Presence

So, the picture below is certainly not the most flattering picture ever taken, but I'm pretty certain it captures one of the happiest moments of my entire life. Peter and I were messing around with the camera, and he told me to start jumping up and down. The whole thing felt so silly, especially since he kept telling me to spread my arms out, and I was giggling uncontrollably. I think my face was about to split wide open with the power of the grin on my face (you can click on the picture to enlarge it if you reeeeeally wanna see it in detail....which you probably don't...):



That whole week in Bali was so unusual for me, because I think it was the first time in my entire life that I was able to just be in the present moment--not fretting over the future or thinking about the various pressing concerns that are plaguing me at the moment. I literally left them behind in Thailand, and I've never been able to do that before.

Bali has no interest in worry. Worry is utterly incapable of breeding there. Should a worry arise, it is lazily carried away by a salty breeze to join the mosaic of kites that pepper the sky there. The ground there is littered with offerings. People make them twice a day--banana leaves folded into squares and filled with flowers, incense, Ritz crackers, prayers. They're placed in a variety of spots--on steps, on the sidewalk, in the middle of the street, in tree branches. Everyone stops to reflect and give thanks, and while no one in Bali even begins to produce what can pass as a bustle, these little brief retreats bring everyone into the present moment. The present moment is alive and well in Bali.

When Peter and I went on a bike tour, our guide told us that everyone in Bali (it being the only Hindu country in the archipelago of Indonesia) believes strongly in Karma. People are genuinely good to each other. There's a gentleness that pervades and persists and any sort of negativity just gets absorbed and diminished, like water disappearing into terraced rice paddies.

Even the stray dogs were amazing. They were happy and looked well-fed and their tails were wagging and they looked significantly less tragic and weary than the strays in Bangkok. There was one particular stray dog named Cocoa (or rather, that's what I named him) who followed Peter and me around Ubud (a fabulous town filled with artists and mountain air) for pretty much the entirety of our time there. I would regress to the age of five whenever I would see this dog. I would coo to him and tell him what a widdle pweshious weshious he was, and he would wag his tail and look up at me with his sad little eyes and protect us from other stray dogs (and hide behind us when other stray dogs came after him). Peter had had enough of Cocoa by the time our last day rolled around, but he managed to find some "I heart Bali dogs" stickers for me and chuckled that I was clearly among kindred spirits in Bali.

So, yes. I was quite possibly the happiest I've ever been in my entire life in Bali. The fact that I was there with the love of my life (who spent every minute of his time making me feel perfect and pretty and like I'm the best thing since sliced bread) turned Bali into a perfect paradise.

Chang

Bali was BEYOND amazing. It is possibly the most magical place in this wonderful world. The series of posts about it will begin tomorrow! Today, as I dust off the cobwebs and try to shake the Balinese dreaminess out of my head (but not completely), I have a story about Chang.

Chang, as I mentioned before, was a gift from my friends B. and C. His role is to travel around the world and be photographed in various exotic locales (a la Flat Stanley, the Flatmistress, and other similarly fun companions).

Here he is in Cambodia:



He's a cute little patchwork elephant that can strike many different poses and is rather photogenic. We toted him with us all over Bali, and had a blast taking pictures of him in front of a gigantic volcano, balancing on the stone head of a mythical creature, and sitting on our shoulders as we stood in front of pastel sunsets.

On our last day in Bali we wandered over to the Sacred Monkey Forest--a stunning forest filled with Indiana Jones-esque temples and over 300 macaque monkeys (macaque monkeys, by the way, are the most prosperous and "successful" genus of monkey....and boy, are those things feisty!!). Before we arrived at the actual entrance of the forest, we noticed that several monkeys were causing trouble in some of the storefronts near the forest. It was a very interesting experience seeing these monkeys hanging out on the sidewalk, and while I didn't want to set Chang down on the pavement and risk a possible elephant-napping by an overly mischievous primate, I DID want to get a picture of Chang with one particularly chubby monkey who was just chillin' right there on the sidewalk as people walked past.

Peter bravely volunteered to hold Chang NEAR the monkey so that at least the two of them would be in the shot together. I got my camera all ready and zoomed in nice and close. And then, as if in slow motion, I watched in horror as the monkey reached out and swiped my patchwork elephant from Peter's hand. Peter, being the heroic boyfriend that he is, attempted twice to retrieve poor Chang from the monkey's evil clutches, which the monkey did not appreciate in the least. He reacted by hissing, baring his (suprisingly long and sharp) fangs, and chasing after my sweet, beloved Peter while I attempted to scoop my gaping jaw from off of the sidewalk. The monkey, being rather chubby, gave up the chase after a few steps and hopped, King Kong style, (and I swear I could hear Chang screaming Fay Wray style) up a pole where he would proceed to perch on a roof and....I can barely type it....begin devouring my sweet little elephant.

Chang, in a weak attempt at self-defense, found a way to poke the monkey right in the palm with the pin that was attached to his back (as Chang was intended to be worn as a lapel pin...which, as much as I love and adore Chang, I think would be a hideous accessory in what I would imagine to be an even more hideous outfit...). The monkey began licking his palm and rubbing it on the ledge, at which point I decided to plead with the monkey, arms outstretched and fingers waving wildly, to throw down my elephant. The monkey, clearly aware of my pain and suffering, began mocking me by dangling poor Chang by the (now extremely bent and therefore defunct as a form of self-defense) pin for a few moments before putting Chang head first into his mouth and scampering off to another roof.

I was completely distraught. My Chang! My loyal travel companion! I allowed him to be EATEN BY A MONKEY!! I was catatonic for a few moments and remained glued--mouth wide open--to the spot where I had watched the carnage. A little while later a small monkey sat on the perch where the murdering bastard monkey had been. I watched him as he chewed on something, made a displeased face, and threw whatever he was eating to the ground. It was a Chang appendage, and it spilled fluffy white Chang insides all over the sidewalk.

Peter eventually had to put both hands on my shoulders and tell me to let it go...Chang was gone. Poor Chang. Peter also gently told me that we would never hold our future infant near a monkey in order to have a most excellent photo op. Duly noted.

In my state of shock I DID end up snapping some photos of Chang's final moments (Peter, unbeknownst to me, took a VIDEO of it!). Perhaps I will post the, er, less graphic ones once I get my Bali pictures uploaded.

R.I.P., little guy!!

Bali and bliss.....

Well, after SIX MONTHS APART (six months!!!!!!! Six! 3+3! 4+2! You need two hands to count that high!), Peter and I were reunited in Singapore. Sadly, it was a short reunion, as my employers did not give me any extra time off (even though Thursday was actually a holiday here), but it was very, very sweet. I can't believe how much he's been through since we last laid eyes on each other. I can't believe I wasn't there to hold his hand through all of it. It was awful and difficult and will be a long journey. The fact that I couldn't be there during that time will always remain one of my biggest regrets. However, when we saw each other, not only were we able to pick up right where we left off, but it became immediately apparent that our relationship had also strengthened considerably. Now, I realize that life is not a contest. Neither is love. However, I wonder if there are many couples out there whose relationship would be able to survive so many intense tests. I mean, I think all couples THINK they could, but when it comes right down to it, it's a lot to handle: Six months apart, many difficult life changes, bad phone connections, an 11 hour time difference, and another year to go.....and yet, we are more in love than we ever have been, and feel more secure in our relationship than ever before.

So, yes. Love is not a contest. But we **TOTALLY** win!! I think it's pretty safe to say that we are in this for the long haul. I want to enjoy the year ahead of me, but I am also really excited about planning our future together.

As far as Singapore is concerned, well, I gotta admit that I didn't, um, see much outside of the lovely hotel room (sorry you had to read that, Mom and Dad). Peter is speaking at an economics conference there, so I feel as though I should send a thank you note and a batch of cookies to HBS for putting us up in such fabulous accommodations. Now, I certainly don't want to say anything negative about someone else's home, as I know how much it bothers me when people make fun of Minnesota. Singapore is a place many people call home and they are proud to live there. I think it is a wonderful place and I did enjoy my time there. However, as an uninformed outsider, I would have to say that Singapore is my least favorite of all of the places I've been in Asia. The artifice of it all is palpable. It is a place with a fascinating (and relatively recent) history, some very interesting language and educational policies, and it used to be a swamp in the middle of a jungle. Much of its land was originally constructed out of sand from Indonesia. So the fact that it all feels so artificial makes sense--it is quite LITERALLY a man made city that hasn't had a chance to accumulate the wonderful age spots that a rich history will give a place. I DO have to say, though, that it was so nice to be able to drink the water and eat whatever I wanted without worrying about my stomach. I highly recommend the food vendors (or "hawkers") in Chinatown. Peter and I had some satay and some Tiger beer and it was all kinds of awesome.

So....Peter and I will be reunited on Sunday in Kuala Lumpur, and then we head to Bali for a week. I've been reading all about Bali today and it is going to be an incredible trip. It seems like SUCH a romantic place. It'll be like a pre-honeymoon....y'know, the kind that you have BEFORE you get married (or engaged, for that matter). I'm pretty sure we'll have internet access, but whether or not I will spend any time blogging is a question that can probably be answered in the NEGATIVE.

Life is good. Be well while I'm gone!!

xoxoxoxo

Asia in Pictures: Cambodia, Part I

Across from the Killing Fields of Chung Ek, Cambodia


There is a woman singing. She sings through speakers that are perched on the back of a truck. She sings and her voice cracks and creaks and the air is peppered with grief and hope and I can't breathe through my nostrils because the dust is so thick and it's dust that covered mass graves covered bones covered teeth and it's dusk and the song has stirred up the ghosts. They are imploring my remembrance, they are stroking my hair and staring into my eyes and showing me that flesh is a mere boundary. A boundary carved out of obligation and action. DO BETTER, they say. DO MORE. BE MORE. LIVE your compulsion to keep moving, to see, to write, to help. And the woman sings her shaky song and the ghosts slide around me like ink like bubbles, looking for the sunset, looking for the voice, looking for their offerings.

Cambodia. I whisper the name to nobody. It is a secret and the air is burning. My lungs are dry and wooden. Kindling. Waiting.

Something is waking up inside of me.

"Hands mobile thrones of today's urban goddess...."

I wish I could take credit for that awesome linguistic masterpiece in the title. However, it is from a poem called Project Princess. I'm gonna give you a second here to click on that link and then click on the "audio" icon on the poem's page. This performance of the poem is from the United States of Poetry series that was aired on PBS oh so many years ago. Don't get me wrong--the words radiate from the page and are artfully chosen. However, the performance of this poem is, for a sheer lack of words, AMAZING.

Click. Listen. Seriously. I'll wait. Be prepared to be amazed (in my humble, humble opinion....).

Things I love about this poem (part rap, part spoken word, ALL GENIUS):

1. The line that I used in the title, especially her inflection of the word "goddess." I used to get that line stuck in my head all day long.
2. The way she chews the words of the line, "Spare your simple, fragile feelings with the same sense that you came." She slowly, deliberately devours the words before dropping them at your feet.
3. The way she ends this vocally harsh poem with singing. *Drool*.

Now, this poem is incredibly important to me for several reasons. First of all, watching United States of Poetry (at my mom's encouragement...thanks, mom!)as an awkward, angsty fourteen-year-old inspired me to write poetry, take my first poetry class at The Loft (where I got my first glimpse of an artistic community and wanted more), attend the Arts High School, and basically set the course for the cultivation of my personhood. Anyway, I remember hearing this poem on USOP and feeling my jaw drop. I had never heard anything like it before and I regretted that public television didn't come with a rewind button.

I heard the poem again from a recording in a class at the Arts High School, and again, was completely mystified and full of awe. Here was this completely badass woman taking a rather pigeonholed art form (i.e. hip hop) that, at least in 1995, was just drenched in negative stereotypes, and daring to open the umbrella of poetry over it--an umbrella that had been previously reserved for the intellectually privileged. An umbrella that has been known to put on airs. Here was this woman who could transform poetry into sound and rhythm. This woman who could make proper poetic devices like alliteration and meter fall to their knees. She later spoke at the Arts High School when she was in town with her show Geography and talked about her experience of performing Project Princess at the Apollo. Her discussion of her process as a performance artist was so riveting and honest, and she was so engaging and warm that I don't think I blinked the entire time. A few weeks later I performed my own poem that was modeled after Project Princess. It was a clumsy attempt at best, but MAN it felt so good.

Now, somehow in the fog of the end-of-high-school-beginning-of-college months I seemed to have forgotten this amazing poet's name. Hell, maybe I never knew it to begin with. As I took the plunge into interviews at Sarah Lawrence (we interviewed our professors in the weeks before our classes began in order to be absolutely certain that the class was a perfect fit), I happened upon a class that I thought looked interesting. As I was interviewing the professor, I knew I had seen her before, but I couldn't quite place it. I think I freaked her out with my incessant, distracted staring....but then it hit me! "Oh my God!! YOU wrote Project Princess!!"

She laughed and squirmed a little. "Yes, Project Princess. That poem is my arch nemesis."

The amazing poet's name is Tracie Morris , and her Performance Poetry class was one of the most amazing of my four years of college. She taught me a true appreciation of sound, and its contexts, and the nuances of vocal inflection and double entendre and rhythm. She taught me about the aesthetics and physicality of language as the bearer of political and cultural messages, and the genius of hip hop as an art form. She brought to campus the likes of Fab 5 Freddy and Jayne Cortez and Amiri Baraka. She once made me repeat the word "red" a dozen times until I found an inflection that worked with the rest of the poem. She created within me a hypersensitivity to sound and its subtleties. It is because of her that my ear is able to absorb and decipher the different sounds of Asia: the salty, sing-songy ocean of Thai; the throaty string of the Vietnamese dan gao; the high pitched trill of Khmer music. She taught me how to use the microphone as a device, a tool, in performance that went far beyond a simple amplification of the voice for the audience to hear better.

My final project in the class was a piece called The Anatomy of Goodbye. It was a poem that I had written and recorded (PAINSTAKINGLY) with two tracks of my voice. I then used the recording to choreograph a dance. I never would have thought I could do something like that, nor have I done anything like it since. But so overwhelming was Tracie's energy and inspiration and encouragement and expertise that she was just able to transfer her gifts to me effortlessly. She is barely five feet tall, gets shy and fidgety when you compliment her work, and has this adorable girly sweetness about her. But MAN. The woman is a FORCE OF NATURE. She had high, high expectations and worked me 'till I dropped.

The reason for this random outburst of Tracie Morris love? Well, first of all, she deserves it. Second of all, she recently appeared in one of my dreams with some rather important advice. Several other strong women who have been influential in my life have also done the same over the last few nights. I think these women deserve to be celebrated, and I'm most definitely going to listen to the messages that they are giving me while I sleep.

*****************************************

Here are some other Tracie Morris websites:

-Tracie's Web
-Tracie's Website

Those of you in New York can also check her out, from time to time, at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.

FINALISTIC expialidocious....

Ha ha.....AWESOME.

I am no longer a semi-finalist in the "My Nerd Crush" contest over at Antisocial Networking. No, I am, in fact, a bona fide finalist. The other contestants had some fabulously hilarious nerd crush entries, so y'know, it's an honor just to be nominated!

It would be super awesome if you would click here and vote for me!! My nerd crush is none other than the delectable Buzz Aldrin. Even though my entry is posted on the Antisocial Networking website, I am going to go ahead and repost it here:

That's easy! Buzz Aldrin. Ever since I was a little girl. Here are but a few of my reasons:
1.) Any man named Buzz who can still be revered and/or taken seriously (and who is not a kick-ass mechanic with pit stains) obviously possesses a ridiculous amount of panache.
2.) I had a thing for boys in moon boots growing up. This has not changed.
3.) The moon is the universal symbol of romance. Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. Therefore, I feel that Buzz Aldrin automatically gets to be the Human Manifestation of Romance.
4.) I'm sure he has a bitchin' moon rock collection.
I choose to therefore pay no attention to the idle jibber-jabber that the moon landing was an elaborate hoax. Buzz would NEVER lie to me.

You have until midnight on Thursday, July 10th to vote!! I feel like the queen of the nerd prom!

Semi-finalistic expialidocious.....

Yay!! One of my favorite bloggers, Slackmistress*, has another blog dedicated to all things Nerd. It most definitely puts the "astic" in "dorktastic," and it makes me proud to be a nerd.

So great is my nerd pride that I decided to enter a little contest over at Antisocial Networking. The name of the contest? My Nerd Crush!

I wrote all about my nerd crush, and lo and behold, I was chosen as a semi-finalist.

Who is my nerd crush? Well, you are just going to have to see for yourself! My entry is the third one from the top.

And, um, while you're over there, it would be super awesome if you would vote for me! The poll is located at the bottom of the page. You have until midnight on July 3rd (PST) to cast your vote!!

Yours in Nerdery,

Brooke

*1.) If you have not yet read The Slack Daily (link in my sidebar and above), you should;
2.) If you HAVE read The Slack Daily, love it as much as I do, and you are on Facebook, you should join the Slackmistress Appreciation Society. All the cool kids (and the nerds) are doin' it!!

A conversation with my dermatologist

I kinda wanna kick my own ass sometimes......

ME: So, I need to get my moles checked out to make sure that they're not cancerous. Also, well, I've gotten a ton of new freckles since I've been out here, and I've even started getting some fine lines. Is there anything you can do about this?

HIM: Well, it would make sense that you're getting freckles because you have a pale complexion, and sunblock can only do so much. Pigment changes are common with Caucasian people out here. The freckles will most likely fade once you no longer live in such a sunny climate. And as for your lines, well, they're barely noticeable. I'm a little worried about some of these moles that I see.....

ME: So, there's nothing you can do about the wrinkles? Or to fade the freckles? Are there creams?

HIM: [Looking through a magnifying glass at my now disrobed body] Have there been any changes with this mole?

ME: This one? Yeah. It's gotten bigger and darker. So how do you feel about laser treatments for the wrinkles?

HIM: So this mole here does not have a uniform shape or color to it, and that is a very bad sign. We need to have it removed and do a biopsy immediately.

ME: OK, no problem. So, um, laser treatments??? Will those also work for the freckles??

HIM: ......
......
..............................BIOPSY. SKIN CANCER.

Worry not, dear friends. My doctor told me that it doesn't look really serious or worrisome. He would just rather err on the side of caution, especially since the mole has changed in recent months.

He also wrote up some prescriptions for various creams and acids, but it was mainly to shut me the hell up. I think this has been a lesson in priorities, eh?? I also think that it's time to drop my silly obsessing over my silly lines. My doctor said that he thought my skin was "quite lovely," and that, like it or not, the appearance of small lines is common with people my age.

Translation: I am an effing old hag. Of course, my recent obsession with crocheting scarves should have tipped me off.

This is probably the most shallow post ever. EVER. C'est la vie.....

On the SkyTrain

Bangkok has a public transportation system that is TO DIE FOR, with the SkyTrain being its crowning glory. The SkyTrain is an immaculate train that speeds along above Bangkok's chaotic colors and congested traffic. The inside of the SkyTrain is a simultaneously polite and infuriating space, as younger people relinquish their seats for their elders, people cover their mouths during cell phone conversations so not to disturb any fellow passengers, and eating and drinking are not allowed. However, most individuals also tend to not move all the way inside the train after boarding (a cardinal sin in American public transportation) and stand in a Gregorian knot near each of the doors. Other individuals have a habit of leaning the entire length of their bodies against the poles, thereby making it impossible for anyone else to hold onto them. This habit of, er, getting strangely intimate with the poles is especially annoying if someone decides to do this AFTER you've already been holding onto one. In this case, you suddenly find your hand lodged at the nape of a person's neck, or getting smushed by the jagged undulations of a person's spine.

For the most part, though, the SkyTrain has some of the most surprising people watching opportunities ever. I jotted this little ditty down (which is sorta a poem, but not really...it is intended to just be a string of observations and therefore doesn't really have a particular shape to it, in my humble opinion) after a particularly memorable SkyTrain ride today. Y'know what is LESS welcome on the SkyTrain (or any other form of transportation in Thailand) than crumbs or litter? FRUSTRATION. It's uncanny. People just DON'T GET FRUSTRATED. It's amazing to be surrounded by that kind of calm energy whilst on public transportation. It's beyond awesome.

A blind man
Covered in blisters, in burns
Makes his way to the door
A stranger holds his arm, steadies him,
Releases him when the door opens
Small surprises
Small explosions, bursts of compassion
Like capillaries across a face
My skin ages, freckles
Folds like linens, like letters
A small price to pay for
breath that comes like ink in water
Full
Freeing blood, releasing bone

A child squeezes a squeaking toy
It is the only sound that darts
Like an insect
Among these crowded bodies
Squeak, squeak, squeak
The muscles around my mouth start to contract
Causing creases
Squeak, squeak, squeak
My fingers grip each other
Like wire around electricity
Like gloves stifling a blossom
Squeak, squeak
SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK
My eyes expand, impatient saucers
Porcelain faces look back at me
Free of aggravated shapes, just
Skin like walls, like windows
Clear
The squeaking stops, its absence
Barely noticed
Like a hand withdrawing from a bucket of water
Leaving no ripples behind
The air in this shared space
Buzzes with calm
The indentation of disruptive sound is
Like a button on pavement
Like a pinprick in the night sky.

On Happiness

I think happiness is not a release or a surrender, and I don't think it's something that happens without a great deal of effort. Too many people just cover up their dark parts, their wounds, with masks and distractions and fleeting accomplishments and forced positive thinking and call that happiness. But happiness is a battle. It means staring down the scary things and fighting, fighting, fighting. And then, in the end, embracing. It is the hero's journey of the human heart, and it begins with the seizing of the sword. Once the battle is over and the dust has cleared, there is space for happiness to exist. True happiness will not dwell in a chaotic heart. This is because it's only after clearing out the painful things, after earning our battle stripes, that we realize that happiness was always there, like oxygen like grass like blinking. And once we have that perspective, once we feel the deep and clear silence of happiness ringing throughout our own chaos-free caverns, then the battle to keep it begins.