- I’m carefully crafting a framework for my writing practice. Books upon books have been written, advising on the matter. But like any advice, if taken too seriously, it’s shame-inducing when one inevitably falls short. Which I always do. I prefer to view advice (of any kind) as a buffet of options, none mandatory, all open to sampling, tweaking, or rejecting at any time. The point is not to construct a rigid structure of writing rules, but to forge a system that works with my natural rhythms, quirks, and sensibilities. I want a flexible protocol that helps me commit to my art and maximize my efforts. Since I’ve used up my lifetime allotment of ‘working against myself’, there’s no other option. My first (and perhaps only?) “rule” is this self-prescribed meta advice, lest I fall into black-and-white thinking. My arch-nemesis. Killer of all that’s worth living for: curiosity, wonder, imagination, laughter, freedom, love.
- I may as well be one of the old grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory right now; high-spirited and living in my bed. For the past few days, I’ve not seen much but the inside of my little room, from the vantage point of my memory foam pillow; M posted up beside me. Snuggling with kitty, napping, ordering in, giggling, watching the entire Harry Potter epic on repeat. Every evening, at vibe o’clock sharp, I light an incense and two candles. Then, down to the commons area I go to refill our water from big jugs covered in cozies that say things like ‘good people drink good water’, where I run into Bee stirring pots over the stove. She’s been living here with her husband, Ant, for as long as we have. Their familiar faces give this hotel a homey feeling; I’m not sure it would have otherwise. We chat about teeth, and visas, and what’s cookin’. Then, I lug my bag of full water bottles back through the courtyard, past the trellis overtaken with climbing vines and pink blossoms, up a flight of stairs, and down the hallway that glows with sunset, where my room can be found. I shut the door behind me and lay down with a satisfying ahhhhhh… “There’s nothing like climbing into bed after a long day of lying in bed.” M nods and murmurs in agreement. She felt that.
- Ever since I learned that the existing water on Earth is the only water there will ever be, I look at the ocean differently. As I walk on the beach, I attempt the impossible task of wrapping my mind around the fact that the waves crashing on the shore are made of clouds that have fallen from the sky and run down the hills, collected, consumed, and returned to the land by humans and animals alike… for millennia. The earth, a gigantic, tiny terrarium floating in space. I then look at the sand giving way under my feet and wonder what it once was: rocks, mountains, caves, bones, or ocean floors? I try to imagine the unimaginable number of creatures whose feet wandered it before me. In my mind’s eye, civilizations and topographies rising and falling in time-lapse fashion around me as I move down the beach.
- I wandered upon a baby sea turtle on the beach today as the sun rose into the sky. Motoring with all his might across the great expanse of sand before him, his flappy little swimming arms served the temporary purpose of delivering him to the sea. I was cheering him on with all the affection of a mother as her baby takes its wobbly first steps, when the slow rolling low tide swooped in and gently carried him towards the break, him aiding with a vigorous breaststroke. “Keep swimming, little guy! You can do it!” I yelled into the crashing waves, concerned he’d get tossed back to shore and have to start over again. Turns out the ocean was on his side today. I watched him dip easily below the break, then into the deep sea, where he swam away towards his tiny turtle destiny.
- Recently sighted:
- A tsunami evacuation route notice featuring the man from the men’s bathroom sign, leaping in suspended animation towards a triangle hill, as he’s chased by a white block of wave.
- Fliers advertising tantric massages, taped to light poles. Too many to count.
- A cafe called ‘Juicy and Crispy’
- A tall tourist with the opposite of a resting bitch face
- Hotel Swastika
- A roadside construction worker wearing an unfolded cardboard box with a hole cut out the size of his head, resting atop the brim of his bucket hat.
- A large box in a Mexican restaurant with ‘NAPKIN DINNER’ printed on the side 😋 (containing dinner napkins?)
- A hot pink sign reading, “Hot sauce is just sexy ketchup,” which reminded me of something you’d find on a Taco Bell sauce packet. Man, I miss Taco Bell.
- We tried a new cafe today, possessing the perfect blend of local and Bule. M was nibbling Nasi Goreng with her front teeth; I was inhaling a croissant stuffed with bacon, eggs, and hollandaise, when we agreed this fusion was our favorite: some creature comforts of America, married with the rich, rooted connectedness of Bali. Lean too west and things get blasé, but lean too east and you feel like a fish out of water at best, trespassing at worst.
- A few days ago, we toured a villa that manages this fusion. A rare find. After brunch, we purchased a tape measure to take with us on our second, more thorough, viewing. Is this our new home?
Carried by the current
C