It’s difficult for me to write while I am listening to music with lyrics. Same with reading, or really doing any sort of work. When I was young I recall watching the kids in study-hall with their headphones in their ears, working on their homework. I would always wonder if they could really focus while they were mixing their music with their schoolwork. Occasionally I would even judge them because I determined such a feat to be impossible, and jumped to the conclusion I was doing it right, and they were doing it wrong. Jokes on me! Cuz most of those kids are probably doing quite well, maintaining positions garnered from the hardwork in their college years, or holding wage earning jobs within the trade industries. What am I doing? I am running out of money on the second floor of the Inn Stations Hostel across the street from the Hua Lamphong Railway station listening to the Narrow Stairs album, my shirt slung over my shoulder, writing at one of seven round tables upon a concrete porch hosting a bar which looks as if it’s always closed except for when a group of rowdies brings their own booze to really get the party started, here in Bangkok.
I am happy. Tonight is the third night I am spending with a girl I know very well, and if you read this blog you may have come to know well as well. Jo. I am not sure if she is asleep yet, but she might be on the way. We have a train to catch at 08:05, and by 12:38 in the afternoon we will be in a new city. Still Thailand though. We are learning more about each other as we travel together, for better or for worse. How many people have you traveled with? Mark Twain says that’s how he knows if he can really stand to be around an individual or not. He must travel with them. Or at least, once he has traveled with an individual, he learns how compatible him and said individual are. I already know Jo and I are compatible. What I believe we are about to learn as we travel the next 45ish days together, is what we want from ourselves. Life would be easy if two people could just combines their dreams, like two fruits in a blender, and produce an even more delicious juice on the other side. The remnants of both entities still to be enjoyed from the pulp that remains. Life is not the juice. Life is the fruit. We can make many different juices throughout our life, that is the way of our humanity; it is our process. Many years ago we, as a people, realized just how much fucking juice we can make. We can really juice it up. Just keep processing new juice over, and over. We can make juice with things that aren’t even fruit. Bananas and pulverized walnuts. Glass shards and hippo blood. Love and money. But we are reentering an era of naturally squeezed juice. We don’t juice the whole orange at once, and then try to retrieve the pulp later these days. We overindulge less. We squeeze half the orange and perhaps we save the rest for later.
You can’t have it all. Life is not easy. Did you hear me? Life is not fucking easy. It was never supposed to be. It’s a generational movement as well. Some people you may gaze upon and wonder why it was not you born in their place. Well, you can make it so others gaze upon the life of your offspring in the same way. Do you want that? You can’t have immediate results. but you can have long term satisfaction. If Jo wants to settle into a city and start a job teaching, or go to grad school, and I want to keep traveling the world and become a popular artist, what do we do? How do two people meet in the middle of such complicated agendas? Well…they meet in a kingdom full of fresh fruit and squeeze half an orange. Do you get me? Because I don’t quite understand it yet. The time is 20:53, and I am going to head in now, having done no editing on an article and simply publishing it, because I don’t yet write a travel blog that millions of people are reading and critiquing for errors…what I do is closer to poetry than advice. Take from me what you with, and discard the rind when I am squeezed.