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]

The Return

Re-entry in : T - 16 hours.

So let's go.

[Neil Diamond]

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]

Recap

The Boy achieved several accomplishments, acquired copious skills, and experienced many a happenstance since He had last written from the City of Lights.  Not that He had scheduled himself into a free-time-less existence; it was as if the Boy was hit with the sudden awareness that he had less

than two months.

His 'free time,' or the time spent outside of His project, had become a series of moments when He 

just

felt

liberated.

Out of guilt, the Boy would come down from the clouds - or the steps of a church, or from a particularly wobbly or lovelock-encrusted bridge, or a wine-included picnic - and realize that many family and friends around the world had no idea what He lived through.  Instead of attempting to write detailed pages upon pages of those adventures [later, in due time], He compiled a list of highlights recapping the past few weeks.

This was what He had done, in no particular order:

•  Navigate Paris.  Namely, above ground, and on a bike.  This involved learning to go in and out of roundabouts [particularly around the Arc du Triomphe], getting lost until 1:30 am and having to bike 25 kilometers/15.5 miles [after experiencing a brief ten minute panic attack], and being guaranteed at least 3 hours of rigorous exercise everyday.

 

Public bikes?  Genius program, Paris.

• Lived with two ballroom dancers from the Czech Republic.  These two were the youngest competitors at the same-sex dance competition, and they won third place in the advanced level for men's latin.  SUCH A PROUD ROOMMATE!

• Somewhat related, He also started to learn choreography taught by middle-aged men for the upcoming Pride Parade.  Yes, He would perform.  Excited maybe?
• Moved to Puteaux.  New host, new scene, and new lifestyle.  Interestingly, Host 2 cautioned how to pronounce the suburb, as the sounds making it may translate to "dirty water" or "dirty whore" in French.  Or, as Host 2 likes to translate, "dirty whore water."  Also located next to la Défense, the business district, or the place with a lot of glass buildings that reflect each other.

• Rid Himself of His only pair of jeans.  Sad.
• Continued Argentine tango classes.  Interestingly, one of His teachers from Buenos Aires would come next month...
• Further developed His culinary skills.  Between His two hosts, He learned to cook quiche lorraine, boeuf borguignon, rhubarb ice cream sauce, and crêpes.

 

• Roadtripped to Lille, where the macaroons and pastries were cheaper, the weather a bit colder, and everything much more country.

• Realized that Parisians aren't fantastic dressers [as is the popular belief], but are just incredibly comfortable and confident with what clothes they have.  It was all in the attitude in which they wore clothes, not the price tag that made the citizens so attractive.  Maybe.

• Got spat on by a Frenchman whilst driving through the suburbs of Paris.  He should have known something was wrong when the Frenchman opened the car door and started yelling, but He had only assumed it were typical mannerisms outside of the city.
• Wore shorts that rose above the knee.  Contrary to the style he had grown accustomed to in the 90s, the Boy's thighs had felt a new freedom never experienced before.
• Saw the rat trap shop from Ratatouille.

 

• Attended a house party in Bures-sur-Yvette, in which most of the attendees were either musicians or singers.  To compensate for His lack of either skill, the Boy whisked around a young 20-something singer in Argentine Tango.  Many older women sighed longingly.  'Twas also at this party where a wonderful french woman who bore a red-headed resemblance to Meryl Streep spoke to [and thus taught] Him only in French.
• Found places that reminded him of friends from long ago...

 

Tong!

 

Coco?

• Picnicked many times, either alone or with friends.  During the summer, the picnic culture skyrockets and everyone saves money from going out to restaurants by buying food from markets and eating them along rivers, canals, in parks, or just on benches.  Ah, romantique.
• Met with friends from a long time ago, from another lifetime.
• Had a Groucho Marx sighting in Notre Dame.

 [Terribly Late]

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]

How Queer

Fact:  He had never asked another man to dance before this year.  This did not mean, however, that He had never danced with another man; He, of course, just graduated from college.  Same-sex dancing, from what he remembered, was taken light-heartedly between friends at most Galas, house parties, concerts, and other social venues.

But passionately?  He had never seen nor experienced that.  He expected it to be a big deal, a kind of revolutionary way to dance that would amaze performers and audience members.

Before we get there, however...

Taking the advice of his host, He decided to head to one of the more popular milongas in Buenos Aires, La Confiteria Ideal.  One of the more noticeable characteristics of this milonga was the expensive entry price: 45 pesos|10.47 U$D, a whole four dollars more than most of the other classes he attended.  Another noticeable characteristic was the massive space covered in marble floors and pillars.  But what had caught his attention were the glass cases sprinkled throughout the main floor.  Each case displayed fancy sweets, chocolates.  Tonight, He would tango in a [terribly fancy] candy shop.

"If you can walk, you can tango." Leonardo, whose slicked back black hair and relaxed demeanor did nothing to contradict the tango dancer stereotype, explained in English.  This would be the only thing Leonardo explained in English, but it was more than He could comprehend in one class.  For the next hour, He was led by Leonardo around and around the small square designated for the six person class to learn how to walk normally.  He was surprised at how difficult it was to just walk, especially with a tango teacher.

"Why are you so tense?  Relax." Leonardo asked.  He shrugged.  He thought he was keeping the tension required to tango.

After attempting to just walk with a Venezuelan woman and a sixty year old grandmother, He left the class in incredibly low spirits.  It seemed to be the more classes He took, the worse He became.

-||-

He found his way to Tango Queer that same night; this was the actual part of his fellowship project.  He did two things upon entering the milonga: the first was to reapply deodorant, as the sweat from running from La Confiteria to Tango Queer decided to make itself apparent, and the second was to sit grumpily far from the dance space and let the previous lesson's reality sink in [What the hell am I doing here?  I can't tango.  I couldn't even lead an elderly woman!].  Two women stepped onto the floor, music began, and it wasn't until they finished their tango and waved the students sitting around the floor when He thought to himself, Oh crap.  Another class to humiliate myself.

The students divided into principiantes y intermedios || beginners and intermediates, most of which piled into the principiantes group.  One of the two female tango dancers said something in Spanish, waved her hands around, pulled a girl from the circle of beginners, shifted her weight from foot to foot, continued saying things in Spanish, and waved her hands to the rest of the beginners to follow.  He reached out to take the hand opened in his direction, and found himself in the follower's role.  He looked up into the face of a forty-five year old man, Andrew, who he learned was taking a vacation from work for two weeks to learn Spanish and tango.  Their feet stepped on each other, their shoulders collided with that of others, and heels dug their way into Achilles' tendons.

Aside from the beginner's inexperience that led to these [often] painful mistakes, He found that dancing with Andrew

so

strangely

normal.

And so was dancing with Emilio, Tony, Christoff, and Emily.  Sometimes he would lead || conducir, and sometimes he would follow || seguir.  The class consisted of only this: changing roles, shifting weight, learning to walk, and learning to pivot on the balls of the feet.

The milonga [in this context: open dance] afterwards, also proved to be normal.  Men danced with men, women danced with women, and there was even the occasional man who did dance with a woman.  In these instances, sometimes the woman would lead.  Hand positions traded places to indicate who lead and who followed.  Everything the dancers did was beautiful, graceful, sensual...

... anticlimactic.

"Why aren't you out there now?" Emilio asked, and He shrugged.

"I don't know enough yet." He, Emilio, Tony, and Julia sat at the edge of the dance floor, watching the slow turns and leg brushes of nearby dancers.  "Just the basic step.  I can't go up there yet, not when everyone up there is an expert.  I need to take more classes first."

-||-

A few days later, at La Viruta, He met two newcomers to tango [so very behind his five days of classes]:  Diana, a woman from Holland who was in Buenos Aires because her boss was making her sell products in a way that she 'didn't agree with,' leading her to quit her job and take very much needed vacation, and Martin, a man from England who also was forced to sell products in a manner he didn't agree with, leading him to quit his job and want to eventually work for a more worthwhile company [UNICEF].

Both were in their mid-forties, had left their terrible jobs, and were looking for themselves in Buenos Aires.

How many people would He meet during his travels who so dearly resembled the Eat, Pray, Love woman?

-||-

Christopher, a Canadian-born man raised in Italy and who lived all over the world [Madrid, Paris, San Francisco, etc., currently in Florence] was currently taking a 50th birthday vacation from his sports equipment managing position.

"I manage 38 sports equipment stores in Italy.  I set my own schedule, I work the hours I want to, and I come in when I want.  My job allows me to travel because we need to find partners all around the world.  My job's great.  But I just needed a vacation."

The teacher at La Marshall had assigned them partners half an hour into class; although both spoke English and understood a considerable amount of Spanish, neither really benefited from this pairing.  Christopher had arrived that morning in Argentina, and He had taken only a week's worth of beginner's classes.  Christopher was decidedly the leader of the pair, and He wanted to learn what it felt like to follow [how else would He understand the body signals required to tell his partner what to do?].  After class, both found themselves sitting with a glass of white wine, watching the experienced dancers.

As in Tango Queer, same-sex partners and opposite-sex partners switched roles between every song.  Occasionally, a folklore song would play and a kind of tap-dance combined with waltz and bar-mitzvah circle dancing would be performed.  And sometimes a dance involving handkerchiefs being twirled in the air and drawn around necks would be performed as well.

He and Christopher would discuss who was particularly good, and what made said person a good tango partner.

Fact:  A good tango partner can lead.  A great tango partner can lead and follow.  An amazing tango partner can do both without facing their partner.  The best can do everything with their eyes closed.

Tony, from Tango Queer, walked over and asked if He remembered what He learned in class.  He shrugged, took another sip of wine, and almost dropped the glass when Tony nodded his head in the direction of the dance floor.

"Normally, in tango, the leaders never ask to dance.  We just look across the room, and if we find a partner we are interested in, we nod.  If the partner nods back, they both meet each other on the dance floor.  No talking is done.  But since you do nothing but look at the dance floor, I have to ask you.  So let's practice."

He laughed, nodded, and stood up and made his way through the tables and chairs.  He warned Tony that all he remembered was the basics, to which Tony replied, "Just relax. Follow.  Don't be nervous."

Two songs passed in what felt like ten seconds.  If that was what it was like to tango outside of class, He could easily understand how Argentinians did it until six in the morning.

"Now you can say you've danced milonga in Argentina." Tony said, packing his belongings.  He said that He wouldn't be able to say that confidently until he lead a milonga in Argentina, which would certainly take some time.  He went to sit back down with Christopher.

"I wasn't watching you the entire time," Christopher said, "But when I looked over, it looked like you knew what you were doing.  It looked great.  Shall we?"

He asked if Christopher was serious.

"Why not?  I'm here for only ten days, and I'm not going to be an expert before I leave.  I won't look like that," he said, nodding to the other dancers on the floor, "but that doesn't mean I can't have fun.  So what if it's not perfect?  Perfect is boring."  And with that, He and Christopher went onto the floor.  Yes, all the basics that they had both learned went flying out the window, and they weren't so skilled at avoiding bumping into the other partners.  But it was fun.

-||-

He went to bed at 5:30 that morning, surprised that he could stay in a milonga for that much time.  But Christopher was right; He shouldn't be so worried about looking perfect or knowing what to do.  As long as it was all fun, He'd learn eventually.  But learning only came with practice, and sitting on the sidelines and watching dancers didn't count.  He'd had enough being the fly on the wall, the shadow, the benchsquatter, the fart in a hurricane.  Of course He might not get noticed, but who cared?  He was a stranger in a strange land, and in this situation, that came as an advantage to not knowing.  Tango didn't run in his blood, not yet.

He had learned more than He thought He would from going to queer milongas, more than in the non-queer ones like La Viruta, La Catedral, La Confiteria, and El Gricel.  Considerably more important than the hand positions, the amount of force required to push a partner from the chest and arms instead of with force from the feet, he had learned to relax.  To be in the moment, to enjoy where he was, regardless of who or what was in it.

Wasn't this what Philip was telling him earlier?

Considering He realized this in the first week of being in Argentina, He could say that He was doing alright.  Nine more weeks of this?  Who knew how far He'd go, how much more He'd learn?

[In The Moment] 

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]

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]

Next of Kin

NOTE:  As per usual, a long story.  The case in point may be found at the very bottom of the post.

| email 1 |

Joshua,

Can you send me your address there [in Australia]?  I [happen to] have some friends/relatives there.  They might be able to meet you if you're close to where you're staying.

Love,

Dad

| internal monologue 1 |

NO WAY.

| email 2 |

Joshua,

Your Auntie Nora lives 15.62 km|9.71 m from you.  About 25 mins. by car according to Google maps.

Love,

Dad

| internal monologue 2 |

NO WAY.  What were the chances?  Additionally, how many random relatives will my dad keep a secret until the most opportune moment?

| phone call part 1 |

Joshua:  Auntie! - Auntie? - Nora!  We finally got in touch!

Nora:  Yes, Joshua!  ...So, how are we related?

| online chat 1 |

Cass:  I didn't know you had family in Australia.

J:  Me neither.

C:  Magno, you have to meet this woman.

J:  I know, it'd be good to meet some family members I've never met before.

C:  How is she related to you?

J:  No idea.  I guess I'll find out when I meet her.

C:  Mmm.  And your dad's not sure?

J:  I don't think so.

C:  Wow.

J:  It didn't really sound like my dad spoke with her a lot.

C:  What if there was a kind of family schism?  Drama?  One half didn't talk to the other?

J:  I don't think we're that kind of family.

C:  You never know.  Who knows how many secrets the Magno family harbors?

J:  Like I said, we're not that kind of family.

| phone call part 2 |

J:  And you?  What are you doing here in Adelaide?

N:  Well, I used to be a full time bartender at the Hilton Hotel in Victoria Square.  Now, I'm a full time lecturer at Adelaide Hospitality & Tourism School.  I teach 40 students 5 days a week on how to mix drinks and deal with rude customers.  Oh, and I just won a three year scholarship to live and study to be a hotel manager for the Australian equivalent of a very fancy Swiss Hotel.

J:  Jeez.

N:  Yep.  I guess winning awards runs in the family.  You can tell your father that.

J:  Will do.

N:  Oh,  and I have three sons you have to meet.  One is 16, one is 10, and the other is 9.  I guess that makes you their cousin.  Or is it uncle?  I don't know.  Oh, how's the economy in the US by the way?

| meeting |

N:  Ah!  So I finally figured it out!  How we're related...  Your father is my cousin, I think, because his mother and my mother are cousins.

J:  So we're not even sure if we're actually blood related?

N:  No, but I'll ask my mom again.

David [Nora's partner]:  So we're not even sure if you're his aunt.

N:  No, Sweetheart.  We Filipinos call even the most distant relatives our Auntie or Uncle or Niece or Nephew.

D:  I'm not sure that's how it works.

J:  So how'd you do it?  You know, move to Australia, get into the bar tending scene, then all of a sudden go up into hotel management?

N:  Through hard work.  You must know that already.  But it's doable.  Not easy, but doable.  Why?  Are you thinking of moving here?  How's the economy in the US?

J:  The economy...  Well, if I were to have stayed at home, all I would be doing right now is being sad and jobless.  So yes, it makes sense to come here.

D:  You know, Josh, Australia is the only country in the world where you can be unemployed, and you'll still have a home, be able to send your kids to school, and put food on the table.

J:  How?
D:  The government funds all of it.

J:  You're sure?
D:  I would hope so.  I work for it.

N:  Joshua, it's easy to come here.  Especially if you want to study.

J:  Even dance?  I'm almost considering going to a TAFE school here, maybe even getting a bachelor's in dance performance.  You know, getting official dance training.

N:  Yeah!  You could do that, IF YOU WANT.  Here, a TAFE education costs about a quarter of the price of going to a university, but you're actually getting an applied education, not just one in theory.

J:  ... I don't know.  It just sounds like it'll be more expensive because I'm a foreign student...

N:  So move here!  It's easy, especially since you're an American citizen.  Your points will be higher.  All you need to do is apply for a job here - David and I can even help you with that, if you ever want to bar tend or maybe even work for the government - so you have a working visa [I think you need to be contracted here for a two year job], but once you arrive, you can apply for permanent residency.  Then you'll get all the Australian government privileges, especially the ones under the TAFE schools.  Oh, you won't be able to vote, but who cares about that?

J:  Wow.  You make it seem so...

N:  Easy?  That's because it is.  Australian life is better, Joshua.  The cost of living is cheaper, and the government can help you in so many ways.  There are jobs just waiting to be had, but if you really wanted it, I can help get you a job or David can.  That's what family's for.  And since these jobs pay enough so that you can easily support yourself, you'll be able to apply and attend for ACArts like you want.  

J:  Like I want.

N:  Really, that's just the point of it all, and it's exactly what I did.  You just have to set a date for yourself - let's say two weeks after you go back home to the US - and just decide on what you want to do.  Then do it.  But for now, finish your year.  Do what you had set out to do on this scholarship.  It might change by that time.

| internal monologue 3 |

NO.  WAY.

| Case in Point |

It was at this very moment He realized that it was more than just coincidence that the third|senior and second|junior year dance show at ACArts was presented one week after he had arrived, and that his father just happened to have family in Adelaide.  Seeing it all was enough to convince him that this was something he wanted, and if she spoke the truth, He was determined to work for it.  After all, moving to Australia didn't sound like such a terrible plan after this year, did it?

[ Nora's Mother's Cousin's Son's Son ]

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]

If The Fates Allow

To play whilst reading.  [ I know, I know.  The Frank Sinatra version is my favorite, and in my opinion the best.  But hey, why not go for something a little alternative this year? ]:

| Far Away |

He knew his troubles were far, somewhere beyond the sea.  Wherever he was now, [ uncle: "Hello joshua. Where are you this time?" ], he was living.  Living.  As much as he didn't want to admit it, he would.

I don't remember being this happy.

Yes, this year had plenty of setbacks.  But wasn't that all part of the experience?  Missed appointments, wandering for kilometers, questionable healthcare, shattered self-confidence, and insecure isolation were all absorbed and relished.  In the long run.  Sure, he could have gotten this back at home, but instead, it was all in india/uganda/australia.  For the first time in his life, he could do everything without regret.  Win and lose, it was everything he ever wanted and more.

So why ask for anything this Christmas?

| Golden Days |

All was golden.  He realized, as soon as he had landed in Australia, that the fuzzy heartwarming feeling of Christmas wasn't going to come, not this year.  What he didn't expect, however, was how fine he'd be without it.  Maybe it had something to do with the trips to the beach, the optimistic sun constantly blaring, the moments in which his nasal cavities had enough ocean water, the hilarious accents, and the incredible talent he had seen onstage, offstage, and everywhere in between.  Although he didn't want to say it out loud, he knew that somewhere deep down, he missed snow, Christmas trees, and hot cocoa.

He was getting everything he needed, that much was obvious.

What he wanted, however, was certainly lacking.

| The Fates |

He remembered his mom always telling him, "If it doesn't happen, it's wasn't meant to happen.  It will when it does."  And although there was more than enough pressure from his host parents to have an Aussie Flame before he left - and remember, the Christmas season is during the summer; ergo, it would be considered a summer fling - he just didn't see that happening.

Really, he was okay with that.

Cutting back on expectations was a HUGE part of the things he'd learned during his few months abroad, and it was proving to make this trip even more incredible than it already was.  In addition to decreasing his chances of disappointment, it was teaching him how to deal with it.  And to be honest, the world was chock full of it.

What he needed would come to him, and what didn't come to him taught him to wait.  Everything would get better in time.  And the interesting thing was, as soon as he didn't get what he'd want...  Something else would fall out of the blue and tell him that it happened

for

a

reason.

| Near to Us |

He knew that his back was always covered.  The invisible hands of friends and family back home and around the world would always be there to catch him.  Small messages here and there were more than enough to remind him that somewhere, someone was waiting for him.

Everyone deserves to know that.

They would tell him what he needed to hear, not what he wanted.  He would be told the right thing at the right time.  It was the ones who mattered the most that ended up surprising him.  And it was these for whom he would momentarily allow himself to feel homesick.

| Now |

This wasn't the most well thought out post, but I guess I haven't really been writing in this very often.  It's not that nothing is happening right now... things are always happening.  I guess it's just that I haven't really been interested in writing in this.  It's kind of exhausting.  And as with most people who keep a blog while they're abroad, there's always a sudden decline in how much they write.  To wriggle against that, I guess I've just decided to slap together something in honor of the holidays.  Sorry for the inconsistency/lack of comprehension/elements of a train of thought.  But if you've gotten this far, hey, I think I've entertained you enough.

In short, I'm still having an incredible time.  Difficult, hilarious, gut-wrenching, smile-making, but most of all incredible.  

Merry Christmas, Friends.

[ Gifted ]

p.s. Oh, I took a day of dance workshops a couple of weeks ago, and this was a song used by one of the teachers at Adelaide College of the Arts.  A new addition to my growing list of favorite life songs.  Enjoy.