the last a thing a fish knows
is water
light bird song
she remembered struggling in Shanghai
with no formal education
searching for the perfect love
writing her story in Chinese
following her heart
after the rush of stimulation orchid
settled down into lassitude
misfortune wedding children
polite monosyllabic conversations
amputee teacher
on his rolling chair
eats noodles
people who may not know
how to write
watch someone scratch lines
in the breeze of voices
clattering metal pans
laughter silence
a son leads his blind father
beating a drum
by a thread
Greetings,
I'm sitting in the market drawling in my Moleskine. Three travelers sit and sketch their environment. They use pencil, ink, watercolor pens and cool tools. They are excellent. Many Khmer people, as is all too common, just sit and stare. A few curious ones wander over to see the creativity.
The next day I am drawing and Cloe, one of the French artists stops by for a chat. She and Younn, her boyfriend artist left France for year of total land travel.
"We went south to the Balkans, Greece, Turkey, Iran and across Central Asia to China, Mongolia, back to China, bought bikes and rode to Laos, now Cambodia then we go to Thailand and south to Malaysia, then eventually to Australia."
How was Iran? "It was great. We hardly ever stayed in a hostel. The people invited us into their homes. The culture and art and history is amazing. Everyone was friendly and kind and helpful. They talked about everything. They were totally connected and engaged with the world. We felt really safe and secure."
We exchanged links. You can read their French blog and see Younn and Cloe's amazing art from their travels.
Metta.
Greetings,
A foreign teacher visited a Khmer classroom. 300 local students study English, Japanese and Korean from 5-7 p.m. Monday through Friday.
A female Khmer teacher is writing Korean script on the board. There are three students. The visitor sits at the back of the room. A high school girl turns around asking in fluent English, Are you a teacher?
No, I am a student.
What do you study?
I study life.
Is it a short course?
Yes, it is.
Metta.
=
Greetings,
Mr. Money talked in the market. He's 30 give or take a day, well fed and garrulous.
When I saw him he was standing near a shop holding a big pile of 500 real notes. 500 real is worth 25 cents. I am rich, he said waving the pile of money at me. I am the President, I said.
He came over. He sat down in a red plastic chair. He put the money on the table. See, he said, I have a lot of money. All the red notes were old and faded. Yes, I said, You do. Where did you get it?
I collect the money from the shopkeepers. It is their daily cleaning fee, he said. But, I am a poor man. I only make $50 a month. Food is cheap. I have two wives and two kids. Wife number 1 is mad at me. Why, I asked. She saw me with wife number 2. I screwed wife number 1 one day and then I went over to see wife number 2. Wife number 1 saw me and now she's angry. He laughed.
I have lots of energy. I can screw three times a day. Do you want to go with me to a nightclub? I can show you around. There are many girls there looking for some action. Their boyfriends are poor at sex. The girls are poor and need money, he said. Interesting, I said, Not today.
It's easy, he said, I know everybody. He waved his arms around the market. People were slurping noodles, negotiating fruit prices, haggling, chopping vegetables, stoking cooking fires with kindling, manhandling blazing woks, wiping counters, sewing cloth, selling gold, trimming nails, cleaning oranges, and hungry eaters were stuffing their faces. Their eyes were either buried in their bowls or scanning faces in a life of distractions.
An old woman wearing white sat alone on the cracked pavement with her silver begging bowl waiting for someone to express their kindness.
Yes, I'm sure you know everybody, I said. Are you really the President, he asked. Yes, I am, I said. He laughed, I think the president is a joke. Many people would agree with you, I said, It's a lonely boring job being responsible for the entire human race. Yeah, he said, Well I gotta go make some collections. See you later.
Metta.
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