survival more than anything and when you gotta survive you do what you have to do. Survival for me comes easier and I recognize this.
Unlike them, that is never the thing on my mind.
Before my bus got on the ferry I watched the droplets. They were not from rain but from the fact that the temperature of the air conditioning in the bus contrasted greatly from the humidity outside. I was really cold. The droplets reminded me of times where I chased rain droplets in the U.S. since going really fast on freeways during the rain resulted in the droplets hitting the window at a really high speed and therefore causing them to dance. I always tried to trace them as if it would result in something. It never did, they just danced in this repetitive cycle. New ones came in. Old ones out. Transient.
This past weekend I made the trip emptily. I didn't know why I was going but felt the need to get out of Long Xuyen, since I knew I was going to feel lonely. Might as well feel lonely in a big city than a small town. I thought to myself. Bad choice. Of course I get a splitting headache from feeling useless and hopeless. Sitting in a very pretty cafe I was unhappy with where I was. Why I was there. Purposeless. All the work that I had to do. Unmotivated. Even talking to a people I felt so emotionless, I knew it came across as so. Everything that I had to get done didn't mean anything to me. Moot if you will. Moot is a word I learned in 9th grade.
Moot: Having no practical significance, typically because the subject is too uncertain to allow a decision.
Right now its gotten to the point where music isn't hitting me the same. And that's a bad bad sign in Kim Dam's book. However, Fleet Foxes's self titled album is keeping me hopeful and afloat and does tracing rain drops even if they don't dance by. Even if they don't dance by. Still.
Comparisons are my weakness. I do it alot. Where I compare my life to others. And then get sad over it. That they are living a "better" life. But I gotta really kick myself and remind myself that all these thoughts are arbitrary. I am only seeing what they allow me to see. I only compare what I see. The good. Which is why I'm trying to better relate my stories and what I see in my life. Regardless of where I am. At least once a month I travel somewhere. It doesn't hit me that I've traveled to 8 different countries in the last 1.5 years of my life and more cities, provinces, villages, v.v. than I can count.
Time to refocus. Time to focus on the positive. Time to not let myself down. Time to get out of this unhealthy rut. Time to not be sick and exhausted all the time. Time to feel. Time to find the roots of things again. Time to do me. Time to get things down with passion. Time.
It's just time.
Timing.
About time.
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