Travel long enough and far enough and you become a stranger to yourself.
The expatriated broken toothed junkie from Laos spent seven years as political prisoner. Or so he said one morning after dawn, walking through an Old Quarter looking for someone to talk to, a permanent change of address.
He was one of the lost ones. He was the star of his very own highly rated REALITY entertainment program. He talked a blue streak. He ranted. He raved. He had his hand out. Looking for salvation. An exit permit. An empty hand holds everything.
Now he lives on the street of dreams at noon o'clock where a dusty grand-father clock strikes 12. Bong-bong-bong-bong-echo. He jabbered his shadow away, past travel tour shops, bored girls waiting for tourists and motorcycle hustlers.
Lives of quiet desperation. Hustle to eat. Hustle to dream. Meal to meal. A cycle. Conversations love distractions.
Where are you from? asked a motorcycle guy down at the interesection of Yes, No, Maybe, hoping we'd establish a connection, bonding through need, want and desire.
I am from heaven.
He expected a familiar place name like Europe, America, Australia.
Heaven?
Yes.
Where is it?
I point toward the blue sky. There.
It's about trust here said a Frenchman. I know foreigners who have lived here 10 years and they still express reservations about who they can, do trust. It's a problem. Be careful.
In my neighborhood women do all the work. Selling vegetables, cleaning, giving birth, nurturing, sewing, cutting hair, cooking, serving, scrubbing pots, pans, chopsticks, knives.
Thuy is 47, and a teacher in a public middle school. She makes $250 a month. Her classes number 70. Reminds me of my China teaching days. Long bland cement rooms filled with faces.
She speaks good English. She is married with two daughters, Ben, a bright and lively 20 and V, 10. Her husband is an engineer at the largest paint company in Ha Noi. He speaks Russian. Ben studies Portuguese at Ha Noi University and will go to Portugal this October for 10 months.
V is learning how to ride her bike. She is scared of losing her balance and releasing her small fear.
The grace of a finger under a white ceramic bowl. This delicate love. What is essential is invisible.
Metta.
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