it does feel like the end of world, facing the straits of Magellan. emotionally and physically sandwiched between it all.

the solitude is profound. the windy cloudiness settles on the shore and accompanies me on my walks.

Even beer tastes good after being on the road for 32 hours straight. Safe and sound in Punta Arenas having beer for dinner with brazilians and Chileans watching the fútbol game. So far south that the newspaper is called "el pingüino" And the sun was still not finished setting at 11pm. My head hurts and it's too cold to shower but damn don't it feel good.

There is no graceful way to spend hours in the airport by yourself. After a few laps back and forth the international terminal, during which you've exhausted inspections of every souvenir in every store and also reek of every sample perfume in the duty free store, you finally are left only with your thoughts. Travel seems to be the final frontier of journaling, reading, true introspection- even if somewhat forced. 

The mountains keep me company as I float between types of consciousness- as does my ubiquitous pink daypack.

Inevitably I end up reading books or watching movies with sad or moving endings, and I feel like an animal in a glass cage as other passengers pass by my tear-streaked face.

Eventually your ass starts hurting from the hard chairs and it helps to change the scenery every now and then. I laugh with K over skype that now I know how Tom Hanks feels in that movie where he lives in the airport. Only difference being, I would use sriracha on my saltines in lieu of ketchup.

I'm sinking into a deep brown couch right now. A full 24 hours has now passed in transit (transience). Silhouettes of waiting passengers are prominent against the window. The air here is thick with anticipation, of impatience, of weariness. I contemplate from a distance, choosing anticipation over the alternatives. 

all things converge. (as S. used to say, everything that rises must converge - and everything is definitely rising, since there was nowhere to go but up)
the world is so small in the end.

my friends asked me if, for once, i will write about my travels. i thought about the appropriateness of this blog title that i've carried around for years.

as i prepare -- at the absolute limit of my multitasking capacity -- to leave for three weeks to travel across Patagonia-- i make phone calls, send messages, receive letters, cram clothing into tiny packing bags, try out public transportation in my dear yet unwalkable Houston, deal with past accidents, consider matters of the heart, try to be a good employee, and other frantic activities.

i get both wildly excited and appropriately anxious as i start writing messages and participating in dialogue entirely in Spanish (stretching the limits of my "fluency"), and i know that i'm possibly in way over my head as i plan to have a stranger who is a friend of a friend pick me up from the airport at past-midnight when i arrive, and then somehow return me safely to the airport on time for my next flight at the end of an 8 hour layover. there are, of course, only certain acceptable and available activities between midnight and 8AM that i can think of. and at the end of my journey i'll somehow make it to the meeting point where i'll join my friends for a camper van journey towards the End of the World and beyond. oh, and there will be penguins.

i keep up, however slowly, with the very-colloquially-Peruvian conversations. i even successfully make some jokes. hope against hope, i decide to test out this theory of mine, about the goodness of people. also, what the f? i keep saying i won't choose places that are cold, and yet here i am going to Penguin territory.

there are some friends with theories that more crazy things happen to me (both good and bad) because i take gambles and risks that most people gape at. and, honestly,  i can't imagine any other way to live this one life we've been given.



2013 has thrown a lot of shit my way. i'm throwing it right back.

alright, world. gimme what you got.

--
ps- from previous post:

“Let them think what they liked, but I didn’t mean to drown myself. I meant to swim till I sank — but that’s not the same thing.”

- Joseph Conrad

on a separate vein, the best comments from halloween. aka, overheard in NYC.

"where are your green tights, robin?" "with my red underwear, in the wash. had a busy night."
"looking good, wolverine. hope you have a condom for tonight."
"you're the hottest asian girl i've ever seen. is your boyfriend around?"
"hello, my name is hugh hefner." (pickup line)
"feel his pecs. he is so hot." "um, do you know him?" "no, i don't. but i am so wet."
"if you're actually rogue, you should be wearing gloves. oh. you are. damn. did your research!"
"don't worry, his other asian girlfriend didn't have a personality"
"that's a goddamn python." (yes, it was a real python)
"wait, doesn't wolverine look like edward scissorhands when he tries to wipe the table with his claws?"



aptly, this is my 800th post at this home.

how to feel whole again:

be a passenger into the blue. doesn't matter which hue: the sky, the sea, the whitish-blue of the stars. eyes.
step on the leaves, find where the reds and yellows turn back into greens.
stop for coffee but get a chunk of dark chocolate to gnaw on instead.
listen to canadian fusion folk music and let yourself be confused.
put seashells in your pocket, tiny ones, the shape and size of your pinky nail.
look at photographs of peaceful homes that you want to live in one day.
be ok with being in a state of contradiction.
respond to letters that end with "thanks for being my friend."
don't be perfect.
listen to piano and strings. a nice example linked by CM.
read short stories. (thanks, KH)
eat jalapenos and avocado in the same bite.
notice the sunset. and mostly-ignored bodies of water, such as Houston bayous.
give up excuses.