we believe and we don’t believe

so basically, the past blogs are leading up this this: that i want to make absoutely clear that i am not living in paradise, and am not a vacation. not even a national lampoon style vacation, everything that’s happened so far is like. on the verge of grotesque absurdity that i can hardly believe what’s just happened.


i am wearing sandals all the time. which might be one of those qualifiers for being on vacation… OR jesus!

anyway, when i get home, i can’t wait to use this product called baby foot. and who doesn’t love that name for a consumer product? anyway, my feet get really dry and cracked, oh it’s really bad. but not nearly as bad as my sister (who is always wearing clogs sans socks) and my mom who goes barefoot on the brick floor of our house in albuquerque.

ok, so it’s been established: this is no vay-cay. and my feet are all effed up.

now what?

the people here have the most beautiful smiles. which is a big deal, considering i live in seattle where eye contact is avoided at all costs. everyone smiles.

this land is rough, really rough. there’s something about being on the equator that is strange. two days ago, nicholson was telling me that when he wakes up in the morning and is on the patio making phonecalls back to grenada, he notices that the clouds move in the opposite direction of the sun’s path across the sky.

i don’t really know where to start next.

i saw a dog today riding in the trunk of a car, wearing that face that dogs get when they ride in cars. indonesians are horrifed by the thought that people live with dogs indoors. so, right. i see this dog. as we’re passing by (on a scooter, dangerously close), i see that it is chained. like, with very little slack. and the lid of the trunk is held open by a piece of firewood wedged in there just so. the dog’s head is basically by the chunk of wood. so if the piece of firewood were to give, i’m pretty sure the dog’s skull would be crushed.

the other day i saw children flocking towards the man selling chicken and sausage on a stick. so, i asked my friend “hey, what’s that i wanna try!” and he said “oh, it’s for children only…” but indonesians love making people happy, so we go up to the vendor. the children throw crumpled up rupiahs at the meat on a stick guy, pick out what they have paid for, and put it into the frying oil. you know. with their fingers. and then they watch their meat on a stick fry. faces inches away from the oil. and then when they’re done frying their sticks, they pick them out. again, with their fingers. and then dip the sticks in chili sauce and run away, dripping chili sauce and oil everywhere.

if something like this went down in america, the guy would be like: “get the fuck away from that are you crazy?” or a parent would come up to him and be like “we’re at a school get the fuck away from here with your frying death trap!” but not so much in indonesia.

i’m working with limited time, but wanted to share that.

also, i’m listening to pema chodron religiously and hoping that her soothing, soothing voice will give me a little clarity in all this madness. it’s the cheerfulness practice.

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