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J O U R N A L E S Q U E
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She's elsewhere, staring at a "Wilkommen in Berlin" poster but not seeing it. I wonder if it was a mistake to bring her. Our relationship has never been easy and I have regrets, lots of them. They sneak up on me when we're together. I inhale sharply as I bend down to grab her small black bag and the tattered tartan fabric on the handle grazes my hand.
- Siem Reap: Recalibration in Indo-China
He's lived there ever since, his daily routine an impossible wish list of ambition. He teaches and cooks, cleans and solicits, builds and beckons. Prayer fills the gaps, gaps fill the prayers. His heart aches most for what it can't provide, for the children who will follow in his footsteps, things he'll never be able to right. He never mentioned himself, never lamented his own loss; he only measured that in what he couldn't make possible, regardless of supply or circumstance.
- Out of the Sevillian Swelter
Mind still muddied, I travel down the hallway, attempting to remember what room he's in. I pitch the door ajar, breathing heavily, and hear him groan. Good.
I set out on this trip to escape from my comfort zone, but the clean, safe and well-maintained cities of northern Europe left me feeling more domesticated than ever. All of that changed when I arrived in Riga, which is a hypnotic, beautiful city, but not in any conventional sense. The twentieth century was not kind to the Baltics, and scars from Latvia's recent brutalization are visible beneath the easygoing way of life here.
- Kanchanaburi: Inventory on the River Khwae
I'm looking around at the setting, taking it all in, putting them in the picture, putting the picture in me, framing things. My immediate thoughts are on childhood and its bliss, the great removedness from the adult mess we all move to some day.