a tale from the third storey

One of the most difficult aspects of writing a compelling blog entry is finding where to start. Life in a foreign country usually exposes you to so many new things that you simply want to describe everything in maximum detail in order to get as much across as possible. For instance, I could describe where I am presently writing from, 3 stories above one of the busiest veins in Hanoi, Kim Ma street. I could concentrate on describing the purple sky, and the tall, skinny buildings which poke their heads towards the setting sun. But then I'd be neglecting the flurry of activity below, how the street-side restaurants are slowly beginning to fill their empty, foot high seats designed for Western children but that somehow manage to suit 95% of the adults in this country. I could elaborate upon the incessant traffic which keeps this city bustling, alive with the simultaneous roar of the hundreds of thousands of motorbikes and scooters of all shapes and sizes which run through the street like little gas-powered amoeba. Their collective purr can be felt three stories above, all the way into this very seat in which I relax after a long day at work.

At a certain point in anyone's long term stay as an ex-patriot in a foreign country, one begins to feel the wear of being an outsider. To some it may hit sooner than others, but for myself it has been slowly creeping in after the 1 month mark. I'm beginning to feel an absolute longing to participate in the world around me as more than a silent observer. As the cultural practices and actual language are quite new to me (at least, in their absoluteness in my all encompassing surroundings), I am feeling the frustrations of being unable to penetrate beyond the canvas which separates me from this mysterious world.

To put it in more practical terms, I feel like I'm trapped inside my own head, looking at the world as if I was in some sort of inescapable museum, only capable of interpreting the images that I see through my own determinations. I want to jump through the wall hangings and say hello to the moving still-life people that are illustrated beyond.

Unfortunately, this is one of those 'requiring time' things, where my immediate problems cannot be solved by any other means than simply waiting and making an effort. The real beauty in exploring foreign lands is not only that they mimic a foreign planet with its own gender of alien species to interact with, but that, as a human being, I can learn to speak their completely Martian tongue, to make myself understood, and to take away more from a tiny exchange about something as silly as the weather than I would in my own language.

And herein lies the true satisfaction of life: not gaining wealth, power, or recognition by the masses... but rather in simply sharing your thoughts and receiving mental feedback from another. To open yourself as a human being, and be touched by others in the process. This is why traveling for long periods of time in foreign countries can be quite difficult: you are simply deprived of this during your day to day activities. In work, at restaurants, even between friends that you have made in this new world... unless you are a master at learning languages, there will always be a massive gap that separates you from your immediate surroundings.

It is an amazing moment when you realize that you are almost completely separated from the reality in which you stand, because of your immediate inability to reach out beyond your body, to send your words out with meaning to make your life meaningful, so to speak.

Times like these must not be squandered on frustration though, as being pushed so deeply into the depths of one's self allows for a wonderful amount of introspection to take place. Constantly, the limits of my patience, energy, and mental sanity are tested by the driving forces of this country. The insane habits of motorbike drivers on my to work, the network of thieves who occupy the buses and pray on innocent fools like myself, being regarded as a moron for simply not being able to respond to something as simple as 'how was your day' when spoken in a foreign tongue... these are but to name a few, believe me, I could go on, but I would be missing the point that I began this tangent with the intention of finishing with. All of these events which frustrate the balance of my life, they happen to me not only as passing moments, but as events that will mark my character for the rest of my life. I carry them, sort of like scars, in my persona and psyche, I will take them with me as I grow and age, and ultimately, the age old adage applies perfectly: what doesn't kill me can only make me stronger.

Life here in Vietnam, though difficult at times, is certainly not boring. I leave my room at 8 am and most of the time do not return till 10 pm. At that point, I'm usually too tired to stand straight, which makes my uncomfortable bed that much easier to bare. Not only my bed, but the lack of comfort which accompanies our daily lives in the developed world.

Believe me when I say that, though the basic human interactions which define my day remain the same as if I lived in Canada, the daily grind itself is something entirely different. Never has the act of 'taking the bus' been such a chore. I call it my 'daily test of patience', as each time I seem to be pushed closer and closer to that very fine fault line which prevents me from splitting heads. But, again, it is all part of the experience, and deep down, even when it has pissed me off to the point of no return, I can still calm myself down, smile internally, and even break out into a fit of joyful laughter, simply because I know that I actually love being pushed out of the zombie mode which can take a hold of us in such a powerful way.

It is indeed difficult to pin-point what to start a usual blog entry with, which is why today, I decided to start with everything. The now darkened sky beckons: I have an event that I must attend tonight that may or may not be the topic of another blog entry... after all, who is to say where time will take me?