I spent over half of that past four months traveling. So much experienced in that time. So much lived.
Before my wife and I departed for Southeast Asia, I finished “Potted Heart,” a story about a man who loses his heart after a breakup and has to care for a new one. Now that I’m back, it’s a priority to place this story, along with another one, “Time in a Bottle,” which has accumulated a handful of rejections.
“The Day the Earth Saw Red,” the short short story I submitted to the Writer’s Digest Competition, is as of this writing, still being considered.
With the last of my work completed, we took the long flight over the Pacific. Our first stop: Phuket, Thailand, where my wife’s sister got married to a magnificent Thai prince. I had the distinguished honor of playing officiant.
We flew north to Bangkok, a city of small tuk tuks, delectably mild pad thai (my spice tolerance is not up to par with the county’s standards), and a perfect thai iced latte I got one sip of because I hadn’t ordered one for myself. We traveled the sidewalks on busy streets, found our way through alleys and markets, and discovered Buddhist temples centuries old.
It wasn’t long before we left for my favorite place on the trip––the greatest place I’ve ever been. Bali (photo above). An exceptional example of tropical paradise. With pools surrounded by abundant vegetation that breathed life into the humid air, layered rice terraces, and holy fountains to pray, to wash, and to drink in.
Yet the most remarkable aspect of the island, without a doubt, was the people. Such genuine joy emanating from every interaction, the kind of purity one might be envious of if not for feeling so at home.
On a nearby island known as Gili Trawangan, or Gili T, we snorkeled with stone statues, turtles the size of a baby elephant we’d seen at the Phuket Elephant Sanctuary, clownfish that made our guide scream, “Come and see Nemo,” clams and coral and schools of fish, all in the clearest, most pristine water in the sea.
We spent a few days in Singapore, where nature blended with industry, trees growing from buildings as people took care of business, the city as clean and organized as its reputation preceded.
The Philippines followed, and it was a long time coming. The birthplace of my wife and where some of her family still lives, we spent Christmas celebrating with the families of Mapandan.
Our final stop was a last minute addition. Japan opened to visa free tourism a month before we left the US. We were able to visit my sister in Misawa and be the first to hold the newest member of our family, a beautiful baby boy.
We rode the Shinkansen, the bullet train, to and from Tokyo, and thus ended our trip in one of the quietest cities I’ve been in (at times reminiscent of the city in The Return of the Flame). Japanese food treated us well, from big bowls of ramen in small shops to small rolls of sushi in train stations, and a convenient store, Family Mart, that gave 7-Eleven a run for its money.
When we arrived home, my wife found a new travel nursing contract, and two weeks later, we drove 3,000 miles across the country to Oregon, which is where I write from as I settle into a new life for the next three months.
Something occurred to me sometime on the 15 hour flight back to America. I traveled more in one year than many will in their entire lives, and I will be able to draw from that inspiration for a lifetime.
Now, I continue the long journey of the writing life: writing more short stories, revising old ones, placing some, finding an agent, and getting to work on my next novel about dreams, an exploration of what it means to live a meaningful life.
Onward and upward,
Lee