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]

The Constant

"This," the Nomad said, waving his arm across the milonga, "is what's been keeping me sane here..  To have something so regular, something you can depend on, is what makes traveling so much more bearable."

Here's what I've learned during my time in the milongas of Buenos Aires:  In the grand not-so-linear equation of your life, many things change.  Friends, family, lovers, enemies, schools, homes, beliefs, favorite foods, and even fashion choices.  Few things, if any, stay the same.  But, in the midst of all this fluctuating line that never really seems to have a terminal point, you can pick out patterns that - for some reason - keep appearing.

Rediscovering an idea from a favorite episode of a favorite tv series, I realize how important it is to have a constant, something to which you can anchor yourself, something around which you can make choices, something from which you can plant yourself and grow wildly.  Without this constant, wandering loses meaning and venturing loses purpose.  Everything that changes around you sweeps you off your feet, and not in the romantic sense.  You land facedown on the ground, and the pain that comes with it isn't only physical.

There's a moment when your life brings a sudden change: whether you're going to a new school, a significant other decides to end a reasonably good relationship, you move to another country, or you decide to buy a different/more eco-friendly bottle of laundry soap.  It's in this moment when memories come flooding back and you realize what made your constant.  It's in this moment when you debate on whether or not the change is worthwhile, and if you're making a terrible mistake in allowing it to happen.

You reminisce about the first dance, toes you stepped on, sweaty shirts at three in the morning, learning Latvian polka, smoker's breaths, wine nights, and life conversations you had.  You remember the one time you met someone, and the hundreds of times you sat with the regulars.  Because, hey, now you're a regular.

Some might ask you why you didn't go here or there while you were in said location, and for a fleeting moment you'll feel like the bottom of a spittoon for not making more of your time.  It's not when you sit down and look through pictures and remember the private jokes and the conversations over Argentine beer that you understand it all.  You did make the most of your time.  Not in the way other people would, but you did.  And it wasn't through going to this famous museum or going to this famous part of the country, but it was through the people you met, the friends you made, the fleeting encounters you experienced.

For me, the constant is a temporary family you build in a moment, whether it's one almost-brother, or a whole collection of locals and travelers.  You might not see them everyday, but when you do, a very large part of you is at peace in a considerably restless place.  The beauty of it all is that for whatever little time you have together, you've come together for that one moment because you needed each other.  For that one moment, you depended on each other to be there, to become each other's constant.  Without that, living would be

so

much

more

difficult.

And when the time comes - because it always comes - you'll separate.  You'll have gained what you needed from that experience, and as much as you don't want it to, it'll end.  You'll have that one last round until five in the morning, joking about Disney Princesses and why the hell you want to go to Paris instead of Riga.  You'll impersonate Cher, and then talk about zodiac signs, and then you'll slip into British accents in which you debate on how to pronounce "The Avengers."  And finally, you'll talk about when you'll meet again, and even though you say you'll come back, there's a haunting moment when you don't know if it's true.

You never know what happens.

Earlier this year, I would've said that dance was my constant.  It is, after all, one of two major themes in my year abroad.  Now that I'm coming down to the last two and a half months...  I can't be so sure.  Dance has been my 'vehicle' [in the words of the fellowship] that has carried me around to where I need to go.  Interestingly, it's been the people I meet through dance that have kept me sane this whole time.  Sometimes I wonder whether or not the next site will be the same [absorb the culture, learn some of the language, meet people, dance a lot, walk a lot, etc.], and then I have to remind myself that it almost never will be.  It can't.  That's a factoid of life.  You are the thing that changes the most during your lifetime, a product of the equation made of interactions, culture, education, home, experiences, and even food.  You can hardly ever rely on one element to stay the same, and I believe that your constant at one point in time might not be the same constant at another [yes, a paradox if not a self-negating comment on this entire post].

Constants change too.  You can lose them, and you just as easily gain make them.

The only thing I can hope for is that a new constant will be waiting for me wherever I go.  I just have to look for it.



[ The Variable ]

Like Making Love

Betty [preparing to leave the apartment]:  Ah Joshua, how are your tango classes?

Me [looking up from jar of dulce de leche]:  It's... okay.
B [concerned]:  How do you mean?
M:  It's already been three weeks, and I still can't lead.
B:  But you are just eh beginner.
M:  I know, but when I lead, most people who dance with me get frustrated and tell me that I need more force from the body, esfuerza del cuerpo.  But when I try doing that, I feel like I'm just ramming my chest into theirs.
B:  Ah but ees not just eh force.  Eets ah...  ahn energy.  Eets eh feeling.  Eet has to come from here [clutches her abdomen] and that's when you connect with another person.  When you hear tango, don't you feel eet here?

-| As seen at La Viruta |-

M [nodding slowly with raised eyebrows]: Si...
B [raising her eyebrows]:  Are you sure?
M:  No...
B:  When I hear tango, I...  [she shivers] Eet ees like when you make love.  You must, I forget how you say...
[Silence in which Betty looks off into the distance.]
M:  You can say it in castellano.
B:  Entregarse.  Without that, eets just eh dance.  And tango ees not just eh dance.  Without entregarse, there ees no connection, eets just moving.  Without-
M [finding the translation on GoogleTranslate]: -To surrender.  Entregarse is to surrender.
B:  Si.  Without surrendering, you are just moving.  Without that, eet ees just sex.  But with eet, eets making love.
M:  So I have to surrender to my partner?
B:  Si.  For me, you have to have that feeling, or you won't understand eet.  For me, tango and making love are the same.  That's why I like doing both. [Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turns to leave the apartment.]  Eets okay.  You'll get eet soon.




[ Learning to Make Love?  Every Night? ]

Ides

A year ago, The Boy's chest pounded all morning, hesitant to open his email account.  He sat in front of the lobster heart He removed earlier, eyes pressed against the microscope, the tiny forceps in his hands hovering over silvery tissue.

"What's wrong?" Mika asked, "You've been quiet all morning.  That's not like you."

The Boy looked up, then at his watch, then at her.  "Today's..." He began.

"Today's when you find out!" She gasped, and grabbed his shoulders with harpy-like strength.  "Have you checked have you checked have you checked?" She asked, jostling him back and forth, and He shook his head.

"We don't find out until noon."  He turned back to the lobster heart, but didn't bother touching it.  His laptop lay nearby, shut off.

She said something reassuring, something about no matter what happens, something blah blah blah blah.  He wasn't listening.

Time at Mount Desert Island Biological Laboratory passed slowly to begin with; what was supposed to be a week-long stay during Spring Break felt like forty years of gluing shiny dots on lobster backs, placing them in water tanks and tracking movements, removing their tiny hearts, removing even tinier nerve bundles from the hearts, and dousing other hearts in neurotransmitter.  That morning passed slower than usual, and The Boy thought He would suffer a heart attack from all of the anxiety.  When the lab instructor called for a lunch break, The Boy realized He had been hardly breathing.

"Aren't you going to check before lunch?"  Mika asked while He put on his jacket.  His watch read 11:30, still a half hour too early.

Although it was spring break in mid-March, snow still lingered on the trees and pathways on the island.  The sun had done a decent job melting some of it, but He could still see his breath fog with every other step.  She skipped from side on the way to lunch while She held her arm in his.  This did next to nothing to calm his nerves, but if it made her feel like she was helping, He would let her continue.

-||-

Her cell phone beeped during the taco salad lunch.

"Emily wants to know if you got it." She said.

"Tell her I haven't checked my email."

Mika typed away, and in a few seconds, her cell phone beeped again.

"Emily says that you should grow a pair and check it."

He rolled his eyes, and took a bite of ground beef.  Food at MDIBL was considerably gourmet compared to most camp food [although he had never been camping], but today's lunch tasted particularly bland and dry.

The walk back to the lab seemed even longer than before.

Everyone in the group returned to their lab stations, and The Boy switched on his computer.  His fingers gripped the keyboard as He waited to connect to the internet, and opened his inbox.  There was a sudden sense of panic as his eyes ran up and down the list of new mail, and after a few seconds of not seeing what He was looking for, He realized He wasn't even reading the words.  Taking a moment to breathe, He slowly went through the inbox.  And there it was, the tenth or so line down:

From: Cleveland Johnson;  Thomas J. Watson Fellowship Announcement

He dragged his cursor over the email, and hesitated.  Grow a pair, Magno.  Emily's advice rang through his head, and He double clicked.

-||-

They stood on the shore, just outside the lab.  Fresh, clean air filled his lungs again, and She balanced herself on some rocks, and stared to the horizon.  The sky seemed less cloudy, the wind less cold, and the ocean water less dark.

"I...  I don't think I can breathe."  He gasped, and placed both hands on his knees.  "Holy shit.  Holy shit."

Mika smiled, looked at him, and then back to the ocean.  "You're going to see the night sky from so many places..."  

She, of course, would be right.

-||-

He thought of where He would be in a year.  Somewhere out there, He thought, beyond the sea.

In a year... Well, He wouldn't even be finished with the year.  So much would change in that time, and He didn't bother trying to figure out how much.  He'd find out, eventually.  

He knew that He would learn about himself, more than He dared to before.  The Boy would experience so much in a year; mysterious skin conditions, questionable invitations to homes,  eye-opening life conversations, and incredibly embarrassing practices and performances.  He would walk for kilometers before He admitted He was lost, learn how to speak a foreign language for the sake of getting a lower price, prepare to get into a contemporary dance school, and even wake up in stranger's apartments at 3 in the afternoon.  This year was something unexpected, something He never would have been able to predict would ever happen.  Living abroad would be more than just going to country after country.  He'd learn to do something He'd forgotten; how to live, and how to love it.

And when He came back home?  He'd still be miles away from where He used to be.

[One Year Away]

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]

Quote I

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

- Philip

[Giving]

Like a Wolf

Despite recent name givings from dear pseudo-family members, He wasn't sure what it was really like.  But he wanted to know.  Perhaps that was why the mysterious powers that be in the universe had somehow led him to this moment, this week's workshop at Restless, and this specific group of dancers...

"Eleni," Zoe asked, "Do you want to explain the story behind the title of Restless' newest production?"

The dancers had gathered for the first time in 2012, and before any of the creative-making process was to be done, the Directors had decided to talk about the theme of the show.  Eleni, a performer from Autism SA, appeared caught off guard and suddenly shy.

"Howling Like a Wolf?" Eleni asked.

"Yes, Eleni.  Want to explain to some of our new members about how we chose that title?"

"We... we were talking about flirting.  Back in November."  Eleni curled her fingers as she slid nails between her teeth.

"We were talking about emotions back in November, when we were doing a workshop with Rawcus Theatre, remember?"

"Oh.  Yeah."  Eleni paused, unsure.

"And we were talking about what certain emotions look like, remember?  So we did an exercise, where each person showed what an emotion looked like behind a curtain we held up.  Do you remember what emotion we were talking about, and what you did?"

"It was brilliant," added Philip, "If that helps you remember it."

"I...  I looked like a wolf, howling at the moon."  Eleni said, staring at the floor.

"Right, Eleni.  And do you remember what emotion we were talking about?"  Zoe tilted her head.

"It was...  Love."  Eleni hand dropped from her mouth.

"And do you want to explain why you chose to howl like a wolf to show love?"

"I saw a card in the store before, with two wolves howling at the moon."  Lynne explained.

"And you said, back in November..."

"That's what love must be like."


[Howling]

ReSolution

"Is there anything you want to say to 2011 while you still have the chance?"

The question fell out of the radio speakers and landed on Our Hero's lap one Boxing Day afternoon; The Host, driving the car and utterly oblivious to what had happened in the passenger seat, continued flipping through the stations.

Our Hero stared at the question as it wrapped its tendrils around his stomach, settled into a comfortable position, and looked up into the traveler's eyes as if to say,

This might take a while.

-||-

"If you could, what would you change about yourself?"

"You mean, right now?  Like, if I had a switch for it?"

The Host took a drag on his cigarette, blew it into a stream away from Our Hero, and nodded.

Our Hero paused for a moment to recollect the quote he had seen a few weeks ago, and recited, 

"There once was a man who became unstuck in the world.

He took the wind for a map,

He took the sky for a clock,

And he set off with no destination.

He was never lost."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Someone wrote it on a pillar in the hostel kitchen back in Byron Bay," Our Hero said, squinting off and staring into the garden, "I really liked it.  Still do."

The Host took another drag, waiting for Our Hero to continue.

"Philip, I want to become unstuck.  In light of everything we talked about, I just want to stop caring."

"Stop caring?"

"About what people think.  You were right when you said that I hold myself back.  A lot.  It sucks."

"And you know its keeping you from growing, from changing."

"... Yeah.  I know."

"Joshua, it's time to let go."

-||-

"So we're pretty set on heading to the beach on New Years Eve?  Probably 7 or so in the evening?" Jesse asked.  

Matt nodded in agreement, and Our Hero agreed by rubbing in more sunblock.

"And what about afterwards?"

"I don't know," Matt said, "I think we were pretty keen on getting back into town and probably going to a pub.  Josh has been to Mars a few times, how about we go there?"

"Look at you, Josh.  You have a haunt here already."

It was true, Our Hero had been to that bar on several occasions since he had arrived in Adelaide.  He couldn't help it; the bar was the first to which he was introduced in Australia, and the one in which he had met a considerably diverse collection of characters [including an ex-circus performer in a wheelchair, a part-time go go dancer and first year dance student, a woman who had moved to Adelaide because the job market in Chicago was terrible, and a drag queen named Malt Biscuit].  Our Hero wouldn't turn down the chance of going back to Mars, although Jesse's choice of words had slapped him across the face at the last second.

You have a haunt.

As expressed before, Our Hero had despised the idea of developing habits, running in circles, becoming predictable.  The idea of anchoring himself to one place during a year like this was more than undesirable and embarrassing, it was 

so 

terribly

like

himself.

-||-

Maybe this would be the first year he would follow his resolution, whatever he decided it would be.  

He didn't want this feeling to stop, whatever this feeling was.  Feeling like he was in the right place at the right time, doing the things and meeting the people he needed to, hearing, seeing, and learning things that would help sculpt him into the Prince he was destined to become.  worldlyfearlessconfidentsereneexperiencedknowledgedserene.  Feeling that fire inside rage every day, every time he practiced, every time he saw a performance, every time he felt the hard wooden floor beneath his feet vibrate from too much bass.

He wondered what it would be like when this would all stop.

That is, if it would.

He, Our Hero, The Boy, The One who would lose then find his way in India, who was adopted and beloved in Uganda, who smelled of sunblock and tasted of sea salt in Australia hoped this would never end.  The destiny he had chosen had taken him this far, and for the first time in his life, he would dare to see how much farther this rabbit hole would go.

-||-

When 2011 would leave, he wasn't exactly sure what he would say.  Goodbye?  Thanks for the ride?  Call me?  2011 would always be a landmark; he had always known it would be the year he left college, entered the real world.  But what came after that?  What happened after the end?  He never would have guessed he would be traveling, dancing, living.

This past year was all about knowing what would happen next, having a plan, and watching as it all fell into place.  2012 should be different.  And it would.  Everything was already changing; why should he let it stop now?  If there was any time to let it all go...

... it would be now.

[New]

Made

"You've already made a choice." Adriano, director of Ranters Theatre, said over a glass of Cooper's Dark Ale.

This, the Boy had never heard before.

"There is no 'choosing between dancer or doctor' at this point, mate.  You're traveling for a year studying dance, not how to become a doctor.  Spend it learning as much as you can, and see where it takes you.  At the end of the year, you'll be in a place where you know whether or not you'll continue down this road.  By then, there'll be no more 'I'll have to make a choice between this or that,' but more of a 'I've already gone down this path, so I'll go a little further' or 'I might backtrack a bit.'"

The Boy nodded, and reached for a salt and vinegar potato chip.

"I can see that this is something you really want to do.  That much is obvious.  So why keep questioning what you want?  You made the choice when you took on this year.  Let yourself explore it as much as you can."


[Chosen]

Could

Sometimes you wonder what could have been.

If your parents had enrolled you in dance classes instead of karate, if you had realized your dreams earlier, if you had gone to a different college, if you had not majored in neuroscience, if you had been born into a family that supported whatever you wanted to do instead of what you needed to do.  You realize, that down some other rabbit hole, on another earth, in a parallel universe, you live a life where you're more talented, funnier, and better looking.  You don't appear as sad, as in much doubt, or as financially in need as you do in this one, and the unavoidable pang of regret hits you in the stomach full-force, throwing off your motivation to keep doing whatever it is you do.

You wonder if you could ever become a tenth of the successful person/people you see before you, a tenth of whatever it was that sent you into this state of being in the first place.  To see someone your age doing something you couldn't fathom doing - performing on stage, for instance, professionally - is more than just a moment of amazement.  It a disappointment as well.

This cold slap of [questionable] reality sends you tumbling down a considerably dark path of regret, paralyzing you from realizing that there may be a version of you who's a lot happier now than you are right now.  Which, in some cases may be hard to imagine, but in most cases incredibly easy.  At times, you wonder if it's not too late to try changing the path you're on, to try becoming this other person you momentarily imagined in the back of your mind.

To learn why this isn't possible, please watch the following educational video:

I like to think that I'm living without regrets, that every choice and mistake and success I've experienced happened for a reason.  That being said, I can't say that I don't experience jealousy.  When I see incredibly talented dancers perform at my age, I immediately get a sense that somewhere, I'm doing that.  Instead, I'm living this version of myself, who apparently daydreams all the time of things he'll probably never be.  A friend once told me,

"When I look at you, 

I see something that didn't happen to me, 

and won't ever happen to me." 

Of course I felt guilty.  I never wanted him, or anyone, to feel like that.  I'd like to believe that when I feel the same way, the person/people of whom I get jealous never wanted that to happen either.

However, a part of me is convinced they only feel pity.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade this year for anything.  I'm learning a ton, and I've made it all seem like it's all been one hilarious fleeting encounter after another.  But please please please remember that there's been a ton of dark times, and there'll continue to be a lot more.  I suppose I just don't like writing about them as much.

I'll finish with one comment: a lot of people have thanked me for the vicarious living I've apparently given them.  While I'm flattered, please don't think of it like that.  Don't try living through someone else's experiences, peeking through the rabbit hole, attempting to see the other version of you.  Live in the life you have right now, and make it as incredible as you possibly can.  You never know if a version of you is out there, wondering what could have been if they were living your life.

[ O|O ]

Realizations

Of the first 4 days in Australia:

1.  Vegemite, contrary to popular belief, does not taste terrible on toast, or at all.

2.  Australia is not America Part 2: it has its own strange customs, quirks, and even slanguage [slang + language] that make it lovable, terrifying, and hilarious.

3.  If you live with someone that has a garden, prepare to de-snail and de-slug it at nighttime, which is the best time to pick up these almost-liquid things that you feed to the chickens that poop out eggs for you in the morning.

-| Tupperware full of snails and slugs.  Be glad it's of poor quality. |-

4.  Orion is also visible from here.

5.  The summers are also cold here, but that's just because of global warming/climate change.  I had to wear my L. L. Bean microfleece to bed one night.

6.  The amount of t.v. you watch skyrockets, but the quality remains the same [awful].  The music videos are just as terrible, the documentaries ["When Teenage Meets Old Age"] say just as little, and the British dramas ["Upstairs Downstairs"] don't make any more sense.

7.  Walking around without shoes is popular here.  Especially in grocery stores.

8.  Candy is expensive, even without the conversion rate.  i.e., Mentos for 2 AUD | 2.05 USD.  Sad.

9.  Slang is hilarious, and like most, doesn't make sense.  "Chucked a wobbly" means "flipped a sh*t," "gone off" means "gone crazy," and "look at that gullah" means "stare at that idiot."  More to come.

10.  The toilets flush in the opposite direction.  Video update soon to follow.

11.  Kindness abound.  i.e., Free copy of Paulo Coelho's "The Pilgrimmage" from store owners, kind directions from strangers at the airport, invitations to birthday retreats in the country of South Australia, and amazing rooms and meals from dance directors.

12.  The currency is plastic.  The bills are partially see-through.

13.  Australians apparently shoot their national animal.  Farmers believe them to be pests.

-| If you look reaaaal close, you can see the Joey hanging out! |-

-| Exhibit A |-

14.  The flight here is INCREDIBLE.  The blankets [one of which is now in my possession], the food [Haagen-Dazs for dessert and an asian-style breakfast in the morning?], and the entertainment [Batman Returns, Another Earth, Mean Bosses, and Friends With Benefits was all viewed in a span of 8.5 hours] are waaay above par.  And, you get a whole row to yourself.

15.  When you live with a fashion designer and a dance director, all conversations become witty, dry-humored, and overly cultured.  And filled with many glasses of wine.

16.  Obvious:  THE BEACHES HERE ARE AMAZING.

17.  BONUS:  in Hong Kong, Nicholas Cage is still a thing.  And his forehead sells watches.

18:  BONUS:  in Hong Kong, you can get plenty of knock-offs.  Even Cloud Gate / the Bean.

[Aspiring Aussie]

They Call Me Stacy

-| Advice |-

"You know," Charles said, "we pray for you go back home safely.  But we also pray for you to finish your studies, get a very good job, find a wife and have beautiful children.  Your Mama Beatrice and I would be so happy to have grandchildren.  And for Mary Kay to meet her nieces and nephews.  You have a very big journey ahead of you, but as long as you never forget your name and your family, you can never go wrong."

The advice floated in front of Our Hero, flattered at the blessings of strangers he knew for only a couple of months.  But... His name?

-| Multiple IDs |-

Long before his travels, Our Hero had been called by many names:  Magno, Mango, Magneto, Jorgon, Joshaaay, Joshie, Jorsh, Magnus, J-mags, Shmangs, Shmags, Shmagno, Jagno, Shua, Shazaam, and Todd.  Although the more popular ones were variations of the one with which he was born, he had become accustomed to responding to most names using any combination of the "j" "sh" "m" and "g" sounds.  At least, that was how things had rolled in America.

Since traveling, he had collected a fair number of nicknames, coming from social status or even personal jokes. For instance, in India, he had been called Sir by the children at Samarthanam [students are to call all adults Sir or Miss], Joshua Guda by his bharathanatyam teacher [from wearing a towel similar to the sweating working class, guda so prevalent in HSR Layout], and even This Focka by his host [in the most loving way, of course, because of all the shenanigans he had managed to survive].  In Uganda, the Catholic priests had called him Josh, Josh, Josh [head shaking, disbelieving more shenanigans], the cultural dance leader called him omera [brother], the shopkeeper and her husband called him My Son, and her baby daughter - Mary Kay - called him Ankah! [uncle].

-| The Sisters |-

A pair of nuns had once asked Our Hero the meaning of his given name.

Great | Lion-Hearted | Messenger of God

Magno | Leon | Joshua

"That's one hell of a name to live up to.  Good luck." they muttered.

-| Acholi Culture |-

All Acholi people have two names: the Christian name [the first name] and the Acholi name [the surname, however it is not inherited from the father or mother, but given at birth].  When someone [a foreigner] is taken into an Acholi family, it is the mother and father's duty to give this family member an Acholi name.  Interestingly, if one is given an Acholi name and that person happens to live with someone older of the same Acholi name, it is the younger person's duty to buy a chicken as a gift of respect for the elder.

-| Surrogate Parents |-

"Joshua," Charles said, "your Mama and I have decided on a name for you.  Now, you must know that you are surrounded by so much love.  When you first arrived in her shop, your Mama lovingly invited you to our house.  And you lovingly accepted.  We've gotten to know you, and we pray so much for your safe travels during your studies, and for your safe return home to your real parents.  Mary Kay now sees you as an uncle.  You are loved in this family, and we know that you are loved back home.  You are capable of so much love."

His left eyebrow twitched.  Previous attempts at relationships in high school and college did not support that claim, but Our Hero decided not to mention that.

"So we have decided to name you with the Acholi word for love." Charles continued, and Beatrice's eyebrows furrowed in a way that suggested she was about to cry.  "Loving.  Full of love.  Being loved.  Surrounded by love.  All about love.  You, Joshua, are all about love."

Our Hero nodded at this, and upon hearing his Acholi name, proceeded to hug his Acholi parents, his little sister/niece, and finished his bottle of Coca Cola.  It was funny - he had expected a name that meant of the other land or first born or one who travels, something that he believed would be fitting for this year.  This name, however, was not the first one that would've come to mind.  If you had asked Our Hero before his travels, he would not have used this name to describe himself.  Time away from America had convinced him otherwise.

Our Hero left later that night [after watching The Jungle Book with Mary Kay], knowing this last week in Uganda would be painful, just as much as it was in India.  But he knew Charles was right - armed with the knowledge of his name and prayers of his family, everything was going to be fine.

[Omara]

Last Friday Night

The Boy no longer divided his week into Weekdays and Weekends.  After all, when his "research schedule" revolves around going along with whatever happens to happen, everyday turns into a Weekend.

Or do they just become more interesting Weekdays?

Although a part of him missed the TGIF attitude so prevalent in the States [and the more specific "work hard Sunday-Thursday afternoon, play hard Thursday-Saturday night" attitude at his alma mater], he and his liver were glad to make a drastic change in party attitude.  Instead of running around campus between themed social events [i.e., 'The Anything But Clothes Party'], mixed beverages [i.e., 'Jungle Juice' made of who-knows-what-as-long-as-it-tasted-good-and-got-the-job-done], and protein/fat/carbohydrate rich end-of-the-night snacks [i.e., chili cheese dogs and M&M brownies], the Boy had now fallen in love with a[n arguably] more adult weekend routine.

After traditional dance, Morris - Luo Talent Center leader, choreographer, and overall Beast - would take the Boy to a nearby bar to have Nile beer [which came in only 500 ml bottles], play billiards [the Boy had always won because his opponent scratched on the 8 ball], watch The Lion King [waitress' choice], listen to Mariah Carey [barkeeper's choice], and enjoy the conversations of [mostly inebriated] middle aged Ugandans, all in one night.

If this was what life was like after college, what it was like to grow up, what it was like to be a sophisticated adult...  The Boy knew he'd never look back and long for his college weekends again.


[Mature Weekender?]

In You

In short, Our Hero had [in American Slang] “epically failed” at being the center of attention.

This, of course, was not something new.

Regardless, he had hoped to lay low in the circle of Ugandan breakdancers; in this hope, he had imagined befriending several teachers, honing his [non-existent] acrobatic skills, and developing at least average upper body strength.  [As a bonus, this last expectation included toned arms, chest, back, and legs, but he would be fine if he left Uganda with the same lanky body.  Thanks, genetics.]  Although a part of him knew that it would eventually come, he was still pulled into The Circle.

Performed at the end of every Saturday class, the group of [30 or so] B-Boys and Girls would gather in the cement hut, clap hands, and chant “Bouncing Cats” over and over again like a secret society mistaken for a cult only Dan Brown would decide to write about.  It was in this circle of dancers that any [somewhat] willing volunteers would dance, showing off ‘their stuff’ and whatever new skills they had acquired that day.

-| "The Hut" or "Sacred Ground" or "Not-Baby-Classroom" |-

Perhaps it was the fact that his water bottle was running empty, or that an unsettling knot was developing in his stomach, or that he had been suddenly hit by a wave of ‘tired,’ but Our Hero knew things would go wrong when Andrew had finished gliding through the air then across the floor on his head [the laws of physics apparently paid no attention to this boy].  Our Hero half jogged, half dragged his feet across the cement.

Crap.

Not feeling the most creative juices flow to his brain, or sudden pangs of superhuman strength, Our Hero began to run through the choreography he had learned that day.  First, the uprock – this part went fine.  Then the turn – this also went fine, until the claps increased in volume and a shrill Xena/banshee-like wail emitted from a nearby B-Girl [sudden and violently loud acts of praise usually threw Our Hero off his groove].  Recovering, he executed the fall, and completely forgot the six step.

-| "Basics" or "Jeff The Teacher Teaches Six Step" |-

Which, of course, is both helpful and necessary in any break “routine” [slang: “round”].

Going straight into a CC roll, then a CC, another CC, then a CC roll again, Our Hero should have taken a hint from the Dance Gods and stopped.  Refusing to listen to any and all deities, he finished with what he had learned to finish with: the Baby Freeze.

-| Modified Baby |-

Although he learned to successfully do the freeze, he still had problems throwing it into a round.  This, of course, was his fault since he refused to practice in his spare time on church grounds.  Not only did his freeze not  happen, his upside-down face contorted into a face of surprise, and he flopped onto his back.  When he arose, Our Hero felt an uncomfortably familiar sensation in his jaw; whatever he had done, his strangely shaped jaw had locked to the right of his face [mild symptom of TMJD].  Walking out of The Circle, he massaged his jaw, knowing that only time would release the lock and stop making him look like Edvard Munch's "The Scream."

In short, Our Hero had earned [in Ugandan Slang, maybe] “Two Points” while being the center of attention.

-||-

After fifteen minutes of the Druid-like “Bouncing Cats” chant and looking like his jaw had dropped in amazement at everyone who had entered The Circle, Our Hero found himself talking to BPU’s current Leader of the Day [Name still unknown - Our Hero had to work on avoiding calling everyone "brother," "sister," "sir," or "ma'am"].

Although he was sure the Leader knew it, Our Hero hung his head and mentioned how he had done terribly in The Circle.  He would need a ton of practice that he knew he wouldn’t do on his own.  The Leader shook his head, then Our Hero’s hand.

“There’s a War in you.”  The Leader said.  Reading Our Hero’s confused eyebrows, he added, “I can see it.  I think by next year, you’d be perfect.”

Our Hero mentioned that he had already made plans to leave on November 30.

“November 30?”  The Leader pondered this.  “We better start teaching you faster.”

[Unlocking War]

Malarone

For some inexplicable reason, the Boy had met an unusually high number of doctors during the two and a half months he had promised to accomplish two things:  a) learn about dance and community service, and b) avoid thinking about the possiblity of applying/going to med school.  Whether this turn of events was meant to come off as fate, symbolism, or merely good/bad luck, the Boy acknowledged one important fact:

Networking with doctors abroad proved easier than attempting to do so in the United States.

In India, the Boy had developed a most questionable skin rash that would best be left undescribed [for the moment]. After consulting with general practice doctor after skin specialist doctor - for the unbelievable consultation price of Rs. 70|$1.55 to Rs. 400|$8.88 - it was concluded that he had developed an allergic reaction to the daily doxycycline tablets [an anti-malarial] prescribed in the United States.

You could say that it wasn't the Indian food or air or water that was making him sick, but the American medicine.  Ah, symbolism.

The Boy underwent a several weeks-long treatment of pills, creams, and dietary restrictions [no tomatoes, bananas, curds, or chocolate].  Most importantly, he was told to stop taking the anti-malarials in India [Doctor Siddeshwar: "You don't need to worry about catching that here.."] and wait until his arrival in Uganda to find a new prophylactic.  Although it left scars [concerned mother: "Is it... unsightly?"], the rash's source was treated and the Boy continued on his merry way bearing a nutty brown complexion for the rest of his days in Asia.

-| "Treatment 2 of 3" or "Buying Out the Pharmacy" |-

Following the Murphy's Law so characteristic in his life, the Boy again developed a questionable bump on his skin [why this would always be the target of foreign disease, he would never understand] within the first week of arriving in Uganda and forced himself to seek medical attention at St. Mary's Lacor, the nearby missionary-based hospital.  After the long [and highly abbreviated for mature content's sake] treatment, the Boy asked some of the Ugandan doctors and nurses about getting a new prophylactic.

Their response: "You didn't come here with any prophylaxis, so we cannot give you one."

Although the Boy did not understand this logic, he was fortunate to have been overheard by Abbie, common bystander and also travel organizer for a group of week-long volunteers.

"Oh, we definitely can help you with that."  Abbie said.  Introductions were made, and the Boy was whisked away to meet doctor after doctor after nurse after photographer after fireman.  The purpose of the volunteers' visit was simple: provide free clinics, treatments, and education to those who needed it.  He watched as doctors applied antibiotics to fungus growing on the heads of babies, as firemen taught children and parents to stop, drop, and roll [how many burn victims were there because they didn't know how to put out a burning article of clothing?], as nurses tended to women who couldn't walk, and as photographers recorded children playing duck, duck, goose [which, to a degree, didn't prevent the head fungus from being spread].

"Come with us," Abbie said, packing leftover hospital id bracelets into a ziploc bag, "We have plenty of medication back at our hotel, especially ones you're not allergic to.  Hey, if you're lucky, you might get a dinner and beer out of this."

For the umpteenth time in his travels, the Boy got into a mysteriously large van full of strangers.

Later that night, he sat among the circle of volunteers, all drinking a bottle of Nile Special Premium Lager.  He listened as they spoke of the day's cases like gossip.  Although he recognized next to none of the more advanced terms, he took mental note of ones easier to pronounce:

"I mean, didn't they invent the wound vac?  And they didn't even have one?  We were all like, 'where is it?'"

"Yeah, it's bad.  I mean, how many people did I see with hepatitis c?"

"So then, she comes in and says, 'Who wants to do a triple-A?' and after a day like this, I shot my hand right up."

"And they wanted me to work on the hernia, but without mesh, I was like, 'It's going to fall apart anyway.'"

He found himself less interested in explaining his reason for being in Uganda [Abbie: "Could you imagine just spending a year doing what you want around the world?  Chris the Fireman: "Yes, I could.  So the budget covers prison bails, right?"], and more absorbed in learning who these people were, why they came here, and [of course] where the funding came from.  Some came with their mothers, some worked at Harvard's Public Heath Office, some were aspiring nursing school students, and some were just asked to join because a member from the previous year was unable to return.  Most came for the experience, to do something bigger than their jobs back at home, to give more to people who had so much less.  Although there were some funds and donations, they came here out of their pockets using their own vacation days.

The Boy was floored.  Amazed.  Jealous?  He explained how the first two years of college had convinced him that he wasn't cut out for med school, but times like now [ironically, during this year in which he hoped to avoid the thoughts of med school] were convincing him the opposite.

Victoria, one of the older doctors, leaned over and said, "Honey, you have time.  You're young.  I only realized now that giving something is so much more important than getting something."  For a fleeting moment [or two] the Boy could see himself in their place, traveling to developing countries and treating afflicted locals who didn't have enough to pay, or knowledge to prevent.

As dinner [beef steak, tilapia, potatoes, chapatti, rice, and sauteed vegetables] began, Abbie came over with a small plastic bag in her hands.

"Okay, so here's the deal.  We don't have any extra malarone, which we think is the prophylactic you should take.  You're going to have a difficult, if not impossible, time finding the prescription here, but you might have a chance in Kampala.  Lisa, our pharmacist, is sure that you can get it in Nairobi.  But why go through all that trouble?  I've decided to go around to all of our volunteers and ask for their last day's malarone pill [everyone forgets to take it anyway], so you should have about a month's worth of prophylactics when I'm finished.  As for the second month's, well, why don't we just send you a prescription when we get back?"

Lisa stepped forward.  "And I've taken the liberty of putting together a kind of first-aid kit, based on what I think you'll need in Uganda and what you definitely need after your treatment at Lacor.  I'm sure I have all of the things with me here, but I'll double check tonight just to make sure."

The Boy asked Abbie how much the package would cost.

"Hey, we're here to give medication to people who need it.  For free.  You fall into that category too, bud."

Free drugs?  In Africa?  The Boy looked at the small plastic bag packed with brown tablets.  Each pill had come from a different volunteer, donated without a second thought.  Most of the volunteers were off in their own world, eating dinner, attempting to connect to the internet, or working on the group's blog, completely unaware of the Boy's dumbfounded stare.  He imagined what planets had aligned for this meeting to happen.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear his Mom and Dad thanking the volunteers who provided  proper healthcare for the next two months.


[ Protected ]