Well, no, because there has been no resistance to its lack:
I have been content to take in good films and eat well when I'm not teaching.
I ask myself the purpose of this sort of venue:
--to thrill an audience?
--to expose said audience to a new culture?
--to provide a forum for your humble narrator to express his thoughts?
How honest can you be when you write for such a varied audience? In such a public domain?
How honest can you be when you create for any audience? Does art imply an audience, necessitate one, or does the potential for an audience taint the art? Is purity not to be witnessed?
Last weekend if I sunk further I may have actually hit something. How else do we bounce back?
I took a jaunt to the beach for the weekend to clear my head--the previous week was characterized by frustrations in the classroom. No, not frustrations--more like resignations. And not surrenders either--rather than acceptance, the preceding motivations involved dejection.
An art festival was to occur anyway--on the beach, you see--and naturally, I was intrigued.
There were some lovely prints there, truly--but it was a festival, in the sense that it was a party, and the "art" moniker was, well, a moniker...depending on your definition of art, of course.
Because the artists put on a show, yet they didn't realize it, and I was the only audience member.
You see, I don't mean to judge the acts of drinking large quantities of alcohol and making loud noises that essentially preclude genuine connection--it is fun, and I have done lots of it. It just isn't quite where I am today. In fact, a bit quite far from where I am, today.
It was very nice to walk down the beach and notice that the moon was full. I passed multiple sets of lovers in the sand and felt lonely and free and heavy.
Unbridled emotion on my part generally leads me to an act of consumption, devouring really. With work, I've been able to let non-action in the front door of many of these living situations, but we can't always remain in the light can we, so we go out the back.
It was like a scene from a movie: accelerating, fast, on a motorcycle at midnight under a full moon on a deserted beach highway, heading for something big--
Not 7-11.
Ok. 7-11. The place that had the ice cream.
I am so predictable.
And ice cream is never just ice cream. It leads to chips, cookies, milkshakes, pastries, etc--I mean, for God's sake, I intentionally ate on the stoop of that convenience store so I could return 3 times for more junk food, munching noisily as I read the news. And feeling really pathetic.
I sought more solace in the moon, and it left me empty. Just sleep.
When I awoke I felt like I had cheated on a girlfriend. But not only was I the betrayer--I had also betrayed myself.
And you may scoff: how trivial! So you ate some junk food 'cause you felt lonely? Please, you're not the only one...
On 1 hand, you are wrong: it isn't about what I did. It is about everything associated with it. The sentiment did not reflect the act--it felt like more.
On the other hand, you are right--and I realized this after more than 10 minutes of cognizance. I offer utmost diligence to my physical, mental, and spiritual health all week, and then the weekend comes, or some small jolt of inadequacy creeps in, and rather than merely meandering from the path momentarily, I dive into the fucking bushes searching for water and avoiding hypothermia. Basically, because I don't permit abberance, when I deviate, I really do it right.
I laughed. I thought of how insignificant I am. I felt freed. I ate a breakfast of kings and relaxed on the beach all day with a book and my thoughts. And when my bike broke down in the pouring rain 15 km out of town upon my return, instead of cursing the guy who sold it to me or blaming the rain for damaging the engine (thoughts I had!), I walked to a gas station, and some friendly customers took me to a mechanic, and 15 minutes and 3 bucks later I was back on the road. Folks here are refreshingly willing to help. Surrender --> Winning.
This past week has provided me a sort of extended release of these realizations. Instead of eating a week's worth of junk food when the moon is too massive or distant to comprehend, why not eat a cookie a day? It will keep the demons away.
Or why work out and eat well? To strive for the perfect idea of a body I'll never have? I had lost the point: I have fun sweating. Panting. Exertion clears my head. And vegetables my heart. So I covered up my mirror with a sheet and tried smiling more.
And so yesterday I got on a karaoke bus at 7:30 in the morning with my colleagues, farang and Thai alike, and went to the ocean to get dirty planting mangroves. And when I felt hot, and tired, and bored, I said "hello exhaustion. hello heat. hello boredom. I smile to you." And I was simply and wholly right there.
And right there when I stayed up until 3 am watching good movies, eating pizza and ice cream, discussing politics, religion, and love, and cheering on the World Cup with my good friend Kevin--right there where I needed to be, the same as being at that party, and planting those mangroves, and hiking that trail, and teaching those children. The difference was that I was just smiling to it all.
Oh, and as for the classroom: rather than entering with resentment, I approached this past week with innocence funded by gratitude leading to JOY. A teacher is a mirror: our enthusiasm defines the class that day. My attitude sculpts their clay--and yet there is never a finished product, nor an audience--so is teaching an art?
I'd say yes.
I spoke from my heart today. This is Nick unmasked. No bells and whistles or flashy language to make you swoon or twirl. The stray pun here and there but who can resist the lowest form of humor?
so, So what? Ask Miles. Always apt.
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