a weight off your shoulders

A friend is creating art. She is a wonderful artist in so many ways, and so, I am asking for your help in assisting her. What you need is a secret, a postcard-sized piece of paper (postcards work well for this purpose), and the stuff that goes along with sending postcards - a pen, a stamp, glitter. You know. Unburden your soul, make it look pretty, and send it to her. You can check out the original entry to get ahold of her. Thanks from her and me! Also, for some interesting confessions, go see Postsecret.

indonesia in a nutshell roughly the size of an island nation

I left Taiwan for Indonesia the night after my first attempt at direction of an Xtreme play, which really didn't need any direction, I had a great cast. A fun Christmas leaving, that was for certain. This being my first travel experience alone, I was excited for the possibilities. And they came. Within two hours of landing, I had made my first friend, Rizal, who was a couple of years younger than me, and was eating delicious sate (aka satay), a plateful of which could be bought for about $1CDN, and drinking avocado smoothies. I also met Charles, whom I sat up with until 3 am, chatting, smoking, and drinking with. Indonesian people are, without a doubt, the friendliest people I have ever met in the world.

Jakarta was...interesting. A little big for me, and for exploring, really. Well, when you're carrying a large backpack, anyway. I did see a couple of sights, including a metric tonne of barbed wire and the third largest mosque in the world. One quickly adjusts to the call to prayer, but as the first tones of Allah u Akbar, Allah u Akbar ring out over the cityscape, you cannot escape the fact that you are a foreigner in this country, despite the welcome you may receive and the friendliness the people exude. And with all the calls to be included in a photograph I received, that was a lot of amity.

A night train brought me to Yogyakarta (pronounced Jojakarta) in Central Java, in time for me to wander around town (a personal town greeting I've taken to) with time to catch the sunrise and watch the city wake up. I ended up down along a river, wandering amongst the dwellings of the folk of the country, in the best sense of the word. Giant families in tiny quarters, bird cages, food preparation, wells, communal toilets... This was my first visit to a third-world country, and my first experience of the side not presented to, and not often seen by, tourists. Wow. I got the feeling that many eyes gazing on me had not seen many, if any, foreigners before, especially in their neighbourhood. My own eyes saw such raw beauty and happiness here and in other places that it made later events even harder to swallow. Many Indonesians, like other cultures I've read about and experienced, are fiercely proud of what they have, because sometimes it isn't much. Living in Taiwan and experience the difference in attitude between here and there and talking with those here has brought truth to the observation that as money comes, happiness drops.

My time in Yogya was a real experience of Indonesian culture at its best. Jakarta is a typical international city - they all look the same, really - and Bali is a tourist pull. I saw a Hindu dance that was centuries old, explaining so many personalities in the religion's mythology, explained in a wonderfully complex story and a rainbow of costume. It was performed at the accompanying Hindu temple (Prambanan) that dates back over a millenium itself - 1200 years, with accompanying hand-carved statues. I saw Borobudur, the age-matched Buddist temple not far away, deemed one of the top Buddhist temples in the world. It is actually one of the Forgotten Ancient Wonders of the World. Unsurprising, once you've stood in its silent shadow, misty mountains offering their comfort through strength behind.

Batik, the local art form, which some of you received as a kaleidoscope of a present for Christmas, was everywhere. One could easily watch its creation, which is a neat process involving wax and dye and time and creativeness. And galleries everywhere, a sale on, TODAY ONLY, JUST FOR YOU, a cultural peg in and of themselves. I saw a fashion show, almost the height of right place/right time meetings (there was a later incident which beat it) - one person telling me to see the Princess' palace during a tour of a different palace, another person offering to show me where it was, and later sneaking me into a closed event (the Elite Model Fashion Show), my meeting of a judge for the show, who showed me and bade me eat free food, then inviting me to sit with his family. Puppet shows (shadow (wayang kulit) and the more solid type (wayand golek)).

People everywhere. In the markets, I became a bargainer extraordinaire, with its accompanying moral morass (it's all so cheap, will the difference I'm arguing for make that much of a difference to me?), acquiring a djembe drum, clothing, batik, and more. I met students who asked me to come to their English class, which I did for a couple of hours, driving through the pouring rains (it was the rainy season, lending rain to my experience every day) on the back of a motorcycle whose driver's helmet read DANGER Death To The Competition. Some places were blissfully quiet and empty, such as the trip up Mt. Merapi, an active volcano, with a couple of other guys and a guide named Superman. Such views have not been seen with these eyes (see the pictures).

And then the earthquake. I was actually unaware of it for a couple of days, being on a mountain in East Java, a couple of thousand kilometers away from the epicentre, but that did not stop the effect from being seen. Flags at half mast for the rest of my trip, groups setting up tents, spending all their waking ours collecting donations for the victims, the number of which increased daily. I didn't even see any moving images (they covered the print, though) until I was on the plane home the following Friday. And I wept. To see these horrible occurrences affecting these wonderful, inspiring people... I ask of you, as someone who has been in that country, though it has been five weeks and the stories have slid off of the front page, don't forget these people. They need your help and mine, and they are still there, whether you turn off the TV or not. Even in Taiwan, it's easy to forget about them, but knowing these people, having friends who experienced a tsunami in the water, friends of friends who are still missing... we share this earth together.

Though a bit of a cloud hung over the rest of the trip, I still managed to keep on and enjoy what I saw. Another active volcano in East Java. A cultural performance by children in Bandung. A local bus ride, full of surprises, music, and the sale of almost anything you wouldn't expect on a bus (knives, sauces, school supplies, books, toys, pipes...) A botanical garden (Fun Fact: Indonesia is the world's leading producer of nutmeg!) with a spider as big as my hand - close up, indeed - and the legendary Corpse Flower (wasn't in bloom then, though). A tour of a neighbourhood by a local wonderful person who'd traveled the world (hi Mul!) and come home. Skating at the largest skating rink in SE Asia - who needs cold weather to skate? - an opportunity provide by the same wonderful person.

The last two things in this mini-essay are the people and the food of Indonesia. I ate at restaurants maybe three times the whole trip. Why? Well, living in Taiwan has rid me of street-eating cautions, and these local warungs (little restaurants) and carts offer the best food and are a rich collection of interesting people. Everyone was friendly, angle or not, and everything I ate was delicious, be it sate, an entire deep-fried bird that I ate with my hands, or the avocado juice I drank at any opportunity. The children were always chasing me, asking to have their picture taken, or loving the fact that a 'bu le' was around them, interested in them, in their neighbourhood. A digital camera was priceless - to see themselves tickled these kids endlessly, regardless of age. I sat with people who didn't speak English, sharing tea, soup, cigarettes, beer, whatever, and re-discovered that language is only a barrier if you let it be.

What can I say to wrap all this up? There is a whole world out there waiting for you. What an age we live in, when everything you thought you knew is wrong. I hope to continue to give you a small window into something so different you can't imagine it until you're there. I couldn't. And once you're there, your imagination is the limit of what you can experience. Learn it, live it, love it.

visitors are like clock thieves

They steal your time. Like mad.

I don't really need a post to tell you I've found myself on hiatus as of late, due to a trip to Boracai combined with a visit from a friend back home (my first!), combined with a new girl, combined with the realization, thanks to the friend and girl, of how very different I am, and trying to piece out what happened to my old skin, as a friend recently put it. If you're looking for something to read while I'm not here, check out said friend's new blog. Frankly, I'm jealous, as I won't be able to steal her ideas lock, stock, and barrel and make them sound like my own wonderous creations anymore. Being original is hard and time-consuming, people.

Incidentally, having your brother and your best friend of countless years together creates a maelstrom that will never, ever end up in your favour. Ever. The memories, still fresh, continue to draw tears. I'm a sensitive soul suffering here.

two losers in coolville

It's the end of a small era.

The past two weeks have been a rag-tag collection of memories, lighted salted with sleep, and drowned in fun and beer.

To keep it light on details, there were many, many 4 am nights in the past two weeks, up late with either my brother, my best friend, or this girl, or a combination of the three. Or more people. We've waxed poetic, been up KTV'ing (karaoke with your own private room, for those who haven't experienced it. It's an experience. Generally a loud one), drunkenly meandering through the streets of Manila (that was the two of them, not me), and/or packing memories in a suitcase. I've been to the airport here in Kaohsiung before 7 am four times in the past three weeks to see off people that I love (or travel myself).

The major occasion was my best friend Michael. Michael is, in all senses of the word, my best man (and will be when this tired old horse gets hitched up, whenever that may be). We've been friends for nearly half our lives, and singing together for nearly as long. He's inspired me, encouraged me, helped me, laughed with me, and done about every other positive verb you can think of with me or to me. We've built our own little house of stories, inside jokes, and experiences, and cemented it all together over a foundation of really caring for each other. We've seen and done a lot together, which is why I knew, when he pledged to come visit me if I stayed out here for more than a year, that he would follow through on it. I was very fortunate - a lot of people are lucky to get some family out (it is a long trip to a very foreign place), and I got my best friend out here. Everyone who met him loved him (why wouldn't they?), and I tried to show him my home as much as possible. Foreign meals, foreign markets, foreign experiences, and lots of pictures.

Having him here also made me deal with the realization of my own change, which was weird. We were sitting in one of my favourite restaurants last week, and he wanted a picture of it. I actually questioned it, and it took a minute for me to realize that this was not how the rest of the world lives, this isn't how Michael goes about his everyday life. It's easy to get lost in yourself here.

However, his visit also reminded me of that bond that close friends have. Michael and I have our common geek, one that is awoken by the presence of the other, even if the feeling has laid dormant for some time - barbershop singing. We are only two parts out of four, which makes us, as Michael so eloquently termed it, just two losers in coolville. But man, can that guy sing.

He left this morning, after a beautiful stint of post-Chinese New Year weather. After months of no rain, the sky opened up last night, and the heavens cried at his exit.

And a free picture from Boracay.