Going All Along

[His Theme Song]

More than twelve months ago, He set off for a year-long crash course in what He hated to call 'soul searching.'  Thinking that He had lost it to begin with was more than disappointing; it was terrifying.  What else had been unknowingly dropped through the holes in his mid-Western khaki short pockets?

Having an idea of where the winds would take him but not completely sure of what, The Boy remembered boarding the plane that would whisk him far from the land where his closest family and friends resided.  This action, however small it was, would be the first of many times He knew that such a thing as happenstance existed.  Despising his parents for enrolling him into karate classes, being forced to become a puppeteer, being one of two boys who were cut from volleyball tryouts, watching as his parents lost almost everything they dreamed of having, first seeing a dance performance in high school, choosing which schools to apply to and which one to attend, falling in and out of love...  It all carried him to this year, this place, this state of realizing that He

needed

so

much

more

from 

his

life.

Wanting to break His curse, The Beast set out to find what it was He so desperately needed.  True Love's kiss?  Such things only existed in Fairy Tales, and given the circumstances, his story strayed far from that.

... Or not so much.

As a particular french host reminded him on his last night in one of the most romantic cities in the world, "For someone who claims they don't make many friends, there sure were a lot of people to say goodbye to you tonight."  This single phrase would unleash a chain of memories He strung together throughout the year.  He had found so much love in the flowered shrines of India, in the cement huts of Uganda, along the shores of Australia, within the dimly lit milongas of Argentina, and the cobbled streets of France.  Echoes of the most important lessons taught to him resurfaced in a rosy fog, reminding him that

"I never had to choose between passion and profession"

"There is a war in you, and it is coming"

"Wherever you go, there you are"

"You need more presence to lead successfully"

"Being handsome is not enough.  Be great, be beautiful"

The Boy, the Beast, the One that Got Away, Our Hero, now the Prince, had chosen his happy destiny [whatever that would be], that much was clear.  Whatever complicated pathways were ahead of him, He would face them with everything He learned this year, and with the lessons He would keep learning on this journey [according to the fellowship director, "The Watson is never over.  It's just beginning."].

The pieces He found to the jigsaw of his life were now in place, but he knew that there would be so much more to find.  The bigger picture was far from complete, but well on its way to being solved.  He would remember everyone He met during his travels, and how unstuck they seemed to be in life.  Actually, now that he considered it, there were an equal amount of people back home who seemed to be the same.  The unfortunate thing was remembering who did become stuck, so immobile and so scared to find their pieces, to complete their picture.  What they were holding onto, He'd never be sure.

The Prince would hold hold onto this year, these memories, this feeling like none other, trying to remember the last stanza of a poem he found scribbled on a hostel wall:

There once was a man who'd become unstuck in the world -

and he traveled around like a leaf in the wind until he reached the place

where he started out.  His car, his job, his phone, his shoes -

everything was right where he'd left it.

Nothing had changed, and yet he felt excited to have arrived here -

as if this were the place he'd been going all along.

Our Hero had reached the place where He started out, but wouldn't stay there for long.  Not when the next journey was waiting to begin.

[Unstuck in the World]

One Day

 

"Joshua," he remembered his mother saying to him, a very, very, long time ago, "One day we'll go to Europe.  You, me, Daddy, and Kikay."  She looked back to the TV screen, where a young cartoon woman began to cry as she reunited with her long lost grandmother.  He remembered not taking his mother seriously, only being interested in finding another peanut butter jellybean somewhere in the bag they bought earlier that afternoon.

"Aye, my god.  Paris...  London...  It's always been my dream to go to all those places before I die.  We'll go.  One day.  Maybe.  When we win the lottery."

Many, many years later, as he pedaled his way past the Arc de Triomphe, past the Louvre, and past la Bastille, this tiny fragment of a memory, however minimally detailed, surfaced to his conscience.  Almost colliding with a parked car, he pulled into an alley and locked his bicycle.

He had fallen in love with the City, that much was obvious.  Throughout his travels, he never regretted any of the places he had gone, but was always asked,

Why did you choose to go there?

His initial answer was simple:  I want to touch each continent before I die.  Upon further consideration, he realized that different reasons brought him to different countries.  India:  where he would experience sensory overload.  Uganda:  where he would learn to appreciate a much more simple life.  Australia:  where he would find how much more he needed to grow.  Argentina:  where he would experience passion, firsthand.  But France?

Where he would live a dream - his or his mother's, that wasn't clear - at the end of a dream year.  Why the rest of his family never made it to Europe, he couldn't exactly understand.  He had made it here without the lottery [although the definition of lottery was now in debate], accomplished before the end of the first quarter of his life.

"Don't worry about your mother," Betty said in Argentina, "If she didn't travel somewhere, she had her own reasons."

As he walked past the patisserie full of macaroons and tartelettes, he couldn't help but think, How fair is it that I got to live her dream before she did?  A tiny pang of guilt tugged at his stomach.  

In Australia, Philip had once expressed hesitation in becoming a parent.  "I think the real challenge in being a parent," he argued, "would be to help my child find happiness.  And if my son or daughter could say one day that they found happiness, I know I'd have done my job."

Later that night, he would take his camera out of his bag and snap a picture of himself with a flower-shaped cone of gelato.  Maybe it was the mix of raspberry and chocolate, or maybe it was the first night that felt like summer, or maybe it was just the good company with whom he had dinner.  Happiness had been sitting there with him so far this year, and he was sure that it wouldn't leave afterwards.

Maybe knowing that would be enough for her.

[Living There TOday]

[in]conveniently

Not everything goes according to plan [at least not right away].  As I'll prove, this isn't always a bad thing; perhaps it depends on how you use the unexpected time that turns a minor inconvenience into a major success.

WARNING:  This is a long one.

-| Too Bad |-

"Your flight gets into Sydney at 9:30 Sunday night, and doesn't leave until 11 the following morning?" Philip asked.  "That's plenty of time to store your bags and go see the city.  Of course you need to see the Opera House.  But that's not going to last you thirteen hours.  I think you should go to a bar.  By yourself.  It's the perfect excuse to meet people.  You know, the whole It's my last night in Australia kind of thing.  Imagine the people who'll want you!"

I imagined running around Sydney, down random streets and around the harbour, in and out of bars and clubs at 3 in the morning.

"Yeah, but you've gotta be careful."  Dean warned.  He had been living at Philip's for the last two weeks, directing a new show for the touring group.  "That's really not that much time, not in my opinion.  You're going to have to pick up your bags first and then find a place to store them for the night.  Then you're going to have to a take a train or taxi into the city.  Do whatever you want there for a while - I'd really suggest sticking to one thing.  The roads can be pretty packed during early morning, the trains will be busy, and of course there are shady places all over.  Then you're going to have to collect your bags, check in, and go through security all before 8ish.  If I were you, I'd be on a train back to the airport by seven.  Maybe you can just watch the sunrise at the Opera House.  That'd be romantic."

My heart sank at the thought of rushing an already short experience in Sydney, and spending a romantic moment with my shadow.  I shrugged, and settled on running to the Opera House at night, and then going to one bar before taking the train back to the airport.

-| Lisa/Lisy |-

"Yeah, I think Sydney needs to work on their airports, especially on the night life.  I mean, look at all these people who can't even sleep on a chair."

I looked around the silent airport terminal, and how many people were curled into their sweaters and luggage.  Lisa/Lisy [I think she introduced herself as Lisa, but in a letter she showed to me later, the writer addressed it to a Lisy...] sat next to me, and we were the only people in the terminal awake and talking.

"It's too bad you're leaving in the morning.  If that baggage storage place were open only a half hour alter, you would actually get to see a bit Sydney before you left."

I sighed.  "Please don't remind me."

"Even if a hostel were accepting late-night, last-minute check-ins that would be great.  Such a shame."

-| Wee Hours |-

My watch read 4:03 am.  I had lost all feeling from my waist down, my neck was sore from lack of pillow, and my eyes were burning from recently removing dry contacts.  I still clung onto every word Lisa/Lisy said.

Having grown up in Melbourne her entire life, she decided to just get out of the house and travel, no plans on how or by what means she would make it possible.  Her first stop was Italy, back to where part of her family had originated.  Then onto France, Germany, Spain.  A friend in Spain said they should travel together to Brazil, and she did.  A visit to Argentina became a 6 month teaching career.  The teaching career had led to a romantic interest [not a student], and the romantic interest had led to a heartbreak.

"Now?  Now I'm just going home to work.  At least, until I have enough to travel again.  I don't think it's something you really get over, you know?  Once you start doing it...  It's hard to stop."

I knew.  My year was 7/12 over [had it been that long already?], and I could tell that going back home would be hard.  Fortunately, deep and meaningful life conversations like these would make the transition easier.

-| Sweetie, Denied |-

"I just don't understand why I can't buy a cheaper, refundable ticket to Ecuador or Chile."  I leaned over the counter, exhausted and frustrated, trying not to yell at the woman.

"I'm sorry sweetie.  We don't make the rules.  We just enforce them.  But because you have a US passport, you need to have proof of further travel before going to Argentina.  And by further travel, it has to be outside of South America.  If you want, you can go buy a fully refundable ticket to LA, and return it as soon as you land in Argentina.  But we can't give you your ticket.  If they realized we let you go without proof of further travel, not only would you be deported as soon as you landed, we would be fined $10,000.  And we would have to fine you."

I knew she meant well, and that she [probably] said some true things.  Deep down, however, I knew that a) South America could care less if I had proof of further travel, and that b) a ticket to another South American country would be fine.  Logically, people backpacked/traveled for months or years around the Southern continent without proof of coming back to the US.

"I...  I just tried buying a ticket at the other counter.  A fully refundable ticket to the US is more than three grand."

"And how are you expecting to support yourself in Argentina without sufficient funds, sweetie?"

"I meant that I haven't transferred the funds to my debit card.  I can afford it, but it's going to take a couple of days before the funds transfer."

"Mmm hmm.  Well, we can do one of two things.  Either we can send you back to the US-"

Internal monologue: GOOD GOD NO.  I WOULD BRING SO MUCH SHAME TO MY SCHOOL AND THE FELLOWSHIP and probably family and friends as well.

"-or we can change your flight to Wednesday.  Unfortunately, there are aren't any flights for tomorrow, but that might buy you some time to transfer funds into your account."

"I...  I guess that's really my only option.  I'll take the flight change."

"Sweetie, do you think two days is enough time to transfer funds and buy a ticket?"

We'd have to wait and see, wouldn't we?

-| Silver Lining |-

I spent the next two hours running around the airport, attempting to find a location where my laptop could connect to the internet.  Reaching a ripe old age of almost 5 years, my laptop regularly had problems connecting with the world.

Symbolism.

The request to transfer enough funds for purchasing a ticket sent, I sat for a moment and realized: Where am I going to sleep for the next two days?  What am I going to eat?  Will I shower?  The gravity of the situation rearing its ugly head, I came to the conclusion that I would have to spend the extra money for a room in a hostel.  Hopefully, one would take me on such short notice.  I flipped through the airport guides for nearby hostels.  The cheapest and closest one was only around the corner from the first train stop leaving the airport; that would have to do.

It didn't hit me until I had dropped my bags at the foot of the hostel bed: I had two days in Sydney.

After the whole baggage storage plan had fallen through, and my ticket to Argentina had been denied, I was somehow granted more time to venture out into the tourist capital of Australia.  Perfect.

-| No Baggage |-

For the first time this year, I left my backpack in my room, and set out into the city armed with only a map and my camera.  What else did I need?

I actually should have asked myself that question before I left the room.  An hour and a half and a bowl of kung fu ramen [homemade and hand-pulled of course] later, I desperately patted my pockets in search of my wallet.  I had left it in my backpack, all the way back in my room.  Sheepishly, I begged for forgiveness from the ramen woman, left my camera as collateral, and ran to the hostel and back.

So much for not worrying.

-| Tourist |-

I did the tourist thing.  Which is hard to do when you're on your own.  Which also results in angular, one-handed photos of yourself in front of tourist attractions.  Which results in a lot of deleting, but also a lot of keeping because of entertainment and quality value.

-| Nice Tourist Shot 1 |-

-| Nice Tourist Shot 2 |-

-| The view outside of the hostel. |-

-| Real Ramen Noms |-

-| Pseudo Albino Monk? |-

-| Blossoms! |-

-| Mom:  "Joshua, can you find me a pair of Ugg boots?  They are my dream boot." |-

-| Ibiseeing You! |-

-| Take pictures of signs that describe you. |-

-| Accurate |-

-| Real Monks? |-

-| Where's his labyrinth? |-

-| Sayid played soccer on this field! |-

-| Look how close I can get! |-

-| "Hark!  Chester!  Wallace!  Do you hear what I hear?" |-

-| Supposedly rubbing the golden snout of this boar brings good luck. |-

-| A member of Slipknot was at the Dymocks.  Many excited people in black got in line and yelled. |-

-| Angel Place |-

-| What's that doing here? |-

-| Aussie shirt on the Aussie bridge |-

-| Love Padlock |-

-| Aussie shirt on the Aussie bridge overlooking the Aussie Opera House! Triple Threat. |-

-| T-Minus 10 Hours |-

There was a pain in my chest, a twist in my stomach, and a cramp in my head as I checked the transfer update: TRANSFER PENDING.  The night before I was supposed to go to Buenos Aires, and the transfer still hadn't gone through.  Sure, I received an email from the flight company saying that I had requested to buy a ticket to France, but I never received a confirmation email saying that the booking was completed.

And without that booking confirmation, I wouldn't be allowed on the plane!  Again!  And they would either have to delay my flight - again! - or even worse, send me back home to the US!

A sudden slap of common sense hit me across the face; maybe all I needed was that email showing that I requested a ticket to France after Argentina.  Maybe they didn't need the confirmation email.  After all, if [two days ago] they were suggesting I buy the ticket, and that was enough evidence to get onto the plane...  Surely that wasn't enough time to receive the confirmation.

The plot began forming in my mind; I could just show a printed email of an attempt to buy a ticket out of Argentina.  Whether or not it was denied later by the booking agency because of insufficient funds, it didn't matter.  I could be on the plane to, if not already in, Argentina by that time.  And if the ticket was denied before I got on the plane?  I would easily attempt to buy another ticket.

Seeing the loophole was one thing, but realizing I could have jumped through it earlier [two days earlier, more specifically] was another.  Regardless, I had had my time in Sydney.  I left after dinner to go into the city; I towards a bar.  Alone.  Why not?  It was my last night in the country, and I had plenty of reasons to celebrate [I had the time, I had a plan, I had a full night's rest, I still had yet to be a night-time tourist, etc.].

-| Karaoke |-

I found my way to a decently classy bar.  To my luck, it was a pre-Mardi Gras celebration.  And what better way to celebrate than with a karaoke competition?  And who better host to host it than a drag queen named Penny Tration?

-| T-Minus 4 Hours |-

Exhausted, I headed back to the hostel at almost 3 in the morning.  I would have to pack my bags in the dark [hopefully without waking up the other 7 men in the room], take a shower, take a nap, clean up the bed, check my flight,and check out out of the hostel before 7:30 in the morning, when the shuttle would take me to the airport.

-| Attempt # 2 |-

"Enjoy your flight to Buenos Aires, Mr. Magno."

-| Case in Point |-

Don't not worry when things don't always go as planned.  Take the time you need to breathe, work out the next couple of moves that'll get you by in the short-term, then relax.  There's only so much you can do to help the situation, but so much more to do instead of panicking about it.

[convenienced]

Time Travel

"It's like you're earning a day," Alejandro, the new housemate in Philip's house, said.

Our Hero relaxed, glad to finally find someone who understood when he was going to arrive on the next site.  His flight itinerary had stated the date of departure, but not the date of arrival.  After several emails in crude translations with a potential new host, Our Hero's arrival date could have been this coming Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday.  Silly details such as time zone differences ["You know that Australia is ahead by fourteen hours, right?"], the direction of the flight ["Are you flying over the Pacific or the Atlantic?"], and the direction the world was turning ["Because you might be flying in the opposite direction the world turns"] confused Our Hero.  He couldn't think of time like that.

Yet.

"If you think about it, it's like you're jumping up in the air, letting the world turn below you, and coming back down.  So while you leave at 11:00 am on Monday, you'll actually arrive at 10:00 am on Monday."

This made sense.  Alejandro clearly knew what he was talking about; after all, he was born and raised in Our Hero's next site.

"And then your body gets messed up.  When you leave Adelaide and head to Sydney, you'll be traveling for so many hours.  Then you have your 13 hour layover.  Then you head off from Sydney and go to the next country...  You're traveling for more than a day and a half, and you get little sleep, and you arrive.  But it's still the same date and time as you left."

"Kind of like Narnia?" Our Hero asked.

The joke must have not translated very well.  Alejandro shrugged and continued to make a sandwich.

"Buenos Aires will be amazing," he said through a mouthful of bread and tomato.  "Just make sure you're awake to experience it."


[Marty McFly]

Steal Fire Extinguishers

An easy to follow step-by-step 'How To' tutorial for one of the most important skills necessary in life!  In less than a week, you too can [illegally?] play with an Australian fire extinguisher!

-||-

Step 1:  Invite random friends who you don't really know from one of your dance classes to drinks, not romantically, but because going home early during the day is embarrassing to you and your hosts.

Step 2:  Get invited to the birthday party of said dancer friend's friend, preferably a karaoke bar, three days later.

Step 3:  Go to said karaoke bar birthday party, with the promise of everyone at the karaoke bar to have tone deaf ears.

Step 4:  Upon entering the bar, notice the 38 year old Malaysian woman singing "I Will Always Love You" and "The Power of Love" sings with the vocal accuracy and intensity of Whitney Houston and Celine Dion.  Also notice the poorly dressed [mysterious red dress, oversized men's blazer, coke-bottle glasses, shabby red wig, wrinkly white stockings, and 4-day facial hair] drag queen sitting in the corner.

Step 5:  Realize that everyone in the bar actually can sing, including all of the birthday party guests.  Except for the drag queen, who attempted to sing "Dancing Queen."  Not so mysterious symbolism.

Step 6:  Come to the resolution that you won't sing in front of these strangers.

Step 7:  Fall under the peer pressure to imbibe on the many bottles of beer and cider bought for you by said dancer friend and new not-dancer-friend-of-dancer-friend, and in return buy the house chicken wing specialty.

Step 8:  Talk about heartbreaks for at least 20 minutes.

Step 9:  Sing Savage Garden's "I Knew I Loved You" in a trio with said dancer friend and new not-dancer-friend-of-dancer-friend, and not realize that no one clapped at the end.  Continue partaking in beer and cider.

Step 10:  Bike home safely whilst under the influence.

Step 11:  Eat a quick snack of peanut butter and jelly on toast, and a few bites of the gnocchi and tomato sauce you made for dinner earlier that day.

Step 12:  Vomit the food you just ate.

Step 13:  Sleep for 5 hours, and get up mid-morning to make a breakfast of Weet-bix and bananas.  After taking one bite, realize you still feel like vomiting and go back to sleep.

Step 14:  Wake up in the afternoon, make two bowls of ramen and eggs, and notice how thankful you are to be alive, and how you'll never touch a drop of alcohol again.

Step 15:  Get a text from new-not-dancer-friend-of-dancer-friend inviting you to the Wine & Food Festival nearby.

Step 16:  Arrive at the Wine & Food Festival to meet up with new-not-dancer-friend-of-dancer-friend for a few minutes, and watch as he and his friends leave.

Step 17:  Wander around the Festival on your own, watching Australian bands cover 80s rock songs and Beyonce.  Additionally, notice how many people are walking around with glasses of wine, and how looking at said glasses delivers a hard pang to your stomach and kidneys.

Step 18:  Watch Master Chef Michael Weldon make ratatouille.

Step 19:  Get two free loaves of bread.  WHAT.

Step 20:  Stop by the American Candy Stand Cupcake Cafe, and inquire on what makes the American Hot Dog they sell American.  Note how expensive the candy is [$4 for a single Twinkie, $1 for a Reese's Mini Peanut Butter Cup, $1 for a single Twizzler, etc.].  Buy a chocolate cherry ripe cupcake instead.

Step 21:  Read Sun Tzu's The Art of War.  Get asked by the girl sitting in the table next to you what could make war an art.  Carry on the conversation for several hours.

Step 22:  Get invited to go with Kaitlin Honeychurch [yes, that must be her name] and her friend, both of whom who work in the Cupcake Cafe, to drinks.

Step 23:  Just drink water.  Keep rehydrating.

Step 24:  Meet friends of Kaitlin Honeychurch's friend.  Discuss traveling, security guards, sticky floors, romance, and wine.

Step 25:  Insist on going home, because you have important dance school teachers to meet in the morning, and end up walking with new friends.

Step 26:  Walk past the deconstruction of the Wine & Food Festival, and watch as your new [inebriated] friend picks up the fire extinguisher a few feet away from the construction men, and let yourself be whisked down a different street [leading away from your bike] to avoid being caught.

Step 27:  Let chaos ensue with said fire hydrant.

Step 28:  Explain to one of your new friends [who bears an uncanny resemblance to Amy Winehouse, Megan Fox, and Katy Perry] that running into the carbon dioxide spray won't melt her face and turn it into acid and force her to live on the outskirts of society.

-||-

These twenty eight easy-to-follow steps are now in your hands!  Good luck, future renegade of the law!  Steal those fire hydrants; no life is worth living if you haven't done so.  Although the material gains are minimal, the moments experienced and the memories made are worth more than their weight!

I myself have tried it only once, but I can attest to the effectiveness of this program!  If I've learned anything from this How-To, it's this: if you turn down alcohol offered from a semi-stranger, it might cost you the opportunity to break the law.

Note:  I made the poor decision to not hydrate whilst partaking in delicious beer and cider.  Don't make the same mistake.  Water water water.

[Dillinger]

Aren't You

-| Masterclass |-

In response to the Ranters' Theatre workshop held two months ago, Jo Stone of Stone/Castro has hosted a series of master classes over the past few weeks to answer the following questions:

Who aren't you?
What defines your identity?
What defines your physical language and performance language?

How far can you get away from it?

Defined as an 'attempt to define your natural physical habits,' Jo's classes have been an attempt to define natural movement tendencies [i.e., keep dancing alone in front of all 25 of us until you run out of things to do, then keep on going until you're paralyzed from having nothing left to do], and push into places of performing that don't sit right with the body.  You know, things that feel wrong.  A space that goes against all of your natural instincts.

-| 3.5 Weeks Ago |-

Philip [referencing a freestyle session with Restless a few days before]:  It's interesting, actually.  You put up this wall - physically - and keep people from interacting with you.  You don't allow yourself to go to their place.  It's like you just want to initiate the relationship with someone, but you don't want to receive it.  At least, that's when you're dancing.  Compared to your real world, where all you want to do is receive and not initiate...  It's just interesting how this part of you is manifesting itself.

Cass [in an email]:  It's just like Bisbee [professor] back at Bowdoin, Magno.  Sometimes art reflects the inverse of your behavior.

-| The List |-

Jo:  Now let's go around and try to describe Josh's movement in as few words as possible.  Feel free to explain why you chose that word, or those words.

chicken

Jo:  Kind of like how a chicken has that outer layer of feathers, your shirt was kind of hiding what you were doing.  Like, you know how those muscles are moving underneath all those feathers but you can't really tell what they're doing?  I wanted to see what your body was doing underneath that shirt...

isolation

panic

warrior

My internal monologue [MIM]:  That... doesn't really go with the last word...  Right?

getting knocked backwards

reaching up to the sky

pharaoh

sacred ritual

Jo:  It just looked like you were doing this for something, someone, up there.  You know, like something was supposed to happen after you finished.

prayer

MIM:  I'm noticing a theme here...

Michael the Great

Had to Wikipedia this one.  Not that it makes much sense, but it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

ghost

"When you went to the wall, it was like... like... like... like you split into two different people, and you passed through yourself.  I... I... I...  I really felt that, Joshua.  I felt that.  I felt it here [points to chest]."

spirit

stylish

svelte

I had to look this one up in the dictionary:  slender, especially graceful in figure; lithe; suave; blandly urbane.

sexy

MIM:  [Wrings hands in bashfulness.]

love

MIM:  [Continues to wring hands in bashfulness.]

believe in himself

MIM:  [Sweating profusely and finds an interesting mark on the ground to inspect.]

prince

Jo:  Tara, what do you mean by 'prince'?  Like, the singer, or-

Tara:  -the kind to marry.

Jo:  Oh.  Okay.  I'll write that down just so that Josh remembers.  The kind to marry.

self conscious

petite

Justin Bieber

I wasn't the only one to get this comment.  Fortunate or unfortunate, I'll leave that up to you.

karate kids + karate man

fast and slow

dramatic + sudden

James Bond

trapped

angular

Nile River

Matt:  Yeah, he just had this royal theme going on.  But sometimes he was like water, like a river.  So I put two and two together, and it's definitely the Nile.  You know, Egyptian and all that.

sharp

precise

Aztec

Alice:  Yeah, I just wanted to go along with the ancient ethnic royalty theme...

perfectionist

body fix

Zoe:  I just really noticed the parts where it looked like you were trying to 'fix' parts of yourself.  Like trying to replace something that was missing, or something that was broken.

my body reaching out to you

peacock

MIM:  The vainest of the birds.  Am I really coming off like that?

handsome

MIM:  Oh.  I guess so.

thriller

Andrew:  He's like.  Michael Jackson.

pirate

Thomas the Tank Engine in a hip hop competition

MIM:  Compliment?  Insult?

mystery and horror

abandon

Jo:  I just had one more word.  You just remind me of someone who's letting go, letting something inside out, just releasing something.  For someone.

-| Confound |-

For this week, we're supposed to choose two or three words that we really like from our list, think of the opposite of those words, attempt to embody them [our interpretation, of course], and create a solo out of those opposites.  This will result in our 'who aren't you' solo.

One problem:  according to Philip, I naturally move the way I am not in the real world.  If I move the opposite of my movement - supposed to be my 'who aren't you' - won't that actually result in my 'who are you' solo?

Bum bum bummm.

[Not]

Kailea

Imagine, at Australian Dance Theatre's beginner contemporary class, a teacher who calls out choreography.

"run, run, run, run

Tina Turner, Tina Turner

and swing, and swing

back, back, fence, fence

and lovely!

beautiful!

lovely!

beautiful!"

Hilarious, and loving every minute of it.

[Not Letting Go]

Quote I

The greatest gift I ever gave myself was the freedom to be who I was.

- Philip

[Giving]

Toast

In an attempt to learn adult real-world-like skills whilst traveling, I've taken it upon myself to learn how to cook like a non-collegiate person.  Ergo, cutting back on things like pasta and toast.  Or, at least serving it in a much more classier way.

-| Rolled pork loin with duck gravy, wine-baked plums, and green beans with toasted pumpkin seeds. |-

-| Ratatouille with goat cheese and couscous. |-

-| Salted soft boiled egg with buttered soldiers. |-

Unfortunately, I haven't photographed all the dishes I've cooked, but here's a not-so-very-comprehensive list:

-| Marmalade glazed chicken with vegetarian pasta. |-

-| Pan fried steak with homemade spiced macaroni and cheese. |-

-| Shepherd's pie served on summer salad and white wine dressing. |-

-| Honey glazed basa fish fillet on warm spinach with green beans, almond, and thyme. |-

-| Rum-soaked double layered chocolate Guinness cake with cream cheese frosting. |-

Suck on that, real world.

[Gourmet]

The Flame

The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.

-  Ferdinand Foch

The Boy had been hit with a kind of dry spell over December and January.  Except the occasional venture out into the city, to the country, to the wineries, to long lost relatives, and especially to the week-long dance intensives at Restless, all of Australia seemed to take a break from being eventfully stimulating [contrasting the experiences had in India and Uganda, where he had to painfully decide everyday what he would attend and what he would have to miss].  Apparently, dancers needed a break for the holidays too.

He remembered, almost a year and a half ago, staring at the poster for the fellowship in the dining hall.  He knew the answer.  Almost anyone who knew him could answer the question:

What sets your soul on fire?

He also remembered the day ten months ago, the one in which he opened the email after an agonizing morning of research set in the middle of an island.  First, the sensation of being dropped from the top of a tower.  Then, a small spark that spread from his chest to his fingers to his toes and then to his face.  His hands began to sweat, his jaw paralyzed ajar.  Leaving behind the microscope and the agar dishes full of lobster hearts, he ran with her to the edge of the island and stared to the eastern horizon.

"I can't breathe," the Boy said, over and over again.  She just smiled.

Something had been set ablaze that afternoon.

Classes back in the theater and the train station dance studio were bathed in a different light since that day.  It's going to be like this, he thought, only all the time.  And everywhere else.  Every step on the marley floor sent a warm pulse through his feet that settled in his chest.  Maybe it was even then he started to look different in the mirror.  One year of this feeling, he told himself again and again.

Months later, he would practice in the living room of his bharatanatyam teacher, on the outdoor marble stage with his kalaripayattu teacher, in the storage house of the Gulu Theatre Artists, in the cement hut of Breakdance Project Uganda, and in Restless' studio.  The same feeling came back every time.  So this is what it's like.  My soul's on fire, he would think, smile, and wave it away.  Okay, that was a little pretentious.  No need to start writing "Eat, Pray, Love: Magno Edition" yet.

The teacher at AusDance had used music that kept his fire burning; he wouldn't mistake her choreographic style or song choice for coincidence.  Too much had happened this year that was too perfect for random happenstance.  Three hours of moving across the floor in front of the mirrors and he was still looking for more, almost as if he would never run out of fuel.  And it was all so very strange: his sudden ability to pick up choreography, to let it stick in his mind, had sharpened since his days back at college and high school.  He hopped from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for the teacher to move on.  Whatever the fire was feeding on, he had plenty of it.  It certainly came as a disappointment when the class had ended; it wasn't enough! The bike ride home did little to expend this energy.  He decided that he would find more classes, more styles, more teachers tomorrow.  And the day after that, and the day after that.  He wanted to keep feeding whatever was inside him, whatever had awakened back on that island.

The Boy was sure it wouldn't extinguish, not for a while.

[Burning]

Head Over Heels

He didn't know which had embarrassed him more that night:

1. Being physically unable to enter - or even desire to enter - a club alone that night [that is, without close company or the knowledge of meeting up with close company], or
2. Jamming his toe into the spokes of the wheel of his host's bike - not sure how that was possible - and catapaulting over the pedaled contraption's front onto his back, onto the side of the road and not into passing traffic.  At 11:30 p.m.

Blinking, He stared up into the night sky.  He counted the cars that passed.  One.  Two.  Three.  In his peripheral, red and blue lights began to flash, and his ears picked up the growing sound of sirens.  That and something ugly.

He lifted his head, and saw his legs tangled in the bike's body, the iPod scattered off onto the sidewalk and the cord of the ear plugs [still half-hanging from his ears] dangling from the handles.  Scraping himself from the pavement, He frowned as he noticed that he had fallen only a few meters away from an occupied bus stop.  Perhaps it was a good thing that two weeks prior, He had been pulled over and warned by the Adelaide Police to wear a helmet while using a 'push bike,' as it was the law.

He imagined the voices to come from the offspring of a Gremlin and one of the witches from Hocus Pocus and raised to compete with a fog horn.  As he edged himself away from the traffic and the oncoming ambulance, He couldn't help but notice that the boys had done absolutely nothing but point and laugh.  Yes, he knew this would turn into a funny story later, but whilst He was still in pain and under this bike and close to being hit by a car, couldn't they have waited to laugh about it later?  When He was far from harm?

He knew the ambulance wasn't sent for him; he watched it pass in slow motion.

Pushing the bike up and pulling his legs from around the bike took longer than expected; this actually gave the boys enough time to give one last final point and cackle, and board the next bus and vanish into the night.  He pushed the bike, realized it wouldn't move, and spent the next twenty minutes assessing what had gone wrong.  Fortunately, many close friends back at his college were bike enthusiasts, and he had picked up bits and pieces of bike maintenance and care over the past years.  He had learned to assess the chain, true the bike's wheels, and take apart the brake mechanism.  As he examined the bike, he noticed that the dark material caking itself all over his right hand wasn't grease from the chain; blood had been gushing from his middle finger [which he should have given to the boys who had boarded the bus] and palm.  Using his non-dominant hand, he removed the quick-release on the front tire and readjusted the brakes.  He pedaled back home.

"That's all?" Sean asked incredulously.

He nodded.  After locking up the bike [he would check the following morning for the damage done], he had gone into the bathroom and analyzed his right hand.  All that he could see was a good layer of skin scraped off, here and there, but no bone showing.  As for the rest of him, everything was still wiggling, albeit with a slight buzz to it [shock?].

"You got off lucky.  We were biking around Mclaren Vale when I had done the same thing, but that's how I broke my wrist.  Look at you, you didn't even tear your pants."

He looked down, and was surprised to find this as well.  His knees hurt, but Sean was right; no tear, no blood.  It bust have been a fairly graceful fall.

"You're also lucky you can clean it out with all of that and not get sick.  I couldn't even watch the doctor bandage my wrist; blood makes me feel ill."

He sighed, and proceeded to wash the wounds, scrape the dirt out from the gashes, and apply hydrogen peroxide [slight burning sensation], friar's balsam [incredibly painful burning sensation, and also staining], and betadine [a brown version of Neosporin].  Once he was done, his hand looked as if he had gone to the toilet which was devoid of toilet paper and refused to wash and rinse before leaving the bathroom.

He didn't think 'lucky' was the word of choice for the night.  'Humiliating' was one candidate, another was 'excrutiating.'  

It was possible these would scar, and that he was sure that he would have a somewhat entertaining story to tell at dinner parties and other social venues.  He would bear proof of certain people's inability to empathize, and he would be able to make commentary on human altruism [or lack thereof].  But the one thing that had certainly made a lasting mark on him that night was that in the moment of aerial suspension, in the moment of being lifted from the bike seat, over the handles, and approaching the concrete with his head, He knew that everything was going to be fine.  Sure, there were going to be some scrapes here and there - hopefully no fractures or broken bones - but things were going to be okay.  Regardless of the fact He was going to perform a face plant into a considerably busy street, He was going to be able to pick himself up, and move on.

Mmm.  Symbolism.

[Falling]