The Last Page

About an hour ago, I wrote the last page in my travel journal.  It’s just a book?  It’s just a book.  I keep saying that to myself, but for the last 60 minutes I’ve been carrying it around the house, me staring at it, it staring at me, both of us completely unsure what to do with the other now.

My first reflex is to feel that it comes at an awkward time, I’m not quite at the end of anything, nor am I ready to start something completely new.  The same sort of feeling as if I had a bad day at work, only to come home and be greeted with my diary breaking up with me.  Why?  Why now?  14 months of self discovery and you leave me 5 pages early!?  (I had sadly forgotten I used a few pages at the back to make a few drawings and lists etc. so the end was truly altogether unexpected, cursed blog title).

My second reflex is to acknowledge that I have a habit of reading into things.  A close friend of mine once staying, “Geez Kaitlyn, you read into everything.”  I read into that.  It bothered me for days.  Even with all that in mind, it still feels like there’s something about the ending of this thing that needs to be reflected upon.

• 488 days ago I write my first entry in Germany. 
• On Day 67 I started writing in cursive for no apparent reason, and never stopped.  
• The last time I kept a record of the day was Day 315 and I was in the departure lounge at JFK airport heading home for Christmas.  
• I didn’t write for the entire two months I was home.  
• On one page, I write three separate entries spanning the events of 4 days.  
• On another day, I write 6 pages in one go.  
• Some days I wrote my location, usually if it was the first day of being somewhere else.  
• There are 4 different countries, but countless towns listed.  
• With only pages left to go, the diary suffers a bit of water damage on the completely soaked wild boat ride out to Karkar, not too bad, it could have been a lot worse.  

I flick through now laughing, crying, shaking my head at past Kaitlyn and everything she’s reading too far into.  She's learned so much and yet so obviously never enough.  And now that the reflexes have settled, I can see the thing for what it is.

This journal, it had a definite start and a definite end.  And all things being equal, as a human, so do I, so do we all.  But this isn’t the end of anything, the destination, the X on the treasure map.

Having recently survived the aforementioned ridiculous seafaring adventure, I can tell you that those who argue whether its about “the journey” or “the destination” must have never traveled in a cyclone.  Trust me, when you’re getting pelted with saltwater for 3 hours, you’re not really sitting there embracing the journey or the destination.  It’s about the bloody ship surviving to tell of either of them.

There are good days and bad days, some things will blow holes in you other things will rot your hull.  You’ll inevitably make a lot of repairs, but if you invest your time and effort, you’ll see that really they’re improvements.  The things you learn, these are your sails.  And if you never stop chasing yourself, you’ll be amazed where you’ll go.

This ship was nought to me, nor I to her

Yet I pursued her with a lover’s look;

This ship to all the rest did I prefer:

When will she turn and whither?  She will brook

No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:

On went she, and due north her journey took.

-William Wordsworth

Jackson

A bit of a side blog here today, for no other reason than there is no one more deserving in my eyes, and I've got the time.

Not so long ago I wrote a rather manic post about getting over the fear of sharing treasured books with other people. A troublesome uncorking event, as anyone who received Christmas presents from me will attest to.  With your bookshelves now busting, let us move to your music collections.

For the same reasons - fear of something you adore being cast aside - I always get a bit nervous sharing my truly favourite artists.  Even more so than books, in my life when it has come to musical taste I've come up against quite a bit of, “Who?” or “Can we put something else on?” or my personal favourite, “You'd get on with my Grandma, she loves Jackson Browne too.”  

Anyway, its any easy question right? What's your favourite band? What kinda music do you like?

Deep breath.

Well, I would get on with your grandma, because to me, Jackson Browne is the duck's guts. He's got a classic-folky-rock-acoustic-with-some-occasional-killer-piano sorta thing going on. And that's just the music side of things. I could just as easily say he's my favourite poet, writer, philosopher.  His music is undoubtedly pleasing to my auditory nervous system.  Like many of my favourite things though, it simultaneously stimulates the mind, making it unforgettable. 

My first concert? Jackson Browne (in a baby carrier). Snuck out of school and drove to Paris for a concert? Jackson Browne. High school yearbook quote? Jackson Browne.  Breakup? Late for the Sky. Ready to get over it? I'm Alive. You and your partner need to find 'your song'? Rosie.*

Jackson Browne is so awesome, he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame by The Boss himself.

If you're ever inclined, just listen to some JB. And I mean really listen. The music ain't bad, but the lyrics, they'll move you.

Looking through some photographs I found inside a drawer, 

I was taken by a photograph of you.

Fountain of Sorrow

Just...let that one sit with you for awhile. 

Given this chance, I can't even come up with a favourite song. There are so many which I return to at different times and fall in love with all over again.  Recently though, I came across an Early Days of Jackson Browne album, a live recording from 1971. Its pretty great, quite a few shaky versions of later hits that were then just in their infancy. There were a few I'd never heard before, and I've since found out it was because they never got recorded on a studio album, a shame I reckon.  

I'll share one of those with you instead, Shadow Dream Song.   I heard it for the first time the other day, and it's been haunting me (in a good way) ever since, feeling some sort of connection with it.  He was 23 in that recording, the same age I am now.

And y'know, if you don't like the music, that's your deal. I'll never be more honest in saying, I'm sorry for you. At the very least, enjoy some comedy.  From his live solo acoustic album, the intro to The Night Inside Me contains what is perhaps my favourite story ever told (starts ~1:30 in).

Take it easy, folks.

Into a dancer you have grown

From a seed somebody else has thrown

Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own

And somewhere between the time you arrive

And the time you go

May lie a reason you were alive

But you'll never know

* Gotcha.  "He met a really beautiful girl, and that's where the sad part comes in."  If there was one particular moment of losing my innocence, it was realizing what this song was about.   

Chapter 4: The Only Pidgin Lesson You’ll Ever Need

One benefit of being on an island out in the middle of the ocean, with a house all to yourself, and a lack of entertainment, is that you really do have a lot of time to do whatever the heck you’d like.  

Before you get any sordid ideas, I’ll tell you that sitting down with all the fans on, a beer, and my free Tokpisin Grammar Workbook* has been about as wild as it gets and a total blast.  And I say ‘total blast’ because there is something inherently nerdy at my core which loves filling out workbooks.  ...I don’t really have any insights on this behaviour except to confirm for you that people are indeed very strange.

At my workbook-party-for-one last night, I started chapter four and became suddenly quite sad.  Why?  Well, the chapter is set out with a big bit of dialogue in Pidgin, followed by an English translation, which you then do exercises on for the rest of the chapter.  Cracked open Chapter 4 and was presented with the dialogue as follows:

Biam bia.

Biam bia hia.

Biam bia long hap.

Biam bia long klab.

Inap yu biam me bia?

Biam bia bilong me, plis.

So I’m a bit upset, because I think this may be the end of my studies.  Because once you've got these, what else is there that you’d really need to say?

Buy beer.

Buy beer here.

Buy beer over there.

Buy beer at the club.

Can you buy beer for me?

Buy me beer, please. 

*Thanks Peace Corps!  Since its free, I advise you to go check out Dana (and tell her to blog more often) who is actually in the Peace Corps and doing amazing things, likely as a result of taking her language classes much more seriously. 

Wanderlust

Should you find yourself at your flight gate, traveling alone, to a country notorious for violence, crime, and treating women poorly, a moment of hesitation means you're doing things right.  Once you embrace the reaction for what it is - just fear - its time to go. Put on your big girl hat, listen to your funky playlist, and get on the plane. You've got this, all on your own. But if you don't, go for it anyway knowing that there's always people to help, send money, or bail you out of Papua New Guinean prison. 

In PNG the cities are a bit dirty and dangerous, and especially daunting for a young lady traveling by herself. I always employ my Dad's “Look like you know where you're going” approach to seem like a local, but there's only so much you can do about being the only sweaty, blonde, white lady whose a foot taller than everyone in the airport. I think the politically correct way to put this is, my favorite part of Port Moresby was my flight in.

On arrival in Madang where I met my new boss, Barbara, the tension melted away a bit. Its amazing how beer, food, and a place to sleep makes all the anxiety go away. Man, Australia rubbed off on me.

The next day we headed by speedboat to Karkar Island, the location of the plantation owned by the family I'm now working for. Before I had left, my Dad and I tried looking at Karkar on Google Earth to see what we could see, but we had a hard time finding the villages that I'd heard about.

It didn't take long to figure out why.

The majority of the ~60,000 people on Karkar live in these villages made of nothing more than grass huts, without running water or electricity. There are a couple clinics, hospitals, and schools with a bit sturdier infrastructure scattered around. The only Western style homes are those on the plantations, of which there are about half a dozen on the island.

The family lives in a sort of fenced in compound with 3 houses, manicured lawns, and private beach access. I have a completely modern cottage inside the fence with a big bathroom, fans in every room, internet, and a fridge full of healthy foods (rice and beer).

Its really my first experience with a class system. I by no means feel superior, but the division is just part of the culture.  I'm currently learning Pidgin and hoping that speaking with locals in their language might open things up a bit. And for everyone watching from home whose been a bit worried, know that my daily activities are planned by navigating what is and isn't safe *sigh of relief*.

In the midst of all the craziness of my first week here, I received the unfortunate news that my grandfather passed away. He wrote extensively about having the Wanderlust when he was young, an inherited trait I reckon. I don't really believe in heaven, but he did which is what matters. It's probably got more women to flirt with than a nursing home or a hospital bed, and at the very least, it makes me happy to know that from up there he can watch his granddaughter on an adventure like his.

Back in the Saddle

Leaving Australia

Hands down, the most difficult place I've ever left. I've loved places and jobs and people before, but there was something different about this one. Perhaps that it was all of those things at once, plus falling in love with the person I got to be there. I can only hope I find that again.

And those Watsons. I mean, when they took me to the airport they willingly went through airport security just to sit with me until I boarded. That's love folks. We hugged goodbye, handed my ticket to the lady, and all sort of laughed when she offered us all tissues. Then I walked away.

On a hike at KataTjuta, our guide told us “Don't turn around until you're at the top. The view hits you so much stronger.” With that in mind, I walked nearly all the way across the tarmac and only when I was nearly at the plane, turned and looked over my shoulder for one last look at the family that I'd become a part of.

Well, the view did hit me. There it was. Windows made of one-way glass. But they could see me and maybe they were crying, maybe they were waving, but my time to know those things was over all the sudden. I didn't lose them, they weren't gone. You can never have another person, they are never yours. You only have what you share, and if you're lucky, you'll share many things for a long time.

Anyway...that's the back story of the time I cried for an hour on a flight with a bunch of miners and businessmen and stewardesses repeatedly asking me if I was okay.

American Dream

Since we're going for honesty here, I'll lay it out for you. America does not care if you like it, and that makes it sort of hard to love.

I've absolutely loved seeing so many old friends and family. But it does feel a bit like being on tour, which can be uncomfortable. An outsider in a place you thought was home. I'm sure I'll warm to this place, but for now I can tell she knows I'm still drifting, and won't show her true beauties to me until I make a stronger commitment to this land.

For quite a bit of my time back here I've been fairly depressed. I'd say it's due to a mix of Vitamin D deficiency, not having dogs to play with, and according to Sad Kaitlyn the "loss" of "like everything ever" that apparently happened "like really fast".  She's a bit dramatic.  People don't like to talk about it, which is funny, cause I reckon almost everyone goes through it at some point. I'm by no means an expert, nor have I ever had professional advice on the matter. But for people out there having a hard time dealing with some sort of emotional event I offer these tips if you want 'em:

• Time will make it better, and a need for immediate gratification will not.
• Your feelings are probably caused by your heart and/or your brain being a bit hurt. So, it may come as a surprise, but those two things may not be the best tools for making you feel better.
• There is nothing like an old friend and a new perspective.
• Nothing looks hopeful when you're lying in bed.
• Cry. Let it go. Take a shower. Cry while you sing Let It Go while taking a shower. And at the point when you're thinking, “I haven't cried in like 3 days!” Guess what? You're gonna cry, and that's okay.

That's a good starter pack, if you ever need the extended edition, never hesitate to talk to me. And that's another thing. Hello, everyone listening? Think right now about something that's troubling you. Got it? Wasn't hard, was it? Everyone has something in their life that lies on the scale of suckiness at any given time.  Coworkers, High Blood Pressure, a crazy daughter who keeps crying and singing Let It Go in the shower. Sometimes they want to talk about it, so it doesn't hurt to ask. And sometimes just distracting them with your friendship brings them a happiness they forgot they were capable of. Go love on some people, it can't hurt.

Its Happening

Originally I was heading out to Pittsburgh for a graduate school interview for the weekend and was going to return to Maryland on Sunday and have a whole week of packing and planning for PNG. Well, my cousin Mary is way too much fun so I stayed there until Wednesday.

This led to having the craziest Thursday of my life. I made a packing list. I did laundry. I applied for and got a visitor visa for Australia because I completely forgot that you need one if you want to leave the airport during the 24h between your flights. I got immunizations for Tetanus, Influenza, and Typhoid fever. I started taking anti-malarial medication (which may cause weird dreams and hallucinations! I don't know why my doctor said this like it was a bad thing!) And most importantly, I got Seasons 4 and 5 of Downton Abbey for the four day plane journey that's coming up.  

You think you're going to be ready and be calm and cool and collected. And then unexpectedly, it's happening. Before you've made the right Embassy contacts and gathered the appropriate clothing, before you've got the right bug repellent and replacement camera batteries, before your still mending heart and brain are entirely ready to throw themselves into something new...You're excited.  You're going on an adventure.  You're back in the saddle,