-^-for posterity-^-

the most coming question i've gotten while living alone in this tiny room is, "are you lonely?"

well lonely no, but crazy... maybe. i didn't tell recount this story yesterday because i was caught up in the war museum. i was supposed to have lunch at the keener's house (eastern mennonite mission folk) on saturday at noon. yesterday, i thought, was saturday. now, for those of you who know me, i'm not an absent minded fellow. however, living in a one room hovel, having traveled extensively earlier in the week, having no recognizable schedule and no solid human contact, i lost track of the days.

i walked to their house and rang the doorbell. no one answered. i rang again and again. finally, their house keeper came to the door. "are the keeners there?" she replied, "no." well... i stammered, confused, but plodded onward. "when will they be back." "tonight." oh, so they forgot about our little luncheon. not so fast buco. she happily (giggling all the while) explained to me that it was friday, not saturday. i walked home very frustrated. old age? am i going crazy? well, to say the least, i lost faith in my common sense.

enough of that. laugh if you must but enough of that.

about being alone: i love it. i feel that the best thing to do is to spread out your daily tasks. go for a walk, read, write, read, email, sit and watch the city, read, write letters, sleep, and eat. if one has a variety of tasks and they don't mind some alone time, two months alone in ho chi minh city is a dream come true. i'm in my element.

except for one part of being alone: eating alone irks me. tonight i went out to eat. i'm getting more comfortable with this culture so i'm starting to go to the little mom and pop restaurants. they're usually run by some extended family and rarely have menus.

tonight i stumbled on one that was particularly interesting. i walked in and, as always, people stared at me as if i had just risen from the dead. i took a seat randomly. suddenly, people realized that i was intending to eat at their humble establishment. the world springs into action. people set a place for you and bring you everything you need. this place happened to be fairly high class. it had a menu and even had some of the items in english. i was fine dining. i decided on the "crispy cuttle fish". i had no idea what i was getting.

the walls of this place strike me first. they’re made of pink plaster that's partially crumbling either because of the humidity, age or some form of plaster suicide (maybe it realized that it was, in fact, pink plaster) there are also geckos on the walls. they run around defying the laws of gravity. oscillating fans churn the thick air. the heat is such that one waits with frustration every time the fan moves away from you. moments, anxious moments before the fan returns. cool air. agh. they don't have covers on them and look as if they could fall at any point adding to the atmosphere.

i believe that 10 people were working in the eatery at that moment. one lady was taking a fish out of a large tank. i looked away at the geckos until i heard "thwap, thwap". i looked to see her beating something with a metal rod. i don't think it was my cuttle fish.

i also always bring a book when eating alone. it passes the time and makes me look ever-so smart. actually, i love reading. reading made me think about being a writer in this town. how wonderful. how luxurious. how does one become one of these strange creatures? there would be so many stories to tell and so many faces to describe. how does one get good at making everything seem so real on paper? oh, i wish i could make reality and fantasy dance together so subtly that no one would notice.

my food came and three people gathered around me to, i'm convinced, evaluate my chopstick skills. i'm getting better and deftly picked up a sliced tomato. the onlookers, apparently satisfied, settled into the background. i sat back and watched the traffic. it ebbed and flowed and my cuttle fish was tasty. now this is the part of eating that bothers me. no one to talk to. no one that i can say, "boy, this cuttle fish is sure tasty!" it's a lonely moment where i can hear each bite i take. i can feel the food pass down my throat. i hear my stomach moan "more! more!". the most difficult decision, when there isn't conversation to be had, is whether i pause before the next bite to observe the scenery or whether i just dive in for more. the loneliness usually passes quickly after i drop a piece of food on the table and look around to see if anyone was watching. inevitably, someone is.

the bill came. they charged me 25000 dong instead of the 20000 dong it said on the menu. i almost objected but gave in. i'd pay 30 cents extra for this meal. i walked out the door and a fuzzy rat ran into the hollow of a tree stump.

the cuttle fish was good though.