See family I haven't seen in 25 years
Meet family I've never met in my life
Eat 5 meals a day: breakfast, mirienda, lunch, mirienda and dinner
Taste fresh fried Tawilis as it is only found at Taal volcano lake
Walk in warm tropical rain
Eat as many Philippine mangoes as I can stomach
Visit a town where I was related to half the residents
Visit the house where my dad was born
Hearing the call of a "toko" house lizard for the first time
Jump in the ocean and see a whaleshark - how insane was I?
Swim with schools of jackfish, barracudas and millions of baby reef fish
Set my eyes upon a flawless coral reef - the best I've seen
Play in the streets during a water festival in a town where I was born
In front of 20 locals, sing "Only You" to my husband in a bamboo shack at Sabang Beach

Discover delicious laksa
Run my hands thru the finest, softest sand I've ever felt and build sculptures and a drip castle with it
Visit a turtle sanctuary and nuzzle with newly hatched baby turtles
Eat purple rice and have the best banana roti I've ever tasted

Play dress up in an Indonesian wedding dress and take photos
Wake up to hundreds of ducks quacking outside the window as they graze on the rice paddies
See the sunrise from Batur volcano in Bali
Climb the famous mountain of Gunung Agung in Lombok
Catch a rickety boat and ride the ocean waves for 2 hours from Bali to Gili Trawangan without throwing up

Get lost in Sydney for 2 hours
Feed kangaroos and wallabees
Scuba dive with family and friends in the Great Barrier Reef
Laugh with aboriginal elders during a dot painting class
Play with red dirt
Feast my eyes on the ancient Uluru rock
Suck on nectar from a yellow grovilia flower
Find out where wichety grub are found

Drive on the left side of the road in a campervan for 2 months and survive it
Enjoy stars from the southern hemisphere
Catch my very first 3.5 pound rainbow trout and have it for dinner
Go whale watching and actually see a bunch of sperm whales
Dig for clams and later cook 'em up for dinner
Drive from a glacier to a beach in less than 2 hours
Kayak at Abel Tasman National park
Bungy jump 440 feet above the Nevis river twice (the second time in my birthday suit)

Make my own flower lantern float, light it up and send it downriver along with hundreds of floats
Feed, bathe, play and walk with elephants
Take a thai massage class
Make it through all of 10 days of a silent meditation retreat
Spend Vietnamese new year in Vietnam
Hike in between rice paddies
Have close encounters with water buffalos
Meet a cab driver who loved his job and considered it a university - he ranted greetings in 81 different languages

See the sunrise and sunset at Angkor Wat
Take refuge inside Angkor Wat temples during 100 degree heat
Teach english to young cambodian orphans
Walk in the killing fields

Fall in love with sticky rice with a side of dried-n-fried local riverweed
I never, ever thought I would ever like beer and really liked BeerLao
Go fishing in the Nam Ou river and not catch a thing
Go tubing
Sit next to a tiger for a photo op

Make new lifelong friends we met while traveling... . . .

Best but never least, experience all these beautiful moments with my best friend, husband and the true love of my life

Other instances, I'm transformed. Whether local or farang eyes, (word for foreigner), my presence is met by longing, curious eyes, wandering, formulating, judging and discriminating. I wonder what stories and questions unfold in their minds when they see me? For a moment, I step into bare scalded feet of a young thai girl from a poor remote village, born out of a mother who does not value her, does not care what happens to her, she is unloved and neglected. She has inherited to exist in a culture that devalues females - she is expected to be the sole wage earner to support the entire family. She swallows her position and become what her mother sold her to be - a slave.

At 10 years old, she is sold to promises of working in a factory and a secure future while locked up in a secret hideaway of child slave labor camp, barely nourished merely to exist just another day, exploited and dissolved of her spirit and dignity, frightened, lost and too young to understand her fate. At 12 years old, again she is sold- to the sex trade and her virginity to the highest bidder, her soul is raped. Knowing only this kind of life, she lives it, breathes it, sleeps it and eats it. This is her breath of life and for a second, it is mine.

I look beyond my gaze and notice thick barbed wires circling like acrobats round and round, round and round with electricity. The biggest school in Phnom Penh; sounds of laughter and history of children playing, learning, reading everywhere muffled by the sound of agony, fear, despair, and starvation. A metal bed, rusted with use, echoes muffled screams of agony. The interrogation room. Pool spilled blood stained tiles displayed by the photo above the bed, endless bodies motionless and idle, the bed is still there, everything is still there. Untouched. Rusted metal, thick shackles gripped the ankles of anyone and everyone. Historical photos line the walls of everyone before the act of torture, each look and each eye. The horror of fear. Every act, every move, every procedure, everything recorded.

Dialated eyes of fear peer by the hundreds across the board. Photographs catalogued the fear striken bones, fear stricken souls caught by the frame of time, catalogued death, catalogued genocidal massacre. No smiles anywhere. Starved ribcages and thin bone cheeks and wide teeth mouths look beyond into minutes after being tortured.

Its still hot. A slow drip down my skull and I choke on the dust around me. Building A. I pass a doorway, and I look through doorway after doorway peering to the wall at the far end, connected by walls with no bars. And they still hear the screams, the craziness, the fear and the deep drunk deep intake mouth convulsing cry. Cement outlines of walls on the tiled floor loomed upwards, walls thick, seperating cells upon cells where men waited, shackled. Thick iron rusted. "This room was the torture room." As you can still see the instruments used for torture." Blunted axe, thick wooden stick hand worn by oily hands, darker color. Young and scared and starved, they were lowered down into a wooden flat rectangular crate to fill water and handcuffed to drown their victims. When they became unconscious, they were then dipped, hanging upside down into a thick sludge of sewer water. An arm pulls you through a wooden crate, handcuffed, gripped and a fingernail is pulled out.

The pictures, the women, the men, the young the old, monks, all were victims of pain, and torture and more pain and more starvation. Everyday they were interrogated and everyday tortured. To search for their enemy of the party. 'The Angkar' A totalitarian agarian society.

My footsteps echoed down the hall and I look down at the countless of other steps that have passed through this doorway, this cell, this place where I stand still and look outside in the courtyard of torture to see a pail of water used to make a person into a fish. If not even further into the horror of the mind. Babies thrown as baseballs against a tree and killed like animals.

A long death march 15 km away, at night to the "killing fields" knowing your family and yourself are going to dig your graves, all are going to die one by one. Shovel by shovel. You look at the dirt by which will cover you and your family when you are done, wacking your neck with a blunt wood of an axe, in the backside of the neck, slipping down into the hole.

Snap! . . . Snap! . . . Snap! . . . Snap!

The stares of skulls piled high, 10-20-30-40 years old skulls catorgized sections and old worn clothes piled high and torn, buried beneath the soil. The killing fields. Clothes worn by rain and dirt tucked away by the foot path and bones portruding from the gravesite, the killing fields.

From prison to death pit, they were executed with one by one, children, women, men, grandmother, grandfather, each saw their families die one by one looking at their own hellish fate.

A place of horror and a place of remembrance. I look at my hand and tear to see a golden pagoda dedicated to the victims and a colorful string of a hundred orgami cranes offering peace to this place and the world. A glimmer of hope and peace as the history and past is for, and from the past, the hands that grabs the past and impermeably let go. Full round circle, history and the past moves on disappearing into the limelight of understanding and wisdom. The Past is only the Past, for the Past and not the Present or the Future. And only then when we forgive history, we can move on from history.

Small carts wheel by selling
local yum yum bbq chicken, pork sticks and ice chilled
sugar cane you cruch in your mouth and savor your own
saliva and throw the strings out of your mouth.
Hotels line everywhere against the hot street.
Sir! You wanna Tuk, Tuk? Where you come from?
Foreigners pass by heads up and eyes straight ahead as
hands reach out and mothers holding tired, sick babies
in their arms reaching out for the wealth that walks
by. Their eyes speak of misery and the horror of
poverty and yet a smile shapes their determination to
live. I stare straight into a local kid's eye his eyes
fixed on me looking. I smile and keep smiling at him
and his wall is torn down and he is a different person
smiling. I am in another place . . .
bouncing up and down in the back of a bus, with the loud engine in the back rumbling. Startled, a man touches my leg and looks at me smiling wide with one tooth and bekons to my heart. Two
fingers raise up. He points to me and then points to
him and has the number "2." He then points to his
mouth and then my mouth and nods is head, no. Him and
I are the same we can't even say one spoken word
to each other. He nods with both hands to his chest,
I wai back to him and we smile and understand him and
we enjoy our beaming timeless smiles together. He
looks the other way out the window thinking of life. . "Sir you want book? I have many books," my mind is taken
to another place and time, "Sir, have many books, good
price!" "No thank you." I smile. Children tread their footpath
carrying their heavy loads of books and in the bearing
hot sun, their feet are numb to the hot red dirt road
beneath. Another place, I see a shimmering orange touring monks
during twilight sunset against the charcoal ancient stone of
Angkor Wat. Bright, Bright orange flowing robes walk
slowly. "Hello." I say. He beams a smile up at me, and smiles wide, grabs my hand and we walk.
Each step, we walk hand in hand. My mind races of Suan
Mohnk monestary as I sit meditating. The compassion
flowing through his hands. Many years a monk. I can't believe it! and I ask to take a picture with him. I bow
slightly saying goodbye. The other young monks
smiling looking at me bewildered for some reason.
They look at our rented electric bikes and I sit and
motion no foot pedal movement. Their guide unable to
speak English sits on the bike and tries a go while
the monks their eyes wide like the moon above,
laughing. My mind races . . and I see a poor, dirty
grandmother, thin and skinny sitting on the street
looking at me, looking at the endless legs who walk by. . .Its a hot day.

Don't be afraid to love yourself were the few words in the back of my mind as I walked among another ancient grove, to the Yakas in the Catherdral Grove. We all have the answers to everything. Its our septic tanks that clouds the true meaning and answers for our questions in life. Love is the answer. True love, compassionate non-judgemental love carries itself hand in hand. Don't be afraid to love yourself and teach people to respect the land they walk upon. There is land beneath the cement. The clutter of our souls with break down with love. Don't be afraid to love yourself. I felt a big weight off my shoulders after I felt those words upon my while walking past the river. Among other ancient kauri trees thick against the tiny toothpicks of trees that we are used to looking at. I gave me respects to the forest while I walked. To my family and friends.
We went back for a second day to visit Tane Muhuta to see the majestic existence and experience of something so profound. I sat beneath the tree from a afar and witness the many visitors to look upon this grandfather. Something caught my mind as we all sat in silence looking at the tree. I have witnessed before a many sunsets, or sunrises appears on the horizon, people all around stop and look. Everyone stands still. In the car, on the beach, on the road, everyone stops to wait. Something deeply human makes us wait until the last drop of light. We are all connected at that moment. After, the sun dips down, we go back to our usual thinking, our way of the walks and go. Everyone sitting under the tree from afar, in silence, together in awe at the point of captured beauty to see the tree fully. In silence, again. A man carries a picture frame sniffling looking up with dark glasses mourning the pass of a loved one. Looking up, holding his cry. He goes to this tree. People around me taking photographs with themselves in front of the camera. I was here. Whispers in different languages, and awed gazes. I gaze up upon the bottom of the tree beneath, thick fern fronds reaching out to the light, and see a massive girthed presence looming up to the sky. 2,000 years old. Watching, waiting, listening, to the bird sounds and the quiet sniffles and awes and laughs around. It is alive and will be for a long time.

Anyway we left the place and took the road taking us into the depths of Rolling cliffs and high frosted snow peaks among the blue and white clouds and the amount of life among the forest . .and the moss. There was moss everywhere. On the branches, on the plants .. everywhere. Felt like walking on pillows, so fragile (but I kept to the trail) We stayed the night in the valley with the stars peeking through their peekyness. Oh man, stars are amazing sometimes when you look above and just ponder how small we are all and how part of it we are all as well. Anyway, we took a boat cruise along the high peaking cliffs and the beech trees nestled among every inch of rock holding on with other roots of trees and it started to rain and rain, and rain and then the waterfalls started to flow and flow and every crevice was flowing with water and then it snowed. Talk about global warming? We almost did not make the summit road .. Sue and I had a snowball fight and seeing a lushious fern and moss covered with snow. It was surreal. We went along the curvy road and high towering snowing peaks and large snowflakes hitting your windshield so we decided to stop and . . . .fish by the lake. ahahah Man . .Sue and I are in our snow gear fishing on a lake while it is sunny and snowing at the same time while my lure was caught up in some bushes, yep lost that one. Lost another one on some logs. I was so confident getting a fish while is was sunny on a lake with huge snow flakes hitting the lake .. perfect conditions but then no fish . .oh well . Then I took a walk among the forest after a rainshower with the sun shining through still dripping with water from the leaves everywhere oh and the moss, so vibrant everywhere. The stillness there was something that I have never felt and so beautiful. There are moments when the earth shows itself in its most majestic ways. haha so that is some random thoughts of the trip from Milford Sound

Sporatic movements like the peak of a concert their movements, throwing rocks, playing tackle or chasing the chicken, the sand, the water, the beach, the sun, a world language only kids can understand. I push my sandle on the water imitating the kid next to me knee high in the water to see what he sees. He puts a rock on the heel of the sandle and pushes it through the water. I do the same thing. A mother carrying bags of handmade items stops to look. I ignore her. He spoke to himself I cannot understand and I still push my boat. Something happened to a level of looking and learning to look at what makes people or children or humans learn and see what they see. I smile at the unfathonable depths our perception can open up to and experience and learn how the world can open to us in very very very very mysterious ways.

Children`s energy, vibrant, indiscriminate, open-hearted and free to share themselves, laugh, giggle with their playmates with no reservations and inhibitions. To them, nobody is watching, observing, judging. Rantings in Balinese and giggles in between, I hear laughter out loud followed by finger pointing at something in the water. Brittle stars with eight legs crawl over and under rocks and in between. Children turn over rocks and crabs swinging their claws to defend themselves. More rocks turned over and pluck clam-like crawly creatures as they shrivel on the children`s palm.

An autumn leaf serves as a "plate" of appreciation as she holds her squirmy leaf. My complete ignorance makes me put my hand to my mouth as I think, are they collecting the small clams to eat? A half hour later, by the waves, her plate is sailing on the surface; slugs getting their escape. I take out my camera and show them their picture, they have an immediate giggle. Laughing at themselves.

Warm already in our presence, we attract more children walking down the beach, suddenly a dozen children surround us in our play. Tried hard to entertain, juggle maybe, skip rocks or imitate their play. Wayan, an 8 year old girl planted herself next to me and asked, What is your name? I say, Nama Saya Suzanne. She held out a palm sized hand weaved basket with a small bag of salt inside. Five thousand? I say, no thank you. Wayan says four thousand? I say once again, no thank you. She rested the basket between us, stretched out her legs in front of her and watched the other children play tag. She began to scoop sand and rocks with her hand, burying her legs underneath. I scooped a handful of rocks and emptied them on her legs. She smiled. Simple gestures of play unfolded, no more words exchanged, silent play in motion. I studied her face, dark from the sun, yellow teeth, a maturity unmatched any other 8 year old I`ve ever met. Clothes old, stained, torn and ratted from use, hair with lice, legs scarred from insect bites, some fresh. She eminated the energy of a young woman, with responsibilities her burden.

Most children on the beach of Amed, carry handmade gifts of Amed Salt, moving their arm from shoulder and elbow outward. High season tourists rush the beaches of Bali. All the tourists here are rich. A kid being at play on the sand, can take a break of being a kid selling wares to play as a kid.

Ancient sloped rice terraces dry by summers' heat shadow the mountain side. Boats painted like Candy colored wrappers sit idle by the beach waves laced touch, silent in the sun. Balinese children walk hands raised high in the air holding handmade crafts to sell, a gentle touch on your arm, like a soft leaf falling down on you in the wind, "Good Price." Brown stained teeth smile with salt dried sea fishermen's lips. Bright as the sun and as wide as the sea. It made the bright blue sky bluer. Streaks of white hair saintly against brown aged skin rocks back and forth in his thin tight arms, a new born baby, singing ancient lullabies mesmorizing chant past the barks of dogs and sharp calls of roosters. I look up and smile and nod. Stand transfixed. Stranded in my step looking past the tree leaves seeing an arm movement back and forth, tiny thighs and feet dangling like fruit on a windy day. Pass the rooster picking the remaining rice from the day's offering, pass the women cutting the long sharp grasses showing "a new green for the day" filled with rice hulls, pass the bamboo structure holding pounds of cement and rock for a new temple, pass sun bleached coins falling on the road under palm trees, pass local kids playing a good game of futbol, pass a bright smile teeth wide eyed, Hullo!, pass a deep down deep look staring at my foreigness, rich white skin, pass my grandmother carrying water up a steep incline watching my surprised look as I pass by, pass elegantly dressed people walking on the narrow road to the cremation ceremony, pass giant rice terrace staircases leading and hugging the mountainside, pass cloud covered mountain tops in the distance wind, pass patching tamerind and coconut drying on the roadside, pass clusters of local villagers conversing and the singing and carving boats out of wood, pass children hovering over a well, with echoes in their voices, pass villagers washing their clothes in the canals, pass the sweet kisses I give my honey, pass zoning moments on the changing color of the horizon, pass little piglets snorting and suckling from their mother, pass the night shimmering stars and boats lights slowly moving on the night's horizon to their next fish catch, deep dark ocean, pass the dogs scratching their hairless patches eyes relieving from small moments of ecstasy, pass the puffs of clove smoke and insence burning finding their roads to float on and pass into people's noses like migrating ducks and geese v formayion in the sky, and chickens crossing roads.

SLOWLY PULLED FROM DEEP SLEEP BY A SYMPHONY OF SOUND, I KEEP MY EYES CLOSED AND SEARCHED TO IDENTIFY EACH MUSICIAN IN THIS ORCHESTRA. QUACKING, AND LOTS OF IT FILLED THE PERFORMANCE LIKE A TRUMPET SOLO, AS THE CRICKETS KEPT A RHYTHMIC BEAT. TOGETHER, THE SYMPHONY OF MY SWEET AWAKENING IN THE RICE FIELDS LIFTED ME FROM SLUMBER.

I wake up. The sound of water moving between the rice fields, flooded. Thick mud sticks to the bottom of my soles. The path is one foot across. I grab a handfull of grass. The rice is ready to harvest. I pound the grasses against a weaving basket letting it hit my face and fall onto the ground. I am handed more as I hit the side of the bowl. Strong as a bull, men and women bend and knell and cut and pound and grab the grasses full of rice to harvest. They are paid $1.50 a day. Sun up, Sun down. They are grandmas and grandpas.

Chek, cha, Chek, thunders in the vocal chords of a hundred dancers telling the story of Hindu Religion. Crosslegged sitting in a circular pattern with 4 rows of dancers they
move and twist their bodies to the right and to the left. Raist their hands in the air, choo, cha, choo, cha, chek, cha, choo . . .shaking their hands in the air waving them in the sky. Gold plated decorations outline and shine to the firelight two main performers as their elbows and hands move in different directions and their eyes and neck follow different chords to the dances. Their eyes open showing whites filling expression of the gods. Necks moving to the right and left. Index fingers flutters like a dragonfly wing. Hands movements display buddha dharma hindu poses.

I am awaken by the delicate touches of a paintbrush, ink dotted on his hand painting an egg. Streamlined strokes paint leaves and butterflies and birds on an egg. Many years practice in silence painting. He already sees the image, he is just filling in the space. Nothing copied. All from the mind's eye. Intricate patience transports him into another world of butterflies flapping slowly in the tropical sun and dappled shade pumping its blood through its body. And birds chirping and singing their songs as big leaves wave in concert with the wind. Sitting on branches fluffing its wings and combing its beak.

He grabs a tiny long piece of silver bending his wrist and hand in different motions. Expert in the art of silversmithing.

In the night I follow a branch tracing its outline to touch the river below. Roots gather in the all places hanging down like hair. I have never seen a tree like this before. Its huge. The mother of all trees lives here. Gods are here growing and growing and listening and breathing the prayers of the people.

"UP! UP!" the vendor says to us as Sue and I are still eating our Banana Roti - dough flattened and filled with eggs, banana and condensed milk. "Up up", his hand movement motioning up in the sky. Oh wow, yeah we have to move. We hastily walk in the direction for cover, as I realize it was not a good idea to be possibly sitting underneath a canopy while a lightning storm is happening. Can cause a nasty burn mark if hit. Inside we wait until the rain passes. The Kelantan State is named "the lightning town." I take a breath of rain air and watch puddles reflecting the street lamps. A smooth low throat voice echoes among the building as prayers are about to begin. Waves of voices tranfixes my gaze looking up and around, outward. thinking of another place. Lighting Flashes and Thunder Booms. Arms outstretched on window beams across and above the Mosque, watch the street below of people passerbies running to and fro. Voices and smoke filled talk laugh huddled under the umbrellas kicking the water away from their vendor tent selling clothing and watches. The sound of the rain, the sound of the thunder, the sound of the prayer, I will remember for a long time.

waiting for her wave to come by. A flash of camafloge trips on the sand, speeding horizontally claws up in the air, waiting for her catch. Leaves reaching up into the sun, reaches evermore. Clouds burst their puff from small catches of my hand digging in pillow stuffing and throwing them in the air. My snorkle breathing heavy dreaming on the ocean looks beyond the light green dusty hazy catching a shadow beneath me. I play castle and canteens dripping sand on the moat drip by drip piling high sand towers oozing formations. Organic. I imagine the ant walking through the moat looking for sweets for his friends. I see palm trees swaying like tentacles under the sea reaching out for water. Branches nodding up and down, yes this is nice. Yes this is nice. Nice. Yes. Nice. Thunder boom ming around the mountain top cradling her bosom. Around and around. Yelling her favorite song and his mighty call. Boom. Boom. Watching the waves go by, the tustle of wind touch my hair, soft pecks of water current caress my inner thigh. I gaze at her and I am in Love. Smiling. Nice. Boom. My heartbeat motions my place in Alive Central. Making runways of circulatory matter pump out to the universe. Motion stillness silenced breaths wakes my inner voice to whisper and kiss her cheek. The song of current melodies and crashing waves dripping on the sand and Green Winds.

A fox bat outlined black against the pink sky, darts across. Wings outstretched flies motionless unmoved across the top of the jungle. I am in Malaysia and I still can't believe it. Sounds of nature swirl around me. Low woos and high chirps and insects create an alive mixture of life. The sun high noon is hot. The palm trees offer shade that is very cooling and thankful. The mediative bubble holding my breath on the surface while the ocean waves rock me into my womb. I fall asleep, relaxed. My arms and legs let go. My mind takes me to a globular place. I wake up and smell the sea and taste the salt. My feet touching the white smooth sand. I breath a deep breath, deep and let go my angst, that holds my muscles from life. Prana. Deep prana.

I tread the sand to have my legs wobble to stilted uneven pressures. No entry here. Government Protected. No foot compaction here. I see reminescent tracks of turtle movement against the edge of flora, pushing a tricycle through sand. A covered hole full of eggs. After two months gestating an arm distance underneath the sand, black leathery minature turtles breath the fresh air in search of their new home. Out of 100 eggs are laid. Only 10 survive in their predator infested waters to lick them clean. Some even end up as delicacies in Asian dishes. A dated stick pokes out and to my surprise evenly spaced around the island. An elder guards and watches over the next generation of Green Back Turtles. No electricity here. We arrive at a time of prayer for him. Head bowed to the sunset, his lips move, entranced. His prayer mats swaying in the wind like prayer flags. We wait until he is done. He shows us, an a stryofoam box, little turtles, half the size of my hand, asleep. After three days, their leather backs are hardened Better for survival, we are told around 100 were let loose on the beach last night, the stary stars watching. We wake a few and discover they know where the waves are. Innate homing instincts flop themselves toward their home. A place and a time to wade themselves on this beach and dig their eggs. Her children wades her waves to come back when she is ready.

We leave honored by the experience. It is an honor to meet you and if you could thank him for being here. He smiles at me with an arm movement towards his heart. I bow. Aged by wisdom, his eyes has seen magic. Blue grey eyes smile entranced and his lips still move.

I fetch myself down below. My snorkle and mask on my face. I breath a deep breath and push my fins closer to the green mass below. I settle on the bottom and watch her eat tugging at the sea grass inching herself to the next bite. She looks up, Black piercing eyes meet my gaze. The next moment, she swoops up to take a breath. Its head a leathery mass of golden hues swings down to the light green hazy bottom. Such a marvelous creature on this earth.

of arm movements rowing from the morning wake as fish stands
sell their wares of mussles and oyster alike. People
sitting and waiting in the exhausting heat with glazed
eyes waiting for the sun to pass. Hole teared shirts
and caloused hands and feet and ribbed ribcages kneel
down to watch the passers by. Molten sun scorched
leather aged skin smile tartar stained teeth singing
another tune to gin and water passed around the table.
Nicely pressed shirts and gleaming jewerly eat
silently and remotely from young eyes pressed among
the window, hungry. Billboards radiate new promises
and glossy expressions guaranteeing new worlds to
experience. Sharp glass cemented walls cage
fortresses outlining the landscape and foreign
currencies. Poor neighbors hold hands and sing songs
of festive memories and basketball hoops scoring high
numbers in videoke. Long obscure gazes watch my step
questioning my motives, my background. I smile back
offering prayers of peace. Once they have your
respect and trust they open their house to you, rings
in my head. Small foot by foot displays hand repaired
watches and worn out shoes. Different shades of rice
handed by many hands planted and backache heated
groans. Beautiful colors shine off polished jeepney
and tricycle chrome prides. Pounding sweeps of
gushing water's paddle for roaring seconds of
waterfall sounds. Years of colonial cultural
influence and garbage, affect and neglect resonates in
the ground. Appropiated human rights abandoned and
constricted by greedy politician hands. The promise
of spiritual freedom acidifies the scarred soul and
blinds the eye from human basic needs, food, water and
shelter. Corruption takes hold as they kneel in front
of the Virgin Mary, confused. As one strato signifies
another quo. The bridge widens into a great chasm. I
am here, you are there. And I want to cry. Nervous
tickling stares touch my back and I feel them, aware
and conscious of my bubble, my marble. I look upon
the crowd and feel the hate of my color, my rich
foreign history tearing their land, their culture,
their lives. And I weep. My understanding of my
place in their society makes me feel sad, and try to
understand their hatred. I am conscious as I
constrict myself, my trust, feeling confused. I have
no blame. Only patience in the eye of the storm. And
I question the fathom of being human and the storm of
being human and the suffering of being human of which
this crazy world we live in.

Roaming waves rock the boat and passing lights from cement houses firefly by. We anchorage our line and one by one, our flashlights on, we dump ourselves into the depth of the ocean. A forceful current takes us by surprise as we descend into the shallow grassy, sandy depths. We get our bearings and drift down close to coral wall barely moving our bodies while the current cradles us. Like a conveyer belt, my field of vision walks by night blooming coral feeding on the dust of life. Bacteria light up to the force of my hand in the water as I swish my hand in front of my face and I am reminded of "tinker bell" from peter pan flying by. Ahead I see flashlights scanning the wall like a light structure in front of a new store advertising their grand opening. I am alone in this depth as I turn off my light, for a minute to capture nightfall in the ocean. I glance up to see the piercing moonlight and crystal threaded waves above gleaming as I swim on my back. In the shadows of the coral, I get glimpses of bacteria lights flashing on and off across the city scape like an opal turning its facets against the sun. A nocturnal puffer fish blows up its spines to look like a basketball. We stir ourselves up to the surface and breath the moonlight air. Our peek into the night of the ocean gave a rare look at the contrast of a world we don't see sometimes. Its sleeping right now and the night is awake.

Closer than before their teeth look menacing. Baracuda is a delicacy on the island. We pass more and more different textures and color of coral to be surprised by a globalular shape of a jackfish city. Hundreds and hundreds of 2 foot jackfish swarmed us. With their beady little eyes, all were looking at us. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They closed upon us playing with our bubbles up above, hundreds and hundreds blue silver bodies. Raul, our divemaster, told us a way to attract them. He took out his regulator and mopped and popped his mouth. Soon they came. I felt I wanted to go into the swarm of fish and float with their movements. To be in the middle. I was blown away. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Our current was soon pulling us in the other direction and we all said bye. In the distance, it looked like a moving bubble ever so shifting and hovering near the surface. As big as a whale, or a big rig. The small city was huge. A little while later we saw a turtle swimming in front of us to lose sight into the blue void down below, hundreds and hundreds of feet below. It was one of the best dives I have ever had and one of the most beautiful I have ever experienced.

Motor boats creep by above as I look at the shimmering waves of the sun. I am blown away of the effect water can carry sounds waves. I feel as if the same effect that of airplanes ruin the wilderness experience on land as is the same for motor boats run by above me. And the fish still swim by the hundreds. Close upon inspection are other worlds and universes light by exotic color of bright tourquioses and bright red and blues and light blues and pinks and dark pinks, and dark reds and striped tourquiosed, blue, yellow movement and fish in the distance dance and eat dusty stars in the sea. I look upon the wall above me and see crevices like the ridges of my skin fanned by coral and brain coral and globular communities of fish sticking together with the current. I see light blue speckels of fish down below me like a christmas water bowl and blue confetti shaking. I see microscopic mountain ranges and little blue baby fish eyes hiding behind the tree like coral fanning out five feet. In the distance I see flashes of baracuda five feet in length schooling their own tails round and round and playing follow the leader. I wake up on the bed to find myself still rocking back and forth on the wave. I gaze into the eyes of an old fisherman cataract blue gray eyes from the sea. He is the sea. "Which direction is the current going today?" he asks a local friend fisherman in the water with his line looking for fish. "That way." We started at one spot and drift towards the other. I fly across the top of the coral wall looking down at Suzanne thirty feet below, arms outstretched, I am my own hovercraft. My breath and bubbles across my ear echoes the sound of my heartbeating when I was born. And I fly some more.

Different thickness of flowing organic forms weave different growing states of the small dillis (tagalog name for small fried fish, taste like flakes you have with rice and chili vinegar, oh so yum). Its a slight "snow" dust storm floating everywhere and the fish feed on. Below me, I see quick movements of shiny blue color flicker. Hundreds of jackfish are on a highway close to the coral wall opening their wide mouths to filter feed on the small microscopic organisms. Groups of blue and yellow and shiny silver bands sporadically wade the current looking at me slowly moving their bodies scoping out their neighborhood. Jagged formations fan out the edge of the coral muted by color up above only to hold my breath and see a closer contrast of the rainbow. I look around behind me, opposite the wall, into the incomprensable deep blue penetrating vagueness depth of the ocean. I see into the space and vastness and catch glimmers of movement rushing by. I rush up to the surface to breath fresh air realizing my incapacity to be with the world under the ocean. To swim freely like them. I meditate, arms outstretched, breathing in and out, floating on the surface looking, waiting. Three hundred schooling fish float by on the bottom not moving, nesting their warm cushion watching, waiting. I breath a deep sigh in and out and hold my breath to get a closer look. Eyes swarm themselves and their tails concealing their lone identities. Grouped by instinct and trickery to survive other threatening fish hungry for food. I float by moving with the current strong and delicate to the touch. Long snouted surface swimmers watch me as I remind myself to watch my whole vision. A lone Baracuda is more threatening than a school, as I cover my silver ring on my finger. Luckily it swam away uninterested. I wade back through the coral in low tide weaving through the maze so not to touch the intricate finite life of the coral. A couple of hours before sundown the light is starting to cycle and change their beautiful hues. My knees walk on the polished broken pieces of the beach and Suzanne is there waiting for me with a big smile. I take in the scene and will remember this moment for a long time. We watch the sunset as I lay on the loose coral beach savoring the colors, the sound of the waves, the small tug of rope on the boat nearby, and of birds behind us in the trees singing their song. We watch the waves above us moving like a snail changing its skin to match its mood. Romantic and dreamy pinks, and dark grays forming watercolor brush strokes and chalky powder died pink dipped into water, swirling. The last hues drifted and faded away and the sound of the ocean waves.

Around 1,000 people live on the island of Balicasag (crab shell), 14 hectares, 1 hr to walk the circumference. Everyone knows everybody. Every one is related from distant generations. Owned by the government as a marine sanctuary, no one can build a resort here. "Its an honor to stay on your land." I have never been on such a small island before. This is the slow season now and the high tide and winds picks up and mellows out around December for vacationers from winter seasons take a break. Next month in July they celebrate a two day festival in the honor of the local patron, Saint James. The atmosphere is completely different here. No buses, no motorcycles, no cars, no big skyscrapers, no pollution, no loud noise (maybe karaoke nights), the place is guarded by the saint of peacefulness.
Sitting on the coral sand as waves hit my legs, I look for diamonds in the sky. Perfect blends of brown and beige and pink and dark blue and lite green, and black and hazy edges and tactile curves follow my fingers over shells and coral that were alive breathing in and out of the sea filtering its gift of life to give life and offer life ages ago. This island is very sacred. I walk among one of them, on this island offering my thanks and respects to honor those who have lived here before and the lifestyles here before. This place is a place of marine sanctuary and probably the best in the world, or one of the last places, to experience untouched coral, land.
Bangka boats line the coral white sands. Fishermen wake up early in the sunrise to catch local fish with their lines in their hands as they peer into the sea with their masks A yell is heard across the wade from a lift of a huge 4ft baracuda from a small boat. A smile as wide as the waves thanks the current. There's going to be good dinner tonight for them. Palm trees rustle their song of wind stories and wave jokes. Small children play with sandcastles and yell and shout and laughter with each other.

Today was only our second day of diving, we dove to
max 75 feet for about 30 min and went shallow to 20
feet for 20 minutes for safety stop. Nolen was close
to running out of air coz he hadn't still figured out
how much weight to wear. Nolen went back to the boat
and I stayed down at 20 feet for another 30 minutes to
finish my tank. Much of the beautiful soft/hard
corals, pretty fish are shallow water anyway so I
bummed around the reef.

I finally finished my tank and went back in the boat.
I found Nolen conversing with the boat crew about
where the nearest videoke was. He found out that the
boat driver owned a sari-sari store up the main road
so we'll likely do videoke tonight.

I rinsed with fresh water and joined in the
conversation. We were telling stories to the boat
crew about our excursion in Donsol, Sorsogon with
Uncle Perfing and Tita May roaming about on a
catamaran for 3 hours searching for a whale shark.
(they call them "butanding") Whale sharks gather in
large numbers in Donsol within the months of March and
April, and there is 100% guaranteed sighting, but June
was a crapshoot. Needless to say, we didn't see one -
till today!

So, as we were telling the story - the boat driver,
looking over the boat yelled, "butanding"! We thought
he was kidding but I also was looking the same
direction he was and yep - there was one in the water.
It slowly brushed up against the boat! It was small, about
10 feet but there was no mistake...it was darkgray
with white spots on it. After the millisecond
of shock, I scurried to find my mask,
found it, put the thing on and jumped in the water.
My heart was pounding so fast from the excitement,
I almost forgot to swim! I swam over to the
edge of the catamaran and peeked in the water. I
thought, "holy shit! this is one big fish!" I
looked over to find Nolen and found him about 15
meters away from the boat towards the whale shark.
He said it swam away BUT it turned back around and
swam towards Nolen. I saw it turning around. Nolen
said when it came around it was full frontal with its
mouth opening and closing so he swam aside to make way
for it. Even though it didn't have teeth, I dont think anyone should be in the way of anything that has the word "shark" associated with it. The whole interaction probably lasted less than 5 minutes.
It swam into deeper water and we were sad to see it go. We were high from the excitement for the entire rest of the day! Even the rest of the divers were disappointed to hear that they missed out on seeing it because they were actually still underwater during the time we saw it. They were totally bummed out.

Unfortunately June is the end of the peak season. We took a boat ride the next morning and did not see any but that was okay because we crashed a huge birthday party for the hotel manager the night before. This karaoke machine was loud that echoed in the distance. Thirty local fishermen and friends from all over sat around tables drinking the local drink. Sugar Cane Gin. At 80 proof this stuff is pretty good.
We arrived unexpectdly and so when we were trying to get a room for the night, a man motioned me to come over and have a drink. Luckily Tito Perfecto and I drank a small 3/4 bottle singin a couple of nights before at Sangan Beach telling stories and singing so I knew what I was tasting. After the chug, I looked up and saw many smiles. ahhhh there going to be some karaoke singing tonight! We ate a hardy meal, relaxed a bit and then Tito and I sat at a table with around 5 or 6 people and the bottle went around and around and around. The entire time it is hot. Very hot. I was sweating so much that I was glad to not get a hangover the next day. I punched in my numbers for the karaoke machine after looking at the long list. Then I sang, in front of 30 or so people! HOly NOlee! A bit of panicked sprang into me right before the first word then it all flowed. Wish YOu Were Here, by Pink FLoyd. The performance was grand. Memories came rushing by as I was transported in the college days in the apartments singing the same song. It was an amazing feeling when I sang the second line people started clapping. wow. At the end I got a 97! (the machine scores you.) By the end of my song, the bottle was already in front of me. The second song? Walking on the Moon, by THe Police. Ahh. .. more Karaoke moments. My last song, What a WOnderful World, by Louie Armstrong. I have actually trained my voice to sound like a bit of Louie. After that night I relished the time of singing among some friends and drinking some good drink.

The cook scooped a ladel of pork stew on one hand and an empty bowl in the other and gestured if I wanted some. He scooped a bowlful and gave it to Nolen.
He stepped back from the bar and said, “I know German!”. I thought, well – the only German I knew was “Ish-libe-dich” so I said that to him. He laughed and I think I might have embarrassed him coz I said “I love you!” in German. Gramps to the left of us, still laughing and in near tears. His laugh must`ve been contagious because at this point, everyone was in hysterics. We sensed that the cook was frustrated at this point and every time he muttered to himself, the crowd laughed louder and we had no clue what the funny was. I guess it must have been us.

A woman sitting next to Nolen attempted to help us and asked, “you like Japanese food?” “Yes.” Nolen replied. From the look of the place and the expressions on the peoples` faces we were probably the only foreigners that have eaten there in a long time. This intimate setting, the constant laughter and smiles felt genuine.

“Its about time we got laughed at.” Nolen said. We both enjoyed our meal pointing to the different dishes in front of us. The cook`s wife brought over a bowl and gestured to put this spice on our rice. All of our non-verbal communication was a great way to understand their culture. The handmade spice we put on our rice was amazing. A variety of fish flakes, seaweed, and pepper, we felt invited into their personal space and welcomed into their home.

Just about when we were finished, four young men came in looking for a couple of seats. The look on their faces to see a two foreigners in their local hangout was a time to remember. Their faces were filled with shock and more laughter went into the air. We both sat up ready to pay our bill and gramps had a huge smile on his face, “Nice guy.” was all he said and we all laughed. Culture differences bring all sorts embarrassment. These moments were a great way to understand another culture in its most unique and beautiful way.

lots of people were either sleeping or didledadling on their cell phones, or plain zoning after a rough day of work. Talking with Ez about the culture he talks about how they don`t get paid for the amount of work they do especially with overtime work and the amount of vacation time they get. Sue can tell of the discomfort lots of women have wearing high heel shoes everywhere they go. The bright lights and big city was a sight to see at the expense of people working so hard to make it all happen.

Almost out of every corner, my big body frame (compared to the short world of Japan) got ran over! I couldn`t believe it. Small natural gas powered mobile carts carried boxes and fish and boxes and yep, more fish. Hustling and bustling to their next destination, the ant colony was so organized. Almost none had a moment for a break. There were holding tanks, refrigeration/oxygen tanks, cutting boards, stacks and stacks of stryofoam boxes and crates and people and yelling and shouting and hauling and moving and running and loading and unloading and smoking and laughing and sweating and cutting and gutting and waiting and washing and it was a bit smelly. I looked around to get a glimpse to what it would have been like in the old days if this machinery did not exist. Nothing has changed. The people (all men) shared a commaradery and were proud to what they did. The fast, monotone pace of words grabbed my attention and I glanced over to what I saw, an auction.
Rows and rows of men garbed in dark blue overalls and rubber boots and hats with plastic pins of different numbers and symbols were sitting on a small tennis platform listening to the auctioneer. Slow movements of hands and facial expressions carried thousands of dollars back and forth like volleyball. I was captivated. Literally, hundreds of blue fin tuna twice the size of Sue lined the warehouse. We were told that each can go for 200,000 yen ($20,000) or more for each one. Mostly all of the tuna (maguro) were liquid nitrogenated before they got on shore. Huge blocks were being cut up like wood and marked and ready to be shipped. Each block was numbered and weighed - I saw a number, 250kg! Everything here is extremely organized.
Our bellies lead us to another part of the market, the sushi market. We happen to serendeptiously come across a famous hole-in-the-wall sushi bar called `Sushi Day.` Their entire menu is fresh from the day`s catch and it was soooo good. Talk about sushi. wow. Sue and I were in heaven. The local mackerel was the best. Butter from the sea. The wasabi was fresh root, not powdered, and the ginger not colored, pickled fresh.
We zig zagged our way back coming across numerous booths from selling top of the line sushi knives, to pickled vegetables, fresh fish flakes, rubber boots wool socks, you name it. The next time I eat sushi I have a greater respect for the amount of work that is involved. The Tsukiji Fish Market will be open at 3 am in the morn again , bright and early.

There are only around 1,000 Geisha`s in all of Japan. And which reminds me I have a great story for you. We were completely lost. (Not the first time) We had our maps out looking around for directions to see a Geisha theater performance. The sun was out and it was that type of wind and afternoon breeze that was perfect. We went towards a small park and happen to notice a bunch of artists drawing. What a great scene people relaxing and drawing. Across the way, on a small stone bridge, were two young apprentice geisha`s - Miako`s elegantly dressed with the most colorful hibiscus kimonos. The hair piece, white make up and red lipstick and the most elegant movements of the hands, the way they walked, against the backdrop of black and brown drab colors around, these people were shining. Sue and I had to take a picture with them. Of course I towered over them. Amazing. Well, we took out our map and ask here where the Geisha performance was. She gave us the directions and we bowed respectively. After a couple of moments we had a huge laugh. We couldn`t believe what just happened. Talk about random moment. Asking directions to a Geisha theater from a Geisha. It was a small thing but the moment was sure surreal. We made it just barely in time to make it to the performance. The dance and movements with Irises and umbrellas. There were at least 15 Geishas on stage singing with live music, truly an awe experience.

As the apples orchard begins to grow, the farmers actually put plastic around the apple creating a small green house for each apple. I heard they are gigantic and taste amazing and they do not use any pesticides. The groceries are filled with packaging, each orange has plastic around them, but the smell of the organge is nothing like the states. wow.
The entire hill underneath of Asama Onsen is rushing with hot mineral water. During the winter the road does not freeze over. People from all over Japan are known to visit the baths to heal their sore worked bodies. Every 500 meters or so there are free local baths for the neighborhood. Small winding street, florescent lighting and an occasional bike rider makes you feel the solitude of the place.
A small shrine gets your attention that are squeezed between two houses. Putting a small 5 yen token (good luck coin) in the shrine box, bowing twice, clapping your hands twice and ringing the huge bell above awakens the diety and gives you good luck. There are good luck notes to tie on a tree or string nearby if you don't like the fortune you have and make it flow in the wind. During exam time lots of people go to the shrines and temples to offer their respects.
Random vending machinge lights the road with Green tea, coffee, cigarettes (amazingly cheap $3.00) and beer. You have a party on the road. And drinking is okay on the road anywhere. But not drunk driving of any kind. Breath analyzers everywhere. They have a great system of having a sober person drive your car home while you are passed out in the passenger seat and while they have their co-worker driving behind them in another car, to go to the next pick up. MMm...good business idea. Walking in the night. . .

I think the only way to post a poem is to make a comment and then I will transfer the poem onto the page. THanks