Sunday, March 30, 

Woke up after a sleep coma that included one beautiful sleep drug after nearly 24 hours in bed. I may have woke up because I hadn’t eaten since the morning before, or perhaps it was because I had forgotten to turn the AC on, which caused massive sweating. Took the skyway train with Shari and her friends downtown for the once-a month organic market. It was a sight for the eyes, homemade apple cider vinegars, kombucha, hand-made wooden spoons, granola with almonds and mangos, and handcrafted jewelry made out ancient beads from Ghana, plates made from recycled beer bottles. I bought a drink in a bamboo cup, a refreshing soda water with local honey. Walked around in search for this other store that sold organic foods. Walked into one of the hundreds of massage places and paid only 250 Baht for a glorious foot massage. Took a taxi home, swam in the pool surrounded by brilliant green bushes and trees and vibrant orange and pink flowers while the lazy sun sank over the horizon. Returned, about to shower when I discovered an enormous gecko streak across the bathroom wall, Shari and I tried to rescue it and put it outside. I gently grabbed his tail and it fell off, bloodily flapping solo from the body now. I proceeded to scream and watch the tail flap alone while Shari put the traumatized gecko outside. Watched a movie, The Stolen Child of Tibet. Ate wine and fresh olives and feta cheese soaked in oil and sun-dried tomatoes. A day in Thailand. 

March 29, Saturday. 3:27 a.m. Changia Airport, Singapore.

Sitting cross-legged outside Gate E4 Terminal 2 in the Changia airport in Singapore. This airport has a pool and a gym, not that I could get myself to engage in either of these things right now. My mind keeps wandering back to the glorious vision of Starbucks in Terminal 1. Only a 15 minute walk away. My route, though it was delayed by a day, is Phoenix to San Francisco, San Francisco to Seoul, Seoul to Singapore, Singapore to Bangkok. I think my arrival to Bangkok should be around 11:30 later this morning.. I haven’t really slept yet, maybe some slight nodding off trying to scrunch into the fetal position in my seat. The food wasn’t the greatest I’ve experienced during my few international travels. In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have put Vegan as my preference. I had the same lady sitting by me since San Francisco, clutching prayer beads and reading out of a small, yellow Buddhist prayer book. The man sitting across the aisle seemed to be her husband, and neither of them touched the small television sets in front of them, nor seemed interested in anything other then moving the beads skillfully through their fingers. I admired their calm demeanor and lack of using any form of electronic device to distract them from the horrifically long, turbulent flight. Yes, the turbulence. It was indeed the worst I’ve ever encountered. My hands were a sweaty mess clutching my thin Singapore airlines issued blanket. It never seems to calm me down to just stop and accept I have no control over the situation. The pilot doesn’t even have all that much control over it either, unless he gets the route redirected. Every time we dropped, rocked, or got tossed around I imagined us plummeting thousands of feet, the planes nose spiraling down, down into the Pacific Ocean. It doesn’t help that the recent news is still covering the strange disappearance of a Malaysian jet carrying of over 250 people. It disappeared somewhere in the Indian Ocean, they’ve only recently recovered this news, and the mystery of how it happens remains. But somehow, regardless of my ridiculous anxiety during turbulence, I still love flying, and I am beginning to love the smooth descent onto a runway, where each time the scene outside the window is different and new. The evening sun in South Korea was red and hazy, the sky the color of that orange sherbet ice cream.

Earlier I mentioned my plane was delayed in Pheonix, causing me to miss my connection from San Francisco. It was very difficult to get a new ticket, somehow US Airways and Singapore were not on the same page, so booking a new ticket for me took so many hours to solve that I couldn’t get on a new flight until the next afternoon.  Also, my luggage somehow made it all the way to Singapore and back again. At the moment I’m actually unsure where it’s located. As soon as they said I might have to catch a flight the next day I actually felt relieved. I wanted to get out of the busy airport, have a glass of wine and get a bite to eat that didn’t cost $20.00. This all appealed to me because I knew I could probably stay with my friend Yanina, who recently moved to Oakland. We had met in Prescott. I’m incredibly glad that flight was delayed, it worked out fantastically. She picked me up at the Fruitvale Bart station and then we got dinner at a small little Filipino restaurant down the block from her house. Later we went on in the night drizzle to several of her favorite bars in downtown Oakland. It was a good feeling to be in a city again, with that eclectic, urban energy that I hadn’t experienced as often as I liked this year. She made eggs, toast, coffee, and freshly squeezed carrot juice in the morning. Then I got back on the Bart, checked in at the airport, and began my journey west.

I was supposed to teach yoga this morning. I lay in bed instead. My throat feels shot, as if talking would make it raw. So I let the morning go on for a few seconds longer then usual. Listening to the others get up. The shower ran. The dog barked. One car drove away. When I peeled back the curtains there was a layer of snow resting on the shady corners of the driveway, not to un-thaw for several hours. I played NPR radio while stirring the oatmeal and boiling the water for coffee. Violin music seems to always get threaded into the radio sessions, regardless of the topic being discussed. This morning it was about the situation in Syria. The violin only made things seem sadder. I ate breakfast at the kitchen table in a red kimono. I never do that. I read from my meditation book. Day 27. “It s not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult.”-Seneca. I’m surprised at myself, I’m a creature of certain routines and habits, but have never been consistent in reading something each morning. This morning was about truthfulness. In the yoga community that’s called Satya. We’re called to live our truth, whatever that may be. It might not be what people expect or want from you, but it’s important to maintain a level of it for your own wellbeing. It’s taken me this long to even come clean with myself, about what I value and need. Once you know your truth you can never go back. But I think actually starting to be direct with others about your needs is the hardest part. That is what I’m still working on, and the process has been both glorious and unpleasant. I’m working off years of being what others might term a doormat, or a push-over. But let me tell you, it ain’t working.  Truthfulness is more becoming on me anyways.