First of all, let me congratulate you on making a good choice. Going to Vientiane Laos for your Thai visa run is like competing in the Hunger Games. By contrast, heading to Kuala Lumpur is like taking your dog on a walk through the park, sometimes there are unsure moments, but overall, it’s a breeze.
What has haunted me since we’ve left Cambodia is all the stuff I gave away, all the stuff I left behind. My mind tosses and turns like a salad, over and over again, remembering this particular thing or that object that I miss. Because when we left, we left thinking we were going to the United States. We left believing we were never returning or not returning anytime soon.
Know thyself – the Oracle at Delphi
When I was sharing what happened between my mom and I, someone remarked, ‘that was good of your mom to recognize that she was mad at herself for getting mad at you’. And I thought, that’s interesting; are people not aware of their feelings?
During one of the darkest moments in my adult life, I failed to reach out. I didn’t really tell friends and family what was happening. I think part of the reason was I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t get my hands around it, but mostly I was ashamed.
This time around, I didn’t make the same mistake. True, the circumstances were different, but when I spoke with my friends, they became lifelines tethering me to a balloon of hope. Our conversations were reminders that: I was not going crazy, my situation was insane and that I was loved.
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” – as attributed to Mike Tyson
OK. Here’s what I’ve told you. I had to come back to the US of A. We were not sure for how long, but we thought we’d give it a go, you know, return to America for good, regardless of Trump-apocalypse, blah, blah, blah, and see what we could make stick.
Staying with my mom in Hawaii was part of the short-term plan, but when our long-term plans fell spectacularly through the roof, we were tail-spinning, reaching for whatever vines or debris was there to grab on to.
You think I’m exaggerating.
There are a couple of military grunts living above my mom’s apartment. Late one night, one of them said as they stomped up the stairs, “I’m gonna stop drinking. I gotta quit drinking.”
His roommate followed him up the stairs behind him and replied, “Don’t be a little bitch.”