It’s taken too long. Everyone thinks that when it’s over you can just move on with your life. Pick up the pieces and continue where you left off. But we started the race halfway through and already behind. It was never a matter of “Can I finish first?” It was a question of “Can I finish at all?” Because, though removed from the immediate atmosphere and no longer beholden to its tasks, we are still trapped making laps around the same track. We were in the trenches too long and we wore down the path so thoroughly with the catatonic motion of our trudging that we are bound in its perpetual cycle. The constant addiction, the compulsion to consume during the entirety of our waking eats away at us in return. Whatever the medium from which it originated, full of good intentions of high retention, it has stymied the tide of outward production. Not completely, for there are some able to retain or retrain the wandering of their minds. Yet it is plain to see that the automatic and conditioned response is to consume information.
For so long that was the important skill: the ability to jam seemingly impossible amounts of information into my brain in as little as time possible so there was a hope for sleep that night. From lectures to tests to studying: even the homework and essays were less about output than they were another tool to gather information on a previously murky view of the topic. Now it seems like I can go on and on putting things in my head (from suitably decent pursuits such as further study or reading, to the more time sucking and guilt-inducing unnecessary binges on Facebook, tumblr, movies, etc.) but I can hardly let my consciousness wander for more than a few spans of time before becoming bored, drowsy, or completely empty. And that’s terrifying: the fact that sometimes when I look inside myself for some idea to spring from, even some chasm to try and build a bridge over, I’m assaulted by nothingness. I’m pressed flat, two-dimensionally, until I can’t even be bothered to care and I begin some mundane task to obligingly fill the time. The “skill” of input has been so carefully developed over this lifetime; does that mean it will take me another lifetime to un-learn it? How long again after that until I can be not just three-dimensional and whole, but press forward and break that fourth wall? What have we come to that sometimes I couldn’t care less about originality or creativity and would not only settle but be elated by any sort of production at all?
Disclaimer: I really don't like taking pictures of myself (as you can see from other posts, I much rather taking pictures of nature and things I find unique). This is done purely out of request for a friend I couldn't say "no" to (though if Leggers ever sees this she'll either weep or laugh at my comical attempt at a "fashion" post since she has so much style and a steller photographer). (This post is ridiculous ><; )
At any-rate, here's a compilation of the things I wear to work (and a business formal shot for the conference I attended):
The girls are fascinated with "fish braids"
My students said I looked "country" in this ^^;; maybe they meant "Country Lolita"?
forest exploration day!
the "Ashley used a hair dryer" edition
the "I may be a lumberjack but I am still not a morning person" edition
...but with slight attempts at hair...
I love these green pants haha
twisty-updo stuff
...let's put a little more creepy stare in the picture...
apparently the fluorescent lighting on wet hair = blonde streaks?
weekend fare
twisty stuff
Night out in Sapporo
Work Conference in Sapporo (my students so tell me I remind them of Hermione, I can't imagine why...)
The 80's called...
LOVE this sweater (and green pants again haha)
this week had a lot of button-ups and sweaters...
Look! another button-up and sweater!
And again (plus bonus!green pants)!
why does this look like I'm trying to be a doctor...?
adventure tunic!
sooooo sleeeeepy
Oh, I'm a Legionnaire...
huh, with ambitious braided bun I don't remember...
happy cracked-rib corset fun times~
the 90's called...
I was on a secret spy thieving mission that day >___>
haha I wear the fisherman sweater with the green pants a lot
aweful lighting, haha
and apparently I didn't like my hair up that day haha
So, I have about five shirts, three sweaters, three cardigans, and three pairs of pants I wear constantly ^^;;
(This was the running theme-song I couldn't seem to get out of my head or stop singing throughout the ever varied experiences)
A train, two planes, a taxi, a bus, a boat and over 30 hours of travel later, our traveler arrived on the island of Koh Samui on Christmas day to be reunited with an old friend and acquainted with a new one. She was ready for adventure, ready to get lost in a new world, and was happy to be with like-minded souls. She’d been stuck in a familiar place and was in dire need for the change. Summer sun and sandy beaches were not her usual desired destination, but it made the holiday even more necessary. And so it was with eyes wide open that she sought to feel and understand everything:
...its bearings on Cair Paravel...
Day 1 Thursday, December 26th
With little more design or forethought than
“to see and experience”, there was an unfortunate lack in decisive action
throughout the trip starting even on day one. Be that as it may, the travelers
headed off to see the sights and experience the culture.
They never ascertained the validity of this claim, wanting more conviction in their frozen food fare
White-Eyes Green Dragon (take that, Yugi boy~)
(the illusive traveler, herself, caught on film...)
Through very good intentions of exploration
that night, they sadly wandered quite literally for hours down the main road of
the island first for food and then further in still for something occupy them. After
at least finding ice cream (maybe even better than probably the best ice cream
on Samui) to satisfy their unspoken goal, they used their white flag of defeat
to flag down a taxi and return them to the “home” (where they promptly broke
the pool’s curfew as an act of defiance to their hitherto uneventful night).
Day 2 Friday, December 27th
What better for a healing rib and a fractured temper than morning yoga by the ocean with your friends? Though one chose to stay behind, the other three started the 20 minute trek up the island with eagerness. The guest-house/studio was built on the side of the gentle slope towards the water, with a open sided pavilion at the beach. She was delighted to see the mix of advanced and beginner students gathering, and soon felt her body relax into the familiar calm she hadn't been able to achieve recently. After over an hour of stretching, breathing, balancing, and being, our traveler and her companions headed back home with the satisfaction of a cat.
After collecting their fourth member, it was off to hike some waterfalls!
"The rock and pool, is nice and cool..."
This evening (being their last on Ko Samui,) was planned prior to departure this time, and so they managed to hit the various desired locations and make it back home with enough time to get a good night’s rest.
Day 3 Saturday, December 28th
Last looks from their bungalow on Samui
'twas a nice place~
A day of travel and reunions, the four set off from Ko Samui to Ko Pangnan. After a brief perusal of their surroundings, they lounged around (and even had hammock naps!) until the remaining four arrived (from their own bus-to-boat travel experience from Bangkok started at 6am as our travelers had on the 25th). After an excited reunion and dinner, the team broke off to their own desired path. And will wonders never cease, she voluntarily went with the beach dancing group, and was surprised how fun it was.
Day 4 Sunday, December 29th
No pictures for today as the majority of it was spent wave jumping in the ocean. As “beach day”, while synonymous with relaxing and tanning to some people, equates to “battling the tide” in her book. The usual beach activities of burying people, sand sculptures, and search parties ensued. That night, she learned the delightful tactic of warding of overly-beveraged and personal-space encroaching (yet non-threatening) Brits by discussing the injustice Mr. Bates suffered in Downton Abbey (which was honestly not brought up on her own).
Day 5 Monday, December 30th
Another morning full of decisive plan
making (though with an odd atmosphere prevailing among the group making them
more contemplative than of late): The Waterfall: In Which Silence—
The Chinese Temple: In Which Her Tendency to Photograph at Odd Angles Was Exposed
Or
In Which There are Many Doors and Stairs
Ko Ma Sandbar Island: In Which She
Scampered Up More Rocks
The evening escaped them all and unraveled in a frayed sense of discontentment and anticipation of the following eve.
Day 6 Tuesday, December 31st
With the final full day dawning around them—they slept. This was mostly put off as preparations for the late night they were expecting to make of that evening, yet she herself hadn’t gotten more than 6 hours rest any night thus far. And so after their lazy start, it was executively decided by a few prevailing minds to take a hike. A real hike. They found their way to the head of the Green Dot Trail, with decreasing concern for the veiled complaints being wielded their way. After a blessed hour of stepping lightly and carefully up the twisted and shifting path, they made it to the look out.
There was barely a ledge holding her back from the vastness of the sky before her and the forest below. She so wanted to stay up there and let the others (seeming determined to trek on just for the sake of “getting it over”) leave her behind. And though her sentiment was shared by a few, they continued on down to the “secret beach”. They went another hour through a forest where practically every few feet her neck was craning to see some new wonder from all perspectives: trees with rope-like roots grappling over the path and down the cliff sides, boulders forming fantastic cairns perfect for dozing and reading an afternoon away upon, a canopy of limbs and vines coursing to and from unknown sources or destinations. Yet, in the interest of team play, she soldiered on with the others, inscribing as much as possible to memory (as there was no time to pull out her camera to take proper pictures).
After a brief foray in the much stronger tides of the secret beach (in which even she felt was like a washing machine at times) and a death defying truck-bed ride up and down dirt roads on cliff edges (which re-bruised her rib in a way that tidal crashes and mountain climbing couldn’t manage), the team split off to prepare for the evening. And having formed the dynamic pair with another one of their troupe who found the lack of decisiveness at its peak, they rapidly made over five decisions in fewer minutes, booked massages for them and the others, bought necessary supplies for the evening, and found and ate delicious Indian food. (Much efficiency)
Following the evening along in summation:
all were drawn with the battle paint of their people (with Canadian flags,
flowers, and unicorns abounding), rallying points and times were established,
flower crowns were donned, and they set out to the beach barely 15 minutes
before the turning of the hourglass. Fireworks were seen, spontaneous dancing
ensued, rendezvous’ accomplished, and even a 4:00am nacho and pizza run. Though she enjoyed her time with her friends, she couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that their last night together (New Year’s Eve and all the trimmings) was shared with the stumbling, shouting, grabbing horde of inebriated in attendance at the beach. She’d expected it, but it always made her sorrowful in those situations to see.
Day 7 Wednesday, January 1st
last looks at the hammocked bungalos...
...and Jasper, named by and reading companion to our traveler
A sad day, with too short goodbyes. From ferry, to taxi, plane, another taxi, and then some wandering, the two weary travelers returned to the start, Bangkok, and crashed at their hostel after midnight.
Samui airport is an open-air lounge with complementary tea and snacks
Departure Day Thursday, January 2nd
One blessed shower and sports update later (It’s good to wake up and smell the Roses~), the travelers shouldered their packs and finished wandering the city for a few hours to settled in at the airport for their evening flight to Shanghai (and the thirteen hour layover awaiting them…).
The next day, it was back on a plane home—Hokkaido bound and missing her other companions while being envious of their continued adventures together in Thailand and then Cambodia (pure selfishness, really~). All things told it was a satisfying and growing experience; perfect for a first time excursion in a non-North American country whose language she didn’t have a basic understanding of. While she still struggles with the conundrum travel presents to her (self-serving amusement and indulgence vs. experiential growth and inspiration), she feels confident that this trip won’t be the last in her self-appointed task of wandering~
(By the end of the trip, this song was playing as often as the previous anthem)
"I gathered my thoughts and set out on a trail, into the woods wearing sword and chain-mail; I started to whistle and walk to the beat that my heart plays constantly on repeat..."
