“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But, since no one was listening, everything must be said again.” – Andre Gide
Dull day, inexplainable, darkened skies
Greying mind, inexplicable meaningless whys
Each day, unknowable, a morning shine
Bright mind, lovable, this day divine
Gratitude Journal
I am so happy and grateful to work out and meditate in Kim’s room and be distracted by her running around like crazy. She makes me smile and distracts me from my own problems.
Pic: cat waiting for quote
“A person who knows little likes to talk, and one who knows much mostly keeps silent.
This is because a person who knows little thinks that everything he knows is important, and wants to tell everyone. A person who knows much also knows that there is much more he doesn’t know. That’s why he speaks only when it is necessary to speak, and when he is not asked questions, he keeps his silence.”
-Jean Jacques Rousseau (via Tolstoy’s Calendar of Wisdom)
“I’m not sure of much of anything these days. Maybe that’s why I talk so much.”
-Robert Pirsig from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
I read these two quotes from different sources today, also reflecting on the ‘loud’ Thai people in my work environment and it was made more poignant as at this time they were congratulating two other foreign teachers for picking two correct numbers on the lottery. No one won anything that I could discern, as more correct numbers were needed but because they had two correct this seemed to indicate a mad belief in their fortune-telling skills.
This nonsense talk went on for a while and at a volume that chased any hiding cockroaches out of the room. I think for a lot of Thai people, it is all about the show and not about the reality. I’ve mentioned before my sense of this whilst living here. It still jars but rather than say anything this time, I tried to see things for what they were – and kept my mouth shut. (Until writing this, of course!)
Gratitude Journal
I am so happy and grateful for the foam rollers that help me to massage out any pain and tension in my back. Sometimes the relief is awesome – especially after sleeping awkwardly.
The best things today was that everyone was in a fairly happy mood as students were celebrating graduation. They all complained about having to wait, especially as the temperature rose up to 38 degrees or so.
It was a lot of fun to see everyone so relaxed. I especially enjoyed talking with Porpieng, Momo and Junior in the morning. I also talked with Baitoey and Bonus. Baitoey had written about her family situation and how unhappy it made her and how difficult it was for her to concentrate on school work. She wrote that she was depressed, her parents fight all the time – it seems her mum was only 17 when she had Baitoey – and her dad is not much older.
Baitoey had also thought about suicide. I told her my own dealings with depression and that she should know that she is loved – by me, Bonus and her friends. But also that she must consider her own love first and that is important when she can’t get it anywhere else.
I think she felt happy and relieved to write those things down even though it was so hard for her and she still can’t see a way out of the fog. I care about my students so much.
I taught online this evening and although I wasn’t really looking forward to it, even thinking of cancelling, it went well. Luckily this student is fairly capable and seems very motivated. Sometimes it’s hard to stay motivated went he student doesn’t really understand you or doesn’t have enough vocabulary to think deeper.
“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
– attributed to Buddha
In the end (what end?) none of this matters, but I played along anyway.
How much you loved.
Sometimes I loved too much, other times, not enough. I have loved different people but shown it in different ways. Does that mean the love was different? I have become more careful and selective with my love, perhaps to the point that I don’t love anyone or anything deeply anymore. This is a countermeasure against loss. The extreme loves of youth are more tempered now. I don’t feel like this was a conscious decision but a naturally evolving one. It has come with stronger self-confidence and self-esteem but also at a loss of close connections with people.
I grew up with a strong independent single mother who was already tired of dealing with other people and their bullshit. I have become like her. We are loners but not lonely and not lone wolfs. We are just happy by ourselves or, in my case, with one very special person around. All my acquaintances I still call friends, I just don’t interact with them so much. This sometimes gives me a false sense of understanding as, in my mind, they are the same person as the last time I met them and nothing should be different. I still have this feeling after what could be years without speaking. Obviously, that’s unrealistic.
I could dream about meeting an old girlfriend as if it was just a current continuation of that relationship from that time. Never mind, we would be twenty years older, married with kids since. Those feelings are still in my memories but reality is much cooler.
I’m surprised sometimes that I know I won’t have those butterfly feelings again. Experience and understanding (and time) has calmed them. I am no longer crazed and tempestuous but I am still alive and capable. It’s a double-edged sword. Those feelings were special and wild, extreme highs, but dampened by such extreme lows. Perhaps some of my father’s manic depression got passed on.
Now that I have balance I guess I’m somewhat boring.
How much I have loved? I loved myself selfishly 100%. I loved others occasionally, but 100%.
How gently you lived.
My memories of youth don’t seem particularly gentle but the deeper I go, under the piss and vinegar, there is a big softy. I was a teenage asshole, sometimes even to my best friends. I was less an early 20s asshole but still could be a mean son-of-a-bitch. Having now lived in other countries around the world I believe I was very well suited to the typical British contrarian and sarcastic humour. I can fall back into it instantly I meet an ex-pat, sometimes so obviously I kick myself for it. It does, however, still make me laugh.
So whether with the simple act of aging or with growth and understanding, I am living much more gently these days. I gave up eating meat when I was 14, something that I believe inspires a gentler life. I was quite aggressive about it at the beginning but don’t even think about it anymore and thankfully it’s so acceptable these days that it’s barely a topic for discussion. There was always a tension about it before, having to constantly provide justification for what was perceived as different.
I was mostly thoughtful on the inside but could let my emotions get out of control. I’m still envious of more balanced people I grew up with, especially some who had to deal with me. I know we’re all a little fucked up in some way but I do often wish I knew then what I know now (and was able to act on it). It’s ironic that folks said that I was mature for my age. I must have been a very good deceiver.
When I was 30 and getting divorced I went to the psychiatrist and got diagnosed with mild depression and started to take a low dose of medication that stabilised a lot of my out of control emotions. When I revealed this to my mother, she then revealed to me that my father had suffered from manic depression (now known as bipolar disorder). I guess things started falling into place.
It still took me another 10 years or so of growth to get to a point where I was mostly and consistently happy and this reflected in my attitudes and behaviors. Of course, by this time a lot of small unique habits had developed which often have me reflecting how much like my mother I have become. It’s neither good nor bad, it just is.
I saw an online post about how we spend our second 40 years dealing with our first 40 years. I certainly spend a lot of time reflecting on those first 40 years. I also feel that, despite being 13 past the mark, my first 40 years haven’t been completed yet.
Looking back over these words I wonder if I even know what living gently means in the context of my life. Living gently feels like I should be a monk who is careful not to step on an ant, something I was reminded of this morning when I crunched a snail under foot in my driveway – those damn snails are everywhere.
How gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.
I’ve been thinking about this one for a few days already. Letting go was always difficult when I was younger though something I seem to have improved at. However, when I think deeply about this the only ‘things’ I consider in my life (in connection to this subject) are people. After having moved across the world a couple of times already, things such as books, albums, videos, comics, furniture, clothes etc are all replaceable. Sometimes the fun in having (and losing) those things is more about the search and discovery of them again.
The ‘things’ I feel more attached too have personal meaning, such as old letters or photos but in consideration, I haven’t looked at my old letters since I left England in 1994. They are in the pile of things that I do want to go through again and perhaps document before I shuffle off.
So, that leaves people, particularly friends and girlfriends. With that I can only say that I have gotten better at it over time. Teenage/early 20s are typically messy and I was not mature and confident enough in myself to deal with letting go. Possibly this relates to a subconscious search for a mother figure to replace my mom and not having a father around to learn from.
Letting go also sometimes meant pushing away, and that is not graceful at all. I tried my best at the time.
I’m finding it hard to write more about this without going into painful detail. Perhaps considering things that I don’t wish to share about other people as much as about myself. I have few, if any, regrets but also can be nostalgic for certain times and places with certain people.
Finally, we cannot hold onto anything, nothing is actually meant for us, it is just our internal impression of it.
Gratitude Journal
I am so happy and grateful to have to chance and opportunity to learn and grow and to try to better understand this thing called life. Many things are making more sense to me even though I struggle to be the better person that I want to be.
I am so happy and grateful to have the time and space to think and consider things. I also need to put these things into action. I have the time and space to do that too.
I am so happy and grateful for enjoying being at school and even a little disappointed that I’m not teaching today. But that is good too. Tomorrow I have to teach a lot!
To-do list
Now it’s the 15th of August and this journal has gone by the wayside for no real good reason that I can discern. It feels like it’s a time issue. Now that I am teaching on a more proper schedule maybe things feel a little more secure. I’ve not had or made time to think too much about things so some of the habits I’ve been trying to forge haven’t quite stuck yet – such as the awards.
I do find myself reminding myself about complimenting and I have been doing well with morning routines. One thing of concern is that though I have mostly been feeling extremely happy there have been a couple of occasions that I have felt extremely down too. I can think of specific incidents that caused that feeling but frustrated that I understand that they are minor and not in my control but I’ve been unable to control my own reaction and behaviour.
The plus on this is that I am well aware of my feelings and though I might tell myself that living is pointless, I know that these feelings will pass soon enough – and they always do.
I’ve moved this journal back to the bedroom in the hope I will write more often again – even if the entries are briefer. I know doing this practice is helpful.
I am so happy and grateful that even when my favourite coffee shop is closed I can find good coffee. I am so happy and grateful that I can afford to go out and buy good coffee.
The last few days have been not so good. This weekend spoiled by bad mood and depression. I have felt inadequate and undermine all my good points. I have wondered what I’m doing here. What is my purpose and what is the point of me? Ugh.
I think I got sick again and a couple of classes really got me down.
Gratitude Journal
I am so happy and grateful for my coat, which is keeping me warm. For my books, which fill my mind with wonder. And for my wife and cats who fill me with laughter.
I dreamt about fire…and friends. We did our best to keep each other safe.
I still wake up during the night thinking about working with kids and how to get my mojo back and get rid of this dark cloud. It’s slowly lifting but I still need to do something to move it along. I want to learn to deal with this kind of feeling better.
Gratitude Journal
I smiled today when a P1 student came and gave me a hug.
15th Feb 2021 – Kids can be so perceptive sometimes. I obviously needed a hug.
Three things I am grateful for:
My friends who can show me support and the positive way. They make things feel better.
My wife who is a strong independent woman with a beautiful heart.
My cats who make me smile every day!
We’re taking an overnight flight to the UK and of course, I slept a lot already. It’s only in more recent years that I’ve been able to even sleep a little bit on planes. Except for that one time out of Guangzhou, I was lucky enough to start talking to a girl as we were waiting for departure. Just by chance, she knew the staff working the counter and wrangled an upgrade to business class for herself. She was kind enough to come back down to cattle and tell me to follow her back to business class, where there was a spare seat. Best sleep on a plane ever, and probably the last time I’ll enjoy that too.
Our plane in and out of London is the new A380 and it is huge. Even for the likes of us paupers, it feels like there is a little more room to breathe at least. I barely manage to sleep though.
We arrive in London around 6am and the weather has me instantly cold and chilled (not in the relaxed sense at all). We pick up a hire car, which is amazing but I keep forgetting that it is manual and stall it at every roundabout. Then we take the wrong lane and exit off the motorway and the sky is grey and the rain is drizzling just that annoying amount to make the wipers screech. I am thoroughly depressed already.
Somehow the shitty English coffee manages to take off the edge at least for a while. Just remember not to watch what the barista actually does and just go by taste. I think I had one half-decent coffee this trip – which is one more than last time I visited the UK.
As we arrive in Brighton the sun very occasionally decides to show itself. We’re staying at Amy’s university friend’s house and she just happens to live herself on Brighton Marina. Sometimes I feel especially lucky to find myself in such beautiful places just through the people that I know.
It’s a great little house, and when I say little, I always forget just how tiny and compact English houses are. And doors – always doors. Gotta keep that heat in.
Amy has decided that we must eat Indian food on this trip and, as they are everywhere, it’s only a short walk to our lunch. It’s cold and even the slightest breeze is enough to make us shudder. We have prepared appropriate coats but there’s still the other bits turning blue. Luckily the sun decides to stay for a long while and the sky turns blue. Wait, are we still in England, in February?
Amy’s friend, Bookie, speaks with the typical American accent of her tutors from years ago. Something that I (or Australia) have managed to change with Amy over the years. She doesn’t sound English and not really Aussie but at least it’s not American.
Bookie is married to an airline pilot and he is away 20 days a month and he’s away now, arriving back in the following couple of days for his birthday. They have a five-year-old son called Kyle and when he comes home from school I’m tasked with keeping him entertained whilst food is prepared. We have fun playing Star Wars action figures and making up stories.
Later, Amy and I enjoy the comforts of a nice soft bed and perfect pillows. Back at Amy’s parent’s house, the bed we are sleeping on may as well be a block of concrete – it’s good for learning to sleep on a tiled floor though. The only downside of the night is I wake up having a coughing fit and end up in the living room for a spell. Amy is starting to catch it too and her voice is starting to crack.
We wake up again to brilliant sunshine and coffee’d up (instant) we hit the road, passing Arundel castle and some other Olde Worlde buildings. The history and mystery of England is a little bit magical for me if only the temperature was more appealing.
Heading along the coast we get back into very familiar territory for me, with roads I travelled repeatedly in other glory days. We soon arrive at my cousin’s house and are treated to a warm welcome of food and central heating, along with discussions about details for my mother’s funeral and some other minor details that need to be sorted whilst I’m here.
My cousin, Sharon and her husband Ken have been doing all the hard graft for my mother and for me, of course, over the last 18 months or so. I’m so lucky that she has been here and willing to assist with everything.
It still doesn’t seem real that my mother isn’t here to talk to, to show pictures and to keep updated on the minutiae of everyday life. I feel sad about that but not overly emotional. I keep wondering if I’m going to sit down one day and have a big cry. Maybe. I’ve upped my dose of antidepressants recently, in preparation for my big life move and it’s likely they are helping keep things smooth for me emotionally.
Another coughing fit just after going to bed sees me again relocating to the living room until I’m on the verge of sleep when I return to bed and later Amy wakes me with coughing of her own.
The weather is excellent again and even though it’s cold there’s little wind to bring in the chill. We drive back to my hometown and go to the bank where my mum and I have a joint account and sort out access for Sharon to deal with expenses etc. Amy and I spend a little more time walking around, returning again for pizza at Piccolo Mondo, once my favourite pizza ever, not so much these days though, it’s still good though.
We take ourselves on a country drive as I search out Bulbarrow Hill. I love this place. It sparks that mystical quality of olden days more than some of the other places scattered around the south, even more than Stonehenge. It’s a fabulous view and the sun’s rays break through the scattering of clouds.
I have time to scoff down some more home cooked food, that Sharon says isn’t to her usual quality but it tastes great to me. Bring on the cheese, potato, garlic and butter anytime!
I’m off for a quick catch-up with old school friends Rupert and Murray, though we barely have time with our busy schedules. A quick couple of pints and it’s time to head off on our merry ways, and I am feeling quite tipsy. That is until I open the pub door and the cold wind blast instantly sobers me. This forces me to reminisce quite clearly the many many nights spent walking home from the pub, or the local football club, or the school field where we huddled around a couple of cans of beer and maybe a fire. Those days were either hell fun or hell shit depending on my mood and what was going on around me. I miss the good bits. A lot.
Edit: Could not stop humming this tune during these few days – https://youtu.be/xk2QbCDRP0U
Some days the medicine doesn’t work. I don’t think I’ve got anything to give you today.
—
I told my boss today that I’ll quit in a few weeks. I wish I felt happier. Probably will once I get home. These last few weeks will be torturous!
It’s been a long time between drinks. Around 23 years or so. 1994 was a life-changing time and then life took over and now I’m looking at another transitional period.
Life changes daily though. It seems slow but every detail matters somewhat, and if you care to remember it.
Right now I’m sitting in an office, getting paid and doing very little work of reward. The kind that is emotionally unfulfilling. But right now, I’ll take the money, thank you very much.
Somehow, over time, you learn that working for ‘the man’, as opposed to working for yourself, is something that must be exploited to the full. I managed to get myself into a position at one point of not doing any work-related activities at my job and started doing my own hobbies in company time. Somehow I was also well paid for this. It was always slightly precarious and eventually, it came to an end. Then it happened again – and with the same company to boot. I do thank you, although I wish it could’ve been more rewarding for both of us, to our mutual benefits. Perhaps I feel guilty. I know I would sometimes get annoyed when I actually had work to do that was interrupting my personal time and that’s not a good place to be.
The more depressing it became, the more I strove to distraction. I ended up being very productive. I could never make that jump though, to make money from doing the things I enjoyed. I am envious of people who have been able to position themselves in this way. I’m lacking in artistic talent, not through want of trying. Often lacking in concentration, born on the cusp of distraction entertainment as I was. The advent of new technologies only makes this worse and now that even they have surpassed my knowledge and I am like the old man programming his first VCR with only a 3-button remote, I sometimes pine for those days again.
My nostalgia is aligned with depression. I was deeply unhappy for periods of time that I now reminisce. That depression was an artistic motivation, a driving force. The actions often more thrilling than the results.
Right now, I am biding time again. In this strange period of inertia, the feeling of anticipation is immense and I am highly conscious of the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence. Hence to take time enjoying the moment, the present, the now. I visualise vividly a relaxing future whilst aware of the constant need for ‘work’ whether in some paid variety or just the work of remaining alive and managing the mundanities of life. I hope to derive great pleasures from the digging of weeds or painting of walls but worry that I will start to ignore the dust that settled in the corners many years before.
Luckily I have an outside motivation, my wife, Amy. Could I do it without her? Probably, but without so much pleasure, enjoyment and fulfilment.
The bones of the tale are this. In 1994, I relocated from small-town England to small city Australia. Sydney and thereabouts. In 2018, I will relocate from small-city Australia to small-town Thailand. In 1994, I documented my time in transition. I have not looked over those diary entries since, but the intention is to add them here alongside current musings. Let’s see how they compare. Let’s see if I have really gained some wisdom in the intervening years.
1994ever 