Before I came to Asia, I had never been in a knife fight.
I had always considered political discussions best conducted when all
parties agree to sit out the fiercest Atlantic weather inside the comforts
of a heavy pint of beer.
But there we began in some southeast Asian capital, whose name no
one bothered to remember since the last bloody calamity, drinking rice
whiskey and pineapple juice in the hot midday sun beside a renovated
wagon whose sign claimed the happiest cigarettes in town for a green
Washington.
I had stopped making small talk sometime after ‘Hello’, when another
girl sat in the lap of a happy patron whose combined morality invoked in
some the desire to level skyscrapers.
He, at least, was convinced of the accuracy of the sign.
It was several hours later, in the red glow of sunrise, that I swore never
to discuss politics with anyone who had never been to China.
What happened between there and here has changed my life, but
everyday something does.
And so, without preparation, I’ll be going domestic, with a dog.
I’ve learned a lot, done even more, and maintained enough idealism to
decorate my face with a smile, but most rewarding was sitting for a few
months with nowhere else to go.
I taught, fought, bought, sought adventure, and caught it all digitally, but
the best of it has already been said clearly over forty-seven and twenty-
five hundred years ago.
And it has been a good year.
I don’t carry a knife, only love,
Alex