355/365

a wisp of a nest,
meticulously secured
to a finger thin branch
of the resurrected bougainvillea,
blows precariously in the
afternoon wind. as the two
tiny yellow birds, back from
a year of where ever they’ve been,
work tirelessly in tandem gathering
materials from the neighbourhood
to build a safe haven for what i’ll
assume will be the most indiscernible
egg with a translucent shell.

last year the nest blew away before
they were ready. my wife wants to help
by erecting a shield or offering twine,
but you can’t mess with evolution.
my daughter, a few weeks, ago
asked about meaning in life-

i wonder where the birds go at night
in the wake of the full moon light.
how much could we love
their invisible new life?

145/365

the moon was out and full
and that has to mean something
as we drank a bottle of gin
and talked about the pandemic
and music
and the past
and the future.

you played records:
springsteen
joni mitchell
pearl jam.

by the end
we were out of ice
and the warm gin
and pepper
and cucumber
and my headache
slowed things down,
but we were committed
to the night
and our friendship
and the ability
and need
to stay connected
and free.

i am imagine henry miller
near a war
drinking a bottle of gin
and writing similar gibberish
about how important
it is to be alive.

Ramshackle Head

"I love you more than the world can contain

In its lonely and ramshackle head"

Sufan Stevens

Some days you come home from work leaden with the weight of another batch of students of concern, but you are not calling them that anymore, so instead you worry about their overall wellness. Your afternoons and evenings becoming only the time in between work, so much so that you forget that you are living a life, raising a family, tending your own needs, maintaining a marriage.

Is this all that life is meant to be? Noticing and appreciating the in between moments? The few hours after you overcome the exhaustion and the few minuets before you succumb to it and sleep?

You wash the lunch boxes and make the next day’s lunches on auto pilot, you watch the late shows make fun of Trump as a pathway to your sanity. Who has the energy to worry about the world beyond the children in your life? You check in on the homework, hoping it’s done, but not really caring because let’s face it homework is bullshit. You work on the speech therapy words with the little one, because you are paying a small fortune for improvement.

It’s Tuesday night so you and the girls take the bus to the local restaurant for pints and pies. The sun sets on your second IPA, illuminating the sky in a blanket of violent and pink. You and the girls are talking about music based on the post you wrote yesterday. They seem to understand your point, even though the older one argues for the sake of arguing. You wonder when she will calm down and let you love her. You imagine a time- the two of you, a trail, a campfire, a conversation that doesn’t end in an argument. You hope you are doing this right. The parenting The teaching, The being a man. How can you be?

It’s hard loving two hundred kids at work, but the two at home need your attention too.

You come home and play Sufjan Stevens, slightly buzzed as the kids get ready to sleep, wondering if this is what you dreamt peace meant when you were living in the Tenderloin.

At least you have the freedom of these words, the ability to scream your insecurity into the world and await a few likes to valiant your voice. It’s a bit sad that you need it, but what do the people who do not write to release their tension do, in the solitude of their own solitude and darkness.

At least these posts make it feel like someone might hear your angst and make you feel less alone.

Later you’ll watch some TV show, this week one about spiritual awakening and a cult in Oregon, wondering if what you have gathered in life is what you need. You think back to the Rainbow Gathering and the sign that said, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings have a human experience.” It feels so lame and cliche now at 43, but on that random Tuesday evening in Taos, New Mexico, it felt like a door way, a promise into something different. Something bigger.

You wonder if there is anything bigger or different in your immediate future.

Tomorrow, you will work on mundane trivial administrative tasks, the equivalent of teaching kids how to jump through hoops, because that is what the system demands of them at this time. Weren’t you supposed to be showing them how to break the system down?

You’ve been sitting in the younger one’s room for a while now, because she’s sacred of her dreams. You wish you could crawl into them with her and show her the wonder beyond the fear, but there doesn’t seem to be any room for you in there. Who knows if you would even know the way.

Not for anything, but you are grateful every night that you are healthy and sleeping in a warm safe bed. You are aware enough to know that most people cannot say the same thing. You remind yourself to get over yourself and your navel gazing petty bourgeois ennui.

You’re not sure how you ended up here, but now that you are here, you will complete the final sentence and get ready for whatever comes next.

The Prick. The Yelp.

Every night I want to sit and write something beautiful. Something provocative. Something thoughtful. Necessary. Every night the pressure builds up and explodes or slowly dissipates. Living a thoughtful, reflective life can be demoralizing when faced with the boredom of the mundane. Unless you shine a light on all the drab and ordinary moments as they pass.


Maybe it’s enough to grab a glass of wine and pull the Gillian Welch veil across your thoughts and see how you can make each minute shine. Play the keyboard like a guitar fret-board and allow the words to vibrate and ring out, like an empty open chord or a wave picking up force down in the infinite darkness.


Reveal the hours in the doctor’s waiting room. Flipping through your phone, trying to rid yourself of the Trump disease and the need to clothe your indignation and anger. Close Twitter for two minuets, no article or video will make him go away. Only you can expel his hate from your heart, by focusing on the moment and where you are. Focus on getting your child’s vaccine. Watch her act brave and face the very real terror of that needle.


The prick. The yelp. The reward for enduring pain. Is there more to life than that?


There was this morning with the guitar and the words of that song that her tiny seven year old soul seems to give itself over to. Where did that come from? That voice deep from her diaphragm? Her eyes closed? Did you teach her that? No way. Is it from exposure? Can she simply feel in a way that you only dream to feel?


There is nothing romantic about two hours at the optometrist or about buying a birthday present from the bookstore. Nothing worth sharing about the arguments in the car and the stores and the constant desire to raise a decent human being. But maybe there is a literature in parenting. Maybe the only thing necessary for poetry is the awareness of all the poems one can uncover and name by simply allowing for the simple truth that every moment has the potential for poetry.


You came home to a quiet house. Alone in the house for the first time in a long time. You ignore the ambition to get back on track, leaving the running shoes in the closet. You watched Michelle Obama on Stephen Colbert and are now convinced that the Trump to FLOTUS continuum spans the length of human decency.


You gave into your gluttonous appetite and lounged on the couch. Watching a movie at 6pm. What luxury is this? The movie made it hard to breathe. The tears welled up as you watched the literal face of racism and injustice. So much fear and hatred in the heart of a country that pretends to be so heroic. You cannot imagine a more rage inducing existence than to be black in America.


The movie ends. The family back home. The silence ended. These words are a poor substitute for the thoughts that swim through your consciousness on this boring Wednesday afternoon in October in your forty second year.


And to think that every person on the planet lives and writes and sings these poems in every second of everyday of their lives too. We are in there, up close and yearning, together.


Every night I want to sit and write something beautiful.


...


“Daddy? Has this Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump thing been forever?” Skyelar
“You mean the election? Feels like it, but no. It has been a year and it will be over soon, when we vote for who will be president.” Me.
“Vote for the girl!” Skye
“Every time.” Me.

Stretch of Hours

“She was tired of her journey through a day, the limitless moods contained in any stretch of hours.”


                                                                                                                                 Dave Eggers


There is the dread of waking- the act of being birthed from the darkness into more darkness shocks him every morning a new. Could this be the day when his body quits, the heart stops, the brain seizes and refuses to move forward?


No. This is not that day. His thoughts begin to churn as soon as the sleep is wiped away, and he checks his stats. A few emails. Some likes. A love. A text from Jason. A scan of Time Hop makes him feel good about his past wisdom. Maybe all his thoughts, ensnared and enslaved after all these years will amount to something resembling a body of work. Or maybe, he should put the phone down and stop thinking for validation. He clears the little red notifications from his phone and slogs out into the world.


He sets the table and gets the waters as his wife, who has been up for almost an hour, finishes making breakfast. He thinks about her devotion as a mother and wife and friend and quietly nurses his appreciation. He thinks that he should tell her more often that he loves and appreciates her, but even thinking about it makes him feel awkward. He will write about it tonight and hopefully she will read it. He knows this is not enough, but he has always felt more comfortable sitting behind the wall of words. He can write anything. Project it to anyone, but a simple thank you for making breakfast everyday to his wife, feels forced and strange. He is not proud of his behaviour. He tends his slight shame as he heads off to wake the kids.


They are tired and still sleepy, but they know the routine. They will sit at the table and need to be done by six-thirty for showers. He reminds them to eat or take a bite every 5 minutes while he gently strums his guitar. "This one could be a song," he says, finding a groove. His youngest starts to sing a melody and he is blown away by her love of music. It feels like this love was passed down from his father onto this tiny child and now it has exploded exponentially. He knows that even if he has done everything else wrong in the parenting of his children- they love music and books, and this is enough. Breakfast done. He washes the dishes and is off to the shower.


This is one of the only times in the day that he is alone. He takes time to enjoy the smell of the lavender soap and shampoo. He washes his face with peach facial scrub. The grit of the pit exfoliates his face. His face is often covered with black-heads. He wishes his face was cleaner. Perhaps a facial, but really he doesn’t care that much. He has started to wash his face and after forty-two years this feels like a feat.


Getting dressed, he is disappointed in his ability to shop. He wanted to buy a more expressive work wardrobe this summer, but his hatred of shopping made him ineffectual at the factory outlet stores. He puts on a pair of red Gap khakis and a plaid shirt. A pair of vans caps off the professional yet “young” look that he settles for. He wishes that he paid more time, money and attention to what he wears, but at this point in his life his wardrobe is a routine. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops on the weekends. Khakis, plaid shirt and Vans for work.


Then he waits. The rest of the family showers and gets ready. He reads on the couch and waits to see if the little one will tantrum today. She doesn’t. She is in a very good mood and pleasant and the day starts on good note. They leave the house on time and no one is stressed by being late to a meeting. The car ride is quiet. No music. Little conversation. He admires the sunrise and the greenery on the Singaporean freeway. This really is a beautiful city he thinks to himself, as he curses a driver who refuses to acknowledge his turn signal.


At school, he jokes with some kids. Says hello to peers. Smiles. Prepares the mask and starts his day. He wonders if other people could be crumbling inside at any moment of the day. He is actually in a great mood, so the professionalism is sincere. In his room he lights the lamps and explores his calendar. This looks like a manageable day. No surprises. He covers a mentor class and has fun with kids. No matter what else might be happening in his life, he knows that the time he spends with young people will always nurture his spirit. There is nothing better than spending time with kids in a classroom.


He talks to eleven year olds about the Political, Environmental, Economic and Societal lens with which they might look at the events of their lives. He shares the stories of his life as mentor text, and they seem surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. He tells them about his parents divorce and his inability to make friends in middle school. He prides himself on his ability to cut through bullshit and say what needs to be said. He knows that we are all boomerangs of emotion on the inside and even within the hour we can be burned alive only to rise from the ashes.


Lunch is quiet and fast. Salad again. The giant bean sprouts add a crunch that he enjoys, but they do not take place of the Jalapeño peppers, the salad bar hasn’t had in a week. Lunch duty on the field. This might kill him. It is hot and humid and he fights to stay awake. The boys play soccer and he thinks about how much he hates that game. He would rather watch them do anything else. Running back and forth, how can they get so much joy from something so inane?


Back in his room, the lights are low and the music helps him get through a To-Do list- set this week’s meeting agenda, write the eBrief, create next week’s mentor presentation, start thinking about the parent coffee morning, answer emails. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t teaching, but he convinces himself that it is benefiting learning. He actually likes it. He likes it a lot. Could he be a principal someday? Is that something he wants? Is it too soon to think such foolish things? He’s pretty sure he is doing a good job. People tell him he is, but he is not so sure himself. Next class. More kids. He will find is flow. His balance.


After school, he designs an activity on Pages. Making sure that the colors look good and the fonts are right. He prides himself on making pretty, useful things. His daughter does her homework as fast as she can and then reads.


He knows he will not run today, even though he should. He promises himself to get started next week, or the week after, after all the craziness of going home settles down. Instead, he shares some fries, a coke and apple pie with his daughter on the way home. He feels gross, but filled with joy as they drive home.


On the bed….rest the eyes a bit. oh no. Get up. Set the dinner table. Eat. Everyone is pleasant and has had good days.


This is life. This is family. This is all there is and it is more than he ever dreamed he deserved.


Bed time goes smoothly. Kaia is working through sleep issues, but has a good night. He finishes off a few things from the to-do list like a machine. Copying and pasting, opening and closing tabs, creating- emails, agendas, presentations. Click. Click. Write. Done.


And now…Iron and Wine feels too slow for the pace of his clickity clackity fingers, but the AC is blowing sweet cool air and the one glass of wine taste perfect. He will go to bed before ten and read the latest novel by one of his favorite authors. He loves the language and the things that it motivates him to do.


Then he will live tomorrow.

Life is Filled

We were walking home from dinner. It was getting dark and Kaia was holding my had as we strolled down the sidewalk. She had burned her hand earlier while making cupcakes all by herself, so she had warned me to be careful.


I wondered how many other times and in which cities in the future, I would hold her hand as we strolled the streets on the way home from dinner. I imagined her in her twenties and we would be somewhere in NYC or Paris or Bangkok.


“I am sad about Twinkle,” she said out of the blue.
“Me too.” Where was this going to go. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this talk. I gripped her hand harder. Squeezing it a little. She pulled away slightly. The blister from the burn.
“I still don’t understand why she needed to let go.”
“I think she was just tired sweetie. And scared and in a lot of pain.” I could feel the tears welling up.
Silence.
“I just wish there wasn’t such a thing as death.” I didn’t have the heart to go into any kind of explanation.
“Me too. I’m just glad you go tot meet her and have memories of her. She loved you and Skyelar very much. She told me every time I talked to her, what amazing, beautiful girls you two are.”
Silence.
“I’m gonna miss her. Even thought I didn’t know her very well.”
“Me too. Me too.”
"Be sure to hug Thomas for me when you go back home."
"I will sweetie. I will hug them all."


We walked the rest of the way home in silence. I thought about future nights and future meals and future walks in future cities. I thought about the future, because the past was just too heavy to carry home between the two of us.


…


We saw Captain Fantastic tonight and what a beautiful tender film. Well written, shot and directed. Great music and cast. It was really thought provoking. Some things it made me think about in no particular order of importance:


We should swear around our kids more and allow the use of “inappropriate language” when it is appropriate. Never liked the idea of “bad words.”
Never lie to kids and answer them as best you can- accurately and factually when they ask questions.
I miss my beard and not combing my hair all summer.
We should have some time to sit and read as a family. Time when every member is reading their own book, but it is a collective family act like watching TV.
Death is the best time to celebrate some one’s life.
Life is filled with joy and boredom and struggle and confusion and wonder and music and compromise and confusion and and and ….life is filled.


Anyway, the movie tugs at your hearts strings, make you laugh and cry and all the things that film should do. If you have a chance check it out.

Some Days

Get a drink. This is a long one.


Each day is not that different from the next when you document them as meticulously as I have been doing for the last one hundred and thirty two days.


You wake up at 5:45am and check your likes and statuses and tweets- you’ve read that this obsessive checking-in leads to stress, anxiety and unhappiness, but you want to get a grip on your world, so you read the comments people may or may not have written on last the post you wrote last night. (Oooh that was a popular one: 14 likes and a few new comments. They seem to like the funny self-deprecating ones with some kind of lesson at the end.)


Most mornings there is some overnight activity that makes you happy. Some mornings you start your day watching soul-crushing videos of Syrian children being bombed and you think that maybe checking your phone before you are awake is not such a good idea. But these routines are ingrained, so it is harder to stop than you think. Maybe this pre-awake morning time could be better spent sitting a quick mediation, or a enjoying a stretch on the balcony, but then when would you catch up on twelve hours of online activity. The world spins while we sleep.


At 6am sharp you wake up the kids. They usually struggle a bit and grumble, but they are pretty good at dragging themselves to the table. You sit with them at breakfast to make sure they eat. You are all trying to be positive and happy, when all of you just want to go back to sleep. Some days are easier and more pleasant than others, but usually you are all at the table, half asleep, forcing a few bites of food into your mouth. The sky is dark. Some days you play some gentle music, but some days the silence is enough. By six-thirty breakfast is done and you are in the shower. On most days you enjoy the scent of the peppermint soap, but you think that it might be time for a change in shower products. The new scent of a shampoo or conditioner could mix things up a bit. Coconut would be good. You miss coconut. Smells like the beach.


Your older child is independent and can get ready by herself. The younger showers with your wife. While they are in the shower you get dressed quickly so you have a few minutes to strum your guitar. You’ve been quietly whispering a few songs. You miss playing live and make a promise to get back in that habit.


The younger child tries to sneak up on you every morning to scare you, but she seldom does. You help her get dressed- all the moods have perked up by this point. She is all silliness and on most mornings this is a welcome distraction. Teeth and hair brushed. Shoes on. Bags zipped and ready. This efficiency affords you a few more minutes on the guitar. You think that this cannot be considered “practice” and ponder how this must be why you are not getting any better at guitar. You make a note to build in more practice time. You remember how last year you went to play at school every Wednesday night. Why did that stop? How can you build that back into your life? You need a band.


At this point your wife is ready and you are all out the door, like a gang of sherpas, each person carrying bags, lunches, guitars, tennis rackets and a variety of work-out clothes. There is usually music in the car. The kids like the pop, but you know they need exposure to other music so you insist on Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Tori Amos, Depeche Mode, The Cure, Sleater Kinney and other bands that will shape their identities without them realising it at this time. You cringe when you hear their top 40 choices, but you understand the value of allowing kids to own music that they have “found.”


At school, you drop the kids off at the infant lot, relieved that they are old enough to simply get on with it on their own. It is now 7:30 and you have arrived at school. In your room, you turn on your laps, get your computer set up and check in with your co-worker. You catch up on TV shows and make sure that you are set for the day, sometimes there is some last minute planning, but usually you feel prepared and ready to go.


Then you teach. This is actually the part of the day where there is some variety. Some days run smoothly. The kids are engaged, intuitive and enthusiastic. Everything you say is funny and insightful and life changing for every kid. You float down the halls and do a million things at a time. You are a super hero. You can do no wrong. On other days you are cranky and snappish. The meetings run long. Your brain is fried and you are sure the kids hate you and are making fun of you behind your back. Nothing works. They learn nothing and you feel like a fraud.


But most days is a combination of the two. A conference runs perfectly and you feel like you may have lit a light that will change the way that kid reads books forever. Other times you ignore that one kid who needs you most, because you are grumpy and cannot afford the energy. On most days you inhale and exhale pride and shame. Give and take. Win and lose. Such is the nature of teaching and life.


Lunch is the same nearly every day. At this point it is a large salad with: spinach, pastas, cous cous, brown rice, onions, sprouts- bean and green, tomatoes- large and cherry, cucumbers, jalapeno peppers, tofu, beets, four kinds of beans: garbanzo, kidney, butter and white, olives and croutons with olive oil and vinegar dressing a large dash of salt and chili flakes. You eat with your two friends and colleagues and talk about how a lesson went, a student's progress or the show you watched last night or a book you are reading or a movie you want to see. It is adult conversation, for the most part, and it keeps you grounded.


After school, there is usually a meeting or some activity, but rarely nothing happening. You keep your head up and act professional, some days you dream of just leaving and going to a movie or getting a massage, or taking a nap. Lately you even fantasize about going for a run. But no, you sit in the meeting and you share ideas and do your best to improve the school and the lives of the kids you teach and the people you work with because you are a team player on a team and you are, for the most, winning; you want to keep it that way. This is a job you love and at the end of the day the tedious bureaucracy is part of it.


You leave school at 4:30 sharp. The ride home is quiet. You discuss the day with your wife and older child, the younger one went home with the nanny. You look forward to the day when you all have the same schedule, so you can all go home at the same time and maybe not need the nanny anymore. You realise not wanting a nanny makes you sound like an ungrateful prick, because so many people would love the childcare you have, but at the same time you look forward to the day when you family can exist without her.


Once home, the older one is sent to her room to do homework that you do not really agree with, but you are playing the school game and at this time she needs to do that math worksheet instead of going to play in the park or a swim or just playing with her sister. You want to write the teachers and ask why they do this homework, but you trust them, because you demand the same trust from the parents of students you teach, but the homework feels wrong and you wish you could take her to the skate park and practice for an hour. A late afternoon bike ride would do more for her soul than sorting a bunch of random words and writing sentences using them. This homework monster has been at your throat for over thirty-five years, why can’t we kill it?


Some days you run. Some days you play with the little one. Some days you lay on the couch like a useless exhausted whale, beached by fatigue, barking at anything that comes near. Some days you fall asleep. One night a week you make dinner. Dinner is served around sixty thirty and you all sit at the table and eat and talk. It’s easier than breakfast because the kids are hungry and awake an they eat.


After dinner, the kids are in PJs, teeth are brushed and they are in bed at seven and allowed to read until seven-thirty at which time you need to sit in the room with the younger one because for some reason she is scared of her “new” room and will not fall asleep without you there. You know that this is a phase and she will grow out of it, but it annoys you nonetheless. You sit on the floor of her room with your laptop and headphones. You catch up on emails, but you have been good about not doing too much work at home. You are nervous that your new role might add work at home, but you prefer to use this time to watch funny videos, read the news, interact with friends on FB and Twitter and you write your nightly blog post.


You are proud of the writing you have been doing. You have taken a break from the novel until summer. It needs to sit for a while, but you have plans to work on it and set a new deadline soon. The younger one usually falls asleep within thirty minutes so you are back in the living room. Your wife is usually working-out until later, so you either read, play a bit more guitar, relax, spend more time online….hmmmm. You think that maybe this time can be used more productively, but damn it sometimes you just have to watch and RT John Oliver videos.


By this time you have posted your nightly writing and some people are interacting with it. So you interact back, thrilled by the quickness of connection between your words, your ideas, your world, your self and those beyond the screen. You see their faces reading and wonder what they are thinking. There is a small dedicated audience who reads and likes every night, and more interestingly there are a few random people who jump in from nowhere. You wonder how many people read- all, most, some of your posts. You wonder how many people have hidden your friendship because they are tired of the litany of posts.


Your wife comes home and after she gets some work done, you usually watch TV. Monday nights are good this time of year- Game of Thrones and Silicon Valley. You usually have a few shows running. After an hour, around ten thirty you wife is passed out. She has been up since four thirty preparing breakfast and lunch and dinner, and working full-time at school. You have offered to take turns with the meals, but she seems to find it easier to just do it all herself. This makes you feel guilty and like a bad feminist, but what can you do but offer? You can try to insist more strongly you suppose, but secretly it is nice not having to do all that.


After she is asleep, you read for a bit. Check in on posts and comments one last time and around midnight you shut off the light.


You float in the darkness. In silence. You remind yourself to be grateful that you are fed and loved and sleeping in a warm safe bed. You remind yourself of the pain and suffering so many people face and you try to find ways to fill your heart with hope. At which point you will fall into a deep often dreamless sleep. Until 5:45 the next morning when you hear your wife’s soft voice say, “BZ, time to get up."

Old and Ugly and Gross

“If I’ve properly studied what’s going on in me, there’s a good chance it’ll read as if it’s about you.” Alain de Botton

Today wasn’t great. It wasn’t so great in a bad way, just in a not so great way. The day never really felt like it got off the ground. You ever have days like that? Ran a few errands in the morning that didn’t have the intended results. Although, Kaia came with me and we had some- sing-Pearl Jam-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-father daughter time.

The rest was mediocre.

The timing of my showers was off, and as a result I felt a bit sweaty for most of the day. Timing your showers in South East Asia is a key survival skill.

I didn’t eat right. I had some random McDonald's Fries, a Coke and an Apple Pie around 3pm that was not a good idea. This is my go to gluttonous, feel guilty for supporting corporate devils, but do it more often than I care to admit, snack.

It was cloudy and grey and the pool was uninspiring. I’m not cutting my hair or shaving my beard until the end of February, when I will shave it all off for our annual Hair for Hope event, but today the young beard was itchy and gross, and the hair felt a bit like a helmet. I was not comfortable in my own skin.

I felt old and ugly and gross.

We also took Kaia to get a manicure, watched Lemony Snicket, fell into a nap, and bought some bread from the store.

…

Sometimes when I’m bored I google myself. You might think this particular act is nothing more than narcissistic navel-gazing, (Kind of like writing a long Facebook status/blog post everyday for a year) and you might be right, but you might also think that I am tending, with due diligence, to my digital foot print.

Because I have chosen to put so much of my life online, it feels like the responsible thing to do- is to know what is out there for when/if anyone should type my name into the search engine.

Tonight, the results were about the same as usual. The main page was Twitter, my blogs, Facebook, Flickr and some random work I have done on other sites. The images were all kosher too. Mostly the thousands of profile pics I have used for various social media, a few shots of Kaia and actually lots of pictures from my PLN (personal learning network). The video section also checked out- youtube channel front and center, followed by clips of me singing at school and a variety of videos I have made for workshops in the last few years. The pleasant surprise was when I clicked on news.

I wasn’t expecting to see much of anything, but there were at least seven or eight websites that had used my Creative Commons Licensed photos for their content. A few shots of workers I had taken in Doha, a photo of Kaia dressed up as a scientist was on two STEM pages, and a shot of Singapore was on some travel site. They were all correctly attributed which was good. There was also some French article about me from 2011 when I was in Hong Kong. Not sure what it said exactly, I hope it was good.

It was reassuring to know that a kind and communal internet is possible. Not everything has to be viral or troll-laden. We can create content and openly share it with other people who might need it. Seems like a simple concept, this internet, but sometimes if feels like it has gotten too murky.

…

I read today that there are gangs of roaming violent boys from Morocco, harassing people at a train station in Stockholm. And recently a vigilante gang of masked Swedes went into said station and beat them up. This story feels like a lose-lose for humanity.

…

Lessons Learned:

• Not everyday is going to be great, or inspiring or even that interesting. 
• Some days are just meant to pass by. 
• Living your life online needn’t be scary and your work and ideas can end up in interesting places. 

1. Tell us about a mediocre day you recently had. 
2. Google yourself right now and share the results. Anything surprising? 

Philosophy Rethink

“You are biting off more than you can chew.”

That was my wife today in the car as I was explaining my latest email exchange with Spectrum Culture. They are a music, book, food website and I want to write for them. Why you may ask? Don't I have enough on my plate? It is simple, because they want writers and I want some structure. I want a deadline. I want to be forced to write about things that are outside of my comfort zone. Because I think I can and I should. Because I love music and the editor isn’t turned off by my new philosophy.

Think you can and you will. Act as if you have nothing to lose and you will lose nothing.

In short, I don’t want to over think things and lose myself in anxiety or stress of  outcomes. This awakening began before the holiday when I noticed that a conference in Hong Kong was asking for presenters. With the deadline the next day, I quickly typed up an idea for a session, and within twenty four hours I was approved and now I am on my way to Hong Kong next month.

Spectrum Culture was very similar. I saw a Tweet that asked for writers, and so I sent the following email:

I would like to write for you. Please send me the details. See my blog for body of my work.

I was shocked when he asked me to send in a sample after I answered some of the application questions like this:

What sets you apart from the other writers?

I have been told that I can capture what others are feeling but cannot articulate in a simple and easy to absorb style. I ramble and roll and sometimes land on authentic emotions. What separates me from other writers is probably the fact that I cannot answer this question. I do not take it all so seriously, so I will not take the time to manufacture some banal account of what makes me special. Perhaps I am like the protagonist from Singles, where he is caught admitting that not having a game is his game.

I wrote this review for Shogu Tokumaru and waited. I tried to remain anxiety free, but I really wanted this at this point. I am not sure why writing for a third party website seems more authentic to me than writing for my own blog, but I just feel I need to branch out my writing  a bit and see where the roots will anchor me.  I was a bit set back when I received this email today:

Hi Jabiz:

Thanks for this! We really liked your writing a lot. However, there were two things that gave us pause. First, you turned this around in less than 24hrs. That makes us worry you really didn't give the album the proper time to "marinate" and that your reaction is based only on one or two listens. We like our reviews to be well-thought out, with time given to reflection. Second, there seemed to be a lot of hyperbole and superlatives here, but not a lot of analysis.

Since we think you're a great writer we would like to give you another opportunity with a different disc. Let me know if you are amenable to that, taking what I wrote above into consideration. Thanks!

Bam! Wake up call! Philosophy rethink. Maybe I do need to slow down a bit and focus on a few things instead of thinking I can do everything. I am currently about to begin a new semester at work, I hope to reach 50,000 words on my book by summer at the latest, I have enrolled in a MOOC class called ds106, I am involved with a Daily Shoot photo project, I actively maintain two blogs, I am leading our school’s charge to use blogs as e-portfolios, I am presenting in Hong Kong, and about to start my ADE video application this week. Maybe there is a bit too much in my mouth at the moment.

But it all feels so right. I really think I can do it. Oh and did I mention that I am raising two kids under five? It’s a lot I know, but I feel most alive when I am active and producing. I still find time to consume TV, read, and spend time with my wife, so what else is there? There is nothing I feel I am missing, by filling my life with so much activity.

I know the answer, downtime. Meditation time. I think if I slow down a bit and allot the appropriate time for each task, I can do them all better. It’s like I told Spectrum Culture:

Let me start by saying you are right. I am living by this new philosophy you see, and it may have hit a snag. The idea is that one acts with nothing to lose, fast, furious, open and raw. If things work out, so be it! If they don't it wasn't meant to be. This is how I have approached your site from day one, but now I see that it may behoove me to slow down. I like the challenge of making this work, and since you have not yet told me to go fuck myself, yes I would love to give it another go. Please send me another disc.

Just so you know I have listened to little else and Port Entropy has marinated quite well. You are right however I tried to get the review out while it was fresh, but it definitely could have used more analysis and less hyperbole. It was just that I thought about it all day and I wanted to get it down in one take.

I can totally appreciate a slower more reflective process, so send me the next disc and I will give it another go. Thanks for the kinds words and not giving up on me. I think once we feel our groove we could have something special here.

So the answer I seem to have gleaned at least for me right now is a blend of lose, fast, furious, open and raw and a slower more reflective process. Like everything in life I need to find that balance. This is the closest I have been in years to truly being happy and it is because I feel like a well-oiled machine. I'm peaking so to speak. Let’s see how long and far I can make this thing go!

image by supercake

How do you balance your life? What is too much?

Floating

Six years ago, my wife and I were on Koh Phi Phi Island during the Tsunami. You can read the story here. This is only the first draft of something I wrote a week after the event. It is raw and choppy and needs some love. Six years later, I am ready to revisit it soon. I am working on a second draft for the book, so stay tuned.

Every day since December 26th, 2004, I have tried to lead my life in a manner that illustrates that I have not forgotten the lessons one learns when one barely avoids death. Some days I live this life better than others, but one cannot help thinking about the direction a life takes after avoiding a giant tsunami wave by feet, minutes, seconds.

Here is my take on it this year...



Have a very Merry Christmas everyone. I love every single person who has taken the time to watch this, read this blog and share your lives with me through the various online channels. I do not want to get overly sentimental for fear of sounding melodramatic, but I hope you have had a great year and are living your lives to the fullest. Looking forward to seeing what comes next!

Everything You Need to Learn You Learn From The Ocean

There was a time when every vacation my wife and I planned revolved around Scuba Diving. Costa Rica, Mozambique, Mauritius, Thailand, Malaysia, and Hawaii. Yes, I have even dived in Lake Malawi. Although, I have logged nearly fifty dives and have my advanced license, I would never say I am an expert diver. I began diving as a way to face my fear of the ocean and claustrophobia, but years later, every time I don the regulator and sink into the big blue deep, there is still a part of me that is terrified. Beyond the ecstatic feeling of neutral buoyancy, the discovery of breathtaking marine ecosystems, and the feeling of perfect Zen meditation it is the fear that brings me back to diving.

I have not been in the water since my daughter Kaia was born over four years ago, so it was with great pleasure that I was able to look out at Bali to my left and Mt. Ranjani in all her fog capped majesty to my right, as our boat navigated the Gili Islands off the coat of Lombok, where I am lucky enough to be spending my Christmas Break.

image by yeowatzup

In the water, as I sank to about fifty feet and watched the bubbles engulf my body, I began to think about this blog post. Yes it is a sickness I know, but what can I say? My experiences are wrapped in my ability to document them in text and photos and music and video and…..well you get the point. This is not the “diving” post where I regale with fluid prose about the otherworldliness of diving, I am saving that for the book, this is simple a top ten list of things I was thinking about on my last dive as poked and prodded my way around the ocean floor. So there I am kicking along, controlling my breathing, watching my thoughts roll through my head and out my regulator and I thought of this list:

The four things I have learned from Diving:

1. Not every cause has an immediate effect. Sometimes you may see a big coral outcrop in your way and you take a deep breath to inflate your lungs, so by design, it will lift you effortlessly over the boulder, but before you let the air molecules play with the water molecules, and the ocean molecules play with the you molecules, you are kicking your legs and wasting precious energy and air, where if you had just waited patiently, you would have seen that the breath you took a few seconds ago would have done its job if you had just relaxed and let it. The world needs time to react to your energy, so don’t expect immediate reactions to your every action.
2. Don’t fight a current. Ever. The Ocean is much bigger than you. If a current is pushing you faster that you want to go and you are afraid that it will push you beyond where you want to be, well tough shit. Deal with it. Swim with it where it takes you and make notes a long the way. It is easier to gather your bearings and sort things out after a current is done with you than to try and fight it. No matter how big or brave you feel, going with the flow is always the right choice, even if you have no idea where you are going. Because fighting it will just get you tired and unable to deal with the end when you get there.
3. Don’t waste so much time looking into the big blue void looking for the big stuff that you miss the tiny nudibranch right in front of you. While sharks and Manta Rays may be impressive to spot, it is the myriad of tiny creatures making the ocean their home that make life interesting. Just because something is common doesn’t make it less interesting than something that is rare. When seen through the mask of curiosity and awe, even the most clichéd clown fish and anemone scene from Nemo can be fun to watch. If you spend the entire dive looking for something rare, you may waste your entire time not seeing anything at all. You are part of a bigger ecosystem; see it as a cycle and as a whole.
4. Focus on your breathing, but don’t fixate on it. Stay calm and breath. Live in the now, but don’t worry so much about breathing that you miss the ocean around you. No one wants to run out of air on a dive. Just like no one wants to run out of air on a life, but you can’t spend the entire time worrying how much time you have left. It is possible to be overly conscious. You try to stay calm, conserve your energy, and enjoy the ride, but if you see a turtle in the distance, never mind how much air you have; kick yourself over there and take a look.

Thought there were more, but I guess those juicy thoughts were mine alone to deposit onto the ocean floor.

Amid The Noise

It's Friday night and I am tired, but the good kind of tired, not the wheels spinning feeling stuck in one place kind of tired. The fatigue that comes from a week well worked. The kind of ache that comes from setting goals and achieving them. The kind of tiredness that allows for a night of not feeling guilty for not writing, or planning, or thinking too much about anything.

The kind of night you surf the web looking for mindless joy and watch TV with your wife. Maybe read a few pages of a book before you crawl into your bed and ponder how blessed you are to be able to sleep in such a beautiful, comfortable, clean bed, next to an amazing women and two beautiful kids.

Anyway, I was cruising the web, when I came across two items that helped bolster my already good mood and I would like to share them with you now.

There is not much that needs to be said about the words below:

Then there is this. Same idea different presentation:



I am not sure what I will do with these words or how they will inspire me, but I hope that in the coming weeks they will lead me some place great.

Inside Out

I spent my lunch period today working with a small group of Global Issues Club kids to create a quick presentation to inform our student body of a campaign we are running next week to help raise awareness and funds for the Jakarta Animal Action Network. This organization is working to help all the injured and abandoned animals in the volcano region here on Java.

We were in the theater, and I was joking with the girls as they were nervous, “Just don’t pee your pants and you will be fine,” when I heard my phone ringing. I was calm and loose, it was Friday and I was carrying a light laughter in my throat.

The caller ID said Mia. She is our nanny who was at home with our one year old. She never calls school, unless it is an emergency. The laughter vanished, taking the calm and looseness with it. I was frozen.

“Hello?” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Hello, Mia? Calm down.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Mia, you have to calm down. What is going on?”
“Skyelar! Mister. Come home now.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
I hung up and grabbed Mairin.
“We have to go home now. Mia called and is freaking out. I don’t know what is going on, but we have to go right now.” We both ran to the car and made our way home.

In the car, I am numb. Worse than numb I am folding myself inside out. The first and most obvious thought is that she is dead. Gone vanished. The very little girl who I wondered how I could love as much as Kaia, who I have ended up loving in the most gentle way, the little angel who is makes my life complete, the very being who is my reason for living is gone. Poof. Just like that. I enter a world without her for just one second and nearly vomit. It makes no sense, this place devoid of Skyelar. I try to comfort myself with the dead kitten tale I buried earlier this week, but find the idea ludicrous. She cannot be a part of the greater world. She is mine to hold and nurture and tend. She is mine to love and lose myself in. She is mine. There is attachment, her life is permanent, no way will I allow her to be taken from me. I see our life without her. The unraveling. The trying to be strong for Kaia. The horror of it is too much.

Next, I go to mass injury. She has fallen down the stairs and will be paralyzed. Gone will be the family Scuba diving trip and the climbing of Kilamanjaro when the girls are adults, but at least I can hold her and kiss her and sing her to sleep. At least her eyes will stay ignited and her skin will feel warm. At least her breath will touch my face and her smile will keep me warm. She may be disfigured, but she is alive.

The drive is taking so long. I look back at Mairin and know that her mind is looking for its own place to land. I try to hold her hand, but dealing with both our dread makes me nauseous and I jump to a more positive explanation. Mia just panicked. It can’t be a big deal. We will get home and realize that she over reacted, and while we may be a bit disgruntled by the fear she instilled in us, the gratitude that it was nothing serious will be enough to make us all smile and hug.

The car pulls up to the front of the house. I am out the door before it has stopped. The house is empty. What the fuck? Outside, I learn she has taken Skye next door, where she is handing her to Mairin. Skyelar is alive. There is no blood. She is yellow and covered in vomit, and moaning a bit, but looks intact. Her eyes are distant and tired, but filled with light. We race to the hospital. I take my first breath since we first heard the news and know it will be alright.

Long story short at this point. She has a bacterial infection, which gave her a fever of 104, out of nowhere. She was fine this morning. The fever gave her a febrile seizure. The doctor says it happens and is not dangerous. Mia didn't know what was happening and panicked and called us. Which, while I wish she would have been a bit more calm was a fine reaction. We are now monitoring her temps and keeping her fever down. She has antibiotics to get rid of the infection, and we go back to the hospital if her temperature goes over 102.

Once home, she smiled, ate a whole bowl of pears, took a bath, and is quietly sleeping. We both keep checking on her heavy with worry.

I did not write this post to scare anyone, but rather to remind you to keep the important things in your life in your heart. Let the bullshit go. Life is much more fragile than we think. At any moment, anything can happen. I am not saying that we should love our lives in fear of what may or may not happen to us, just the opposite actually. We need to live life like it could end at any minute and treat everyone who enters our lives with the passion and love they deserve. Of course we all love our children and show them in many ways, but we also sometimes lose sight of what really matters. I hope this little scare for us can be a reminder to you. Life is a gorgeous and perfect gift. I have had my share of near death experiences and somehow keep on going. I guess I need constant reminders to cherish this wonderful blessing that is my every breath and the breaths of my family and friends.

The world looks differently when you even consider the death of your children. I don't know how people can lose a child, because even the thought of it was enough to nearly destroy me.

Man, what a day! Can't wait to wake up tomorrow and snuggle with her all day, because really nothing else matters.



Note for Grandmas: I know you must be worried, but everything is under control. Perhaps I am still writing charged with the fear of the day, but we are keeping a close eye on her and her temperature is down and we are checking it every three hours and giving her fever reducer. It was just a scary episode for everyone, but she is fine. Are you listening mom? Don't panic, we have done enough of that today. I just wanted to share this story so that people see today differently and really enjoy themselves, not to worry you.

Every Little Thing IS Alright

It’s been a while; I know. Funny how easy it is to rant and rave and complain and vent and gripe and share your woes, but when asked to jot down a few positive thoughts I can’t seem to make the time. I am more than happy to stay up untill midnight scribing a venomous rant about the Tea Party, but can’t seem to carve out five minutes to say life is good. Life is more than good; life is great. All systems go. Living as I should be.

I was gently reminded that however small, I have finally after three years created a small loyal audience here at my blog. Comments like the one below do wonders for ones self-esteemed, especially when said self-esteem is unhealthy wrapped up in need for attention and validation, but I digress.

This post was meant to be a quick pop in to say:

I am happy. I feel physically good and comfortable in my skin. Work is going well, and I finally feel like I am on the right track now that I am back in the classroom. (Spent the first few weeks setting up the program) I am doing cool things with technology and my students are responding and performing well.

My own kids are amazing. Skyelar is almost one and really becoming her own person. She growls when annoyed, but otherwise she is usually all smiles. She is a few weeks, maybe days away from walking and babbles non-stop. She is an eating machine who devours blue berries by the bushel. Kaia, well she is Kaia. Her tantrums and irritability have died down a bit and she is usually quite pleasant. She counts and sings in Bahasa and Chinese. It amazes me how big she is getting. Sometimes I can’t believe how much of a little girl she has become. She is no longer a baby or a toddler. She has entered girlhood for sure and this excites me to no end.

See this post doesn’t feel right! Who cares about these things? Why would anyone read about this mundane contentment? But I guess it does a body good to sometimes just step back and say, “My life is running pretty smoothly at the moment." Maybe when it derails and I fall back off, I could look to these times, to these posts and see what was going right. After all aren't these fleeting moments of joy the very thing we search for our entire lives?

So what is going right? I am simply living day-to-day and trying to do the best I can and enjoying the little things. I am working hard on a variety of projects: book, blogging, mentoring, etc…and I am trying to be as involved as I can with my family even though I am often exhausted. There is a trip to Singapore in my future and time is moving at a comfortable pace. Not to slow and not too fast.

I was going to delete this post, but thought what the hell…the positive vibe might help some one out there. Hope it holds you over until I can piece together something a bit more substantial.

On second thought, let's not discount this post altogether, maybe we can turn this into a conversation. What are the little things that keep you happy? The things that help you feel like things are alright? What are the little things that you cherish? And why do you forget them when life gets tricky?

Casual Cliches

There it is silence. And then her voice, a piano, and that is all for now. Everyday, I look forward to this time of the day. Tonight it took a bit longer than usual, but the kids are finally asleep. I am alone with this screen again. The click clack of keys and now a drum, a bass, the lift. I am flying. Are you coming?

This is this time of the day when you realize that you have lived another good day. A series of play dates. A diaper change. A meal. Adequate awareness to churn a few thoughts in your mouth. Some to swallow, some to spit out, and a few to savior and save for later. All day words crowd your soul, your brain, your fingertips waiting to be freed. Entire paragraphs, passages hover in and out of car windows. Traffic trudges by. Old woman begs with dirty child, yours sits in the back in a car seat. The words justice and equality are flimsy at best. The car rolls passed another red. Now green. Another paragraph will soon begin. Another day ends.

image by Audrey Michael

In the blank night, you unload thoughts, releasing each like errant butterflies, embarrassed by so many casual clichés, but there is no need for control during episodes like these. Another good day, in a good week, a good month. Is this how meaningful lives are built? You think back a year, five, ten, twenty; you are six again and pleased with the future laid out in front of you.

Loneliness, isolation, lonesomeness, seclusion, shelter a thesaurus full of possibilities. No longer afraid of this gentle calm. Surrounded by love and family. Friendships and social networks. A tiny voice echoing in the darkness. Content. No matter how connected, you are best alone. In the end, before she turns out the lights you will be all that you will hear. What will you say ? When no one will be listening?

I am writing my final soliloquy one day at a time…

Appendage

I am a thirty six year old man in a small hotel room in Jakarta Indonesia. Outside a hive of motorbikes make tremendous noise as they rev their engines and honk their horns jockeying for position in their never ending race to nowhere. Where I am is not even the heart of the city, only a quiet suburb. Even the appendage of a city of eleven million pulses uncontrollably.

Beside me, curled up like a tiny planet is my exhausted nine month old daughter and across the hall my other little girl and wife are sleeping. I spent the night lost in The Great Gatsby. Swishing the words through my teeth and spitting them into a spittoon like a fine mahogany tinted tawny port.

image by bigux

And, now as my eyes grow heavy, I get ready for a long and comfortable sleep. I am not sure why or for whom this night needed to be documented and shared, but the way I see it- if our lives are any more meaningful than the awareness we have of them at their most mundane, I would be surprised.

An Ounce and a Ton

I’ve been carrying around a very heavy weight for sometime now. October 8th to be exact. Yes, that is the day my second daughter, Skyelar, was born, and while it should have been a day that brought nothing but happiness, I can also remember it as the day I was first forced to pick up this heavy load. That was the day I sent out our first job application, and since that I day I have been saddled by the weight of an anxiety and stress that has crippled my creativity, tainted all my days, and made me spend an unhealthy amount of my energy on a future I was helpless to control.

It is easy to speak about non-attachment and middle road Zen philosophies. It is easy to say you believe that it will all work out. It is easy for people, friends, and family to tell you not to worry, but the problem with worry is that it burrows into your very fiber. Like a tumor it grows and infests all the joy in your life. Worry, anxiety, stress, and angst increase in weight and size to the point where it is nearly impossible to carry anything else. Add to your pack rejection and denial, and you are left unable to move. That is where I have been since October. A motionless heavy statue.

The most difficult part about jettisoning oneself of this dead weight is that the harder you try not to worry and take it easy, the heavier the fear becomes. When you are single and alone, uncertainty can often be confused with adventure, but at thirty-six, married with two kids, insecurity is a very different creature. Suddenly the loss of the possessions you so casually denounce, becomes a tornado of emotions you never thought you would deal with.

The difficult part of watching everything hang in limbo is that you realize that your life is not just a set of randomly made decisions, but a carefully crafted plan. Suddenly, you have no control over the plan. You are powerless. This powerlessness makes the plan that you had crafted moot. If one cannot move a plan forward it dies.

But enough talk of weight. Let us now speak of freedom. Buoyancy. Flight. Once the doubt is gone, once we regain acceptance and validation, the darkness fades and we can breathe. I literally felt the blood begin to flow again through my veins, and my creativity awaken. Everything in life, suddenly feels right and easy to manage. The doubt seems an immature neurosis. A sophomoric paranoia.

I am not sure where I am headed now, or how I will get there, but I do know that an ounce of security is enough to balance out a ton of doubt. As I shed more and more of the weight, I am rising higher and higher. The view from up here is phenomenal. The question now is will I remember how to get back up here, if I am faced with intolerant ambiguity again?

We never remember what it feels like to be healthy when we are sick. We never stop to appreciate the perfect flow of life as it moves through our memories. We only seem to notice life when it is dammed or flooded.

by anh quan

I am here to say that as I fly over the river that is my life, I am once again aware of its perfect curves and contours. I am once again appreciative of its simple perfection and grace. All I can do at this point is hope that, if I should face other obstacles, I will remember this moment. Perhaps, I can save this post as a reminder. It can mirror the advice I was given, but refused to believe or heed:

You must have faith in the universe and trust that good things happen to good people. You must believe that no matter what happens it is the right thing and the need to control life is the one thing that causes us to suffer most. Funny how these simple tenets sting so much when we are powerless, but feel so simple when we have found the path again.

The night is soft. The music is cool. My two girls and wife are asleep, and the words are flowing again. Let’s see where they will take us…But really our suffering is all relative. Isn't it?