Back again. Where?
Maybe not back, but black.
At a place called anywhere.
Waking up today, my first wake up on intimate alien territory, pushed me into everywhere. Still. Black.
Opening my eyes, discovering myself lying on a well-known bed, starring at a never so intense experienced just white floor, seeking awareness in an orange saturated room, by wonderful kitschy curtains. I am back.
Feels like I´ve never been anywhere else. Or always everywhere. Still can count on my chameleon super-special powers. If there wouldn´t be my titanium collarbone, sounds marvelous, but just enough to lift an Angkor-1l-bottle of cooling beer. Rigid!
All this, a psychological institute for emotions, falibility and humanity (IEFH), visualized by a vital-important organ called heart. It works old school. With cane and a mysterious essence, love. By turns. This is how you breed pigs to roll in the muddy dirt. – A chameleon with sense of self, looks like a broken nervous fluttering multicolor flashlight machine.
Mostly, all of a sudden you realize you are alone again, jsut like that. You are alone in a world you haven´t left yet. No family around you. No Nika, kissing my dawn, hugging the light. No old best friends, no parents, driving me crazy watching them how they change in such a lovely and respectful way. My nieces, my sister and their humble, wealthy life, “I know this all we have is not naturally, I know we are lucky, so I don´t want to moan. We are fine, thank you.” – Made me proud. Never will create such great expressions, stories, life quoting. We all are just quotes, searching for references. All the great people I met, who helped me – drinking my last shot – in the last 3 months. Particulary at my – first real – Verbissage, felt like friendships all over. But anchors are aweigh. now. Crushing haven´s base here and there. Still watching with my long glass. Still feel not alone at all. Fuckin´ love lets you feel lonesome … the time after a kiss. The IEFH working on it. I am waiting for the results of the lab. Note: Next, don´t recruit a prof calling herself, Dr. Mistress of Disaster.
How was my arrival? The flight itself was like always, a cabin in elsewhere. Noisy. Hollywood. Plastic food and a annoying passenger, talking talking talking – life of an dilettantish astronaut, with his monkey.
Touching the ground, wow, standing in an atom-tight volcanic condensation. Facing the core of an explosion.
The offical business as usual stuff. Then the gates openend, I entered cambodian homeland. At first I caught the smile of Pomsen, my brother from another mother who is called by the president, Mr. Barack Obama, at least once per day to receive one million dollar. Tuk Tuk drivers waving, “Oh Mr. Tattoo, Tuk Tuk?!” But I have my pick-up, what a great feeling! Left the exit area, searched forcefulness and impatient a clearing in the starring – I suppose – crowd, dropped my stuff on the ground and opened my arms, like a blindman waiting for a helping hand. Help me, help me, I am so overwhelmed! Pomsen, Bopha, Banja, Milea, Teara and my loved sister Soya, gathering around me, hugging and smiling at me. What a warmly grand welcome! And one of my weird thoughts, “Damn, am I that tall?”
We got in the car and it was like anywhere else, where I meet, visit, enjoy the accompany of friends and family. Like home. – Even if I realized and I know now, I miss a home, my home. The prof is working on that. Anyway. We drove straight to Happy Sunshine, “The kids will leave today to their family members, because now it is holiday, you should know.” – I always should know everything. “They celebrate Khmer New Year and will return in about one week.” So there was no way out, next storm of love – the prof calls it the flesh-pink-shitstorm. So many changes. The garden is growing, the main office of the NGO is installed where the library was. Changeless the grandness, the merciless smiles, the sticky sweetness, the embracing strength and unbroken hope of the kids. Rarely saw such rich kids.
First Khmer dish, Amok fish.
First Khmer beer, Angkor beer.
First cambodian experience, nobody had an idea with whom my motorbike is. “Maybe Mr. Rain, maybe, but he will come back, maybe around 4 p.m.? I am not sure. But don´t worry.” “I don´t worry, no worries, I never do when I am here. I am just curious, that´s all.”
And I am here, on the way to the road.
Hungry as a hunter.
My camera and my pen are my weapons. My nose just a nose and full of cambodian dust again. My teeth not worth to mention – they need a night guard, how could you slay with. My desire is my survival instinct. To survive the way to home, wherever, anywhere, elsewhere, who is there?
Back again. Where?