today was the day to celebrate ‘cung co hon’ and it was fascinating. i would translate the phrase to mean, ‘pray to the wandering soul’, and it is a special day for all those who drive cars, trucks or busses.

because the common mode of transportation is the motorcycle and bicycle, people who drive larger vehicles are respected and their ability to traverse two lane roads cluttered with motorcycles, bicycles all moving independently. to drive a car here is quite a skill. to drive it from here to ho chi minh city and back so much as a scratch requires a master.

i looked out the window of my office today and saw a fascinating site. these almost all of the drivers the school employees, about 10 people, gathering around a long table covered with roasted pork and other food. in the middle of the table was an incense holder and these men went about saying a short prayer.

the sky was covered with dragonflies. they hovered and darted about, sometimes just letting the wind push them in random directions.

all of the school’s cars and busses were gathered around the table. they were all parked next to one another facing the table. they appeared reverent, a mechanical congregation respecting the wandering soul.

after the prayer, the drivers took their incense sticks and placed them in the cracks of their vehicles letting the smoke carry their prayers up to the wandering soul. the dragonflies were thick in the sky above.

each driver went to their respective vehicle and turned the lights on and blew the horn. another driver took a large pile of paper money and began to burn it. the smoke held close to the ground as the wind blew bits of paper around the parking lot. the horns were the congregational hymn, the money was the offering. the dragonflies hovered.

everyone stood around for a bit. the wandering soul stood still for a moment and, for some serendipitous reason, the dragonflies dispersed. there was silence and the ground smoldered a bit where the paper money was burned.

i'm going to be making a lot of trips between a city named can tho and my home in long xuyen. the drive is fascinating. last night we made it just about supper time.

there were generations of people in their homes. there were children playing along the street. there were mothers sitting on chairs by the road talking to neighbors. the husbands were coming home from work and everyone was greeting one another. it was a truly beautiful thing to see.

i watched as men waded through rice paddies, up to their waist in murky water, tending to their crop. i watched as they bent down to inspect individual stalks. they walked to the shore and climbed onto mud hills and walked home.

there were piles of dried straw on the sides of the roads. i saw two children, a boy and a girl, possibly brother and sister, playing together. they rolled around in the straw and laughed in unison. then, to top this utopian scene off, there were two puppies, probably only a few months old, playing and rolling in the straw.

the drive, while hectic at times on the narrow road, is sometimes beautiful and provides wonderful, country scenery.

i had just finished a meeting where we were deciding what part of 'great expectations' we were going to teach when talking about economic development. we were going to have the students focus on the question, 'is it possible to preserve our cultural values while continuing to focus on economic development? if so, how?'

i was exhausted after lunch today. i rolled under the mosquito net but didn't quite make it all the way. my right leg stayed on the floor.

i don't remember thinking i wanted to go to sleep. i actually remember thinking that i probably shouldn't be sleeping and i should get back to work. that was one and a half hours before i woke up.

i woke up and my leg was still hanging on the ground. it took me a moment to orient myself. i had just been in iraq giving packs of food out to children who were quite well dressed.

the dream passed and i brushed my hair and looked at my broken face in the mirror. i gargled some mouthwash and tucked in my shirt and looked out the window.

through the bars of my window i could see the rain peacefully falling from the sky and moving a little bit of dirt from one spot to another. it was a peaceful rain. the sky seemed rested. we were all at peace and i walked out into it and drove my bicycle over a rocky road towards a cool office and smiling friends.

i taught again today. it was the first day in about four or five months and it was glorious.

i stood at center stage in front of my english literature class and talked about culture. what is your culture? where does it come from? how can we learn more about culture. by the end of the afternoon my hand was covered in chalk dust. my shirt was not tucked in correctly and i was generally a sweaty, happy mess.

it's beautiful to stand in front of a room and talk to people about ideas they don't often think about. it's wonderful to get the wheels turning. you influence, you guide. it's really a beautiful power-trip.

the man on the bicycle drove down the dirt road near my home. his bike was an old one. it was built in the days of straight frames roughly held together. its tires were bald, but they were thick and sturdy enough to trudge along the bumpy road with ease.

the man was a tall man. he rode the bicycle smoothly, with only a hint of insecurity as he turned the curved handles that arch out and point back. he was wrinkled from his forehead to his palms. he was covered in leather. his eyes were sullen. wisdom lurked somewhere.

he wore a hat, a small hat. it was an odd hat, one that had no brim, thus served no function other than as an accessory. he had a worn, stylish hat.

on the back of his bicycle that he slowly pedaled down the dusty roads were piles of bamboo mats for sleeping. they were rolled up and tied above the back tire. they limply hung over the sides of the bicycle and bounded and dangled. there were about 10 of them all piled up.

the man yelled, 'sleeping mats!' he would yell it stoically, as a matter of ultimate truth. 'sleeping mats!' his voice was two rocks grinding together. he sold them for about a dollar.

he drove off and i lost him in a group of students. his bike moved along the road, bumping and swerving slightly, and those mats that hung above the back tire thumped and jerked like a corpse.

the day is brighter. even though the clouds are low and the rain came this afternoon as i was playing chinese chess with my friend as three little boys stood behind me telling me where i should and should not go, the day was brighter.

i ate my lunch today and it was good. i have fish in tomato sauce with a fried egg and coffee most days. we sit on lawn chairs a foot or two from the road and talk this and that. things feel less foreboding, things feel lighter. there is still loss, but the pain is dull and throbbing instead of sharp and biting.

i work for righteousness and truth and this and that. i love that about life. that you can change, that things/people can change you, that you can do better, that those things/people can help you do better, that you need the low to appreciate the high. i love life like that. at one moment you can be on the top of the mountain and then, like ziggy, you're flicked off. we all get flicked off the mountain every once in a while, it's inevitable. we just have to learn how to get up by ourselves.

sometime i need the help of others. sometimes, when you light incense sticks, hold them to your forehead and make a deal with god, god kind of giggles.

i don't know where you all came from but, without your support, i would be nothing. i don't know why you all do it, but i'm flattered. if you don't understand this nebulous message, i apologize.

if you do, you do.

the day was overwhelming. work has piled up to such a state that i feel trapped under thousands of invisible books and pieces of paper and chalk. they’re not really invisible because i can make out their fuzzy, translucent shape in the sky. it feels like they are hovering over me, their presence blocking the sun.

when i was young things were simpler. what you needed was always provided for you. what you didn’t need, people who were older and wiser than you always advised you to correctly refute. sometimes you went along with it, against the wishes of your elders. they normally stood by with their arms folded and smiled as you failed. they knew these lessons would be necessary for your future.

now things aren’t so cut and dry. the weight of those invisible books and the weight of relationships lost has created a void in your life. there just isn’t that innocent feeling of security, that inner peace. things have gone wrong. at some point in the course of your life a wrong turn was taken.

i don’t know where or when it was.

all this comes to a point. the point breaks and things then start to go even worse.

i came home from work early today because i wasn’t clear in my head or my heart or my void. there were two sticks rubbing against one another in my soul and it was starting to get smoky. soon enough there would have been fire and i didn’t need that.

i drove my bicycle home down that one dirt road with all the rocks on it. the tires were not made for a rocky road and it astonished me that they didn’t pop under my weight and the ferociousness of my pedaling. i drove down the road, over the concrete bump at the security guard’s house and parked. i walked up to my room, sat at my computer and started to work.

things were going alright for a little bit. ideas were flowing through my fingers and onto little metallic blue keys. i felt free for a bit, there’s a freeing power in work. that’s what voltaire’s ‘candid’ was all about. work is the only thing we really have that frees us from what life is, what our mortal nature makes it.

i paused.

the ideas jammed up and my reality set in. those invisible books appeared over my head again. my lost relationships, my isolation, my loneliness, they all came back and pricked me from all sides. i paced around the room a bit, unconsciously wanting them to all go away but they impeded the ideas. nothing could flow because of them and they were the justification for all of the flowing in the first place. i was stuck.

i walked out to my balcony and stood there looking at the trees. i never really look at the trees when i step out on my balcony, i usually tell myself i’m looking at the trees. my eyes blur and i talk about how incredible nature is, how wild this ride is and that, like the trees, i too will one day crumble to the earth and that’s ok.

i pretend to look at the trees and i realize they are moving. i tell myself the trees are moving. i’m standing still and they’re moving. i’m covered in invisible books with old friends poking me in the ribs while the trees dance in the wind.

i yell. it’s the yell one would give if they were stabbed, or in incredible pain. it’s not a yell of sadness, it’s the yell one would give if they fell down the stairs and broke their leg. it’s a short yell, maybe one second, but it’s enough to scare the invisible books away.

the wind still moves the trees.

i still have no peace so i find my incense sticks that people use here for ancestral veneration. it’s always nice to have some incense sitting around for when you have no inner-peace. i take out three sticks and light them.

i once again stand at the balcony, this time with an offering. i ask for peace and i promise to work for righteousness. i try to make a deal with god. you give me peace, i’ll work for righteousness, which, if i remember correctly, is something we’re all supposed to do.

i bow three times as people do here. peace and righteousness. peace and righteousness. peace and righteousness.

i take the sticks and place them where i always place them, in my bathroom sink. with this, the ashes can fall into the sink but it does look like a macabre alter to mouth wash and soap.

never mind, the smoke rises. it passes the mirror and collects on the ceiling.

now life is beautiful. now i can continue what i was doing. the work is still there but work can set on free if one allows it to.

how do we cope with our insanity.

i'm sitting in an internet cafe off of a busy road with oscillating fans all about twisting their grated heads back and forth like security cameras. i'm eating a bag of 'curry chicken chips' that advertise on the back (in english), 'curry chicken chips make any fun or party occasion just great, indoors or outdoors, jut any relyon our packed fresh goodies to bring on those taste satisfying smiles. cheer!' i just finished drinking a can of 'zone' which claims, also in english, 'zone nutitional power drink offers a great way to rejuvenate your mind and boost your blood circulation at anytime you need a dramatic lift. the active ingredients of taurine, nicotinamide, pyridoxine hydrochloride and other nutrients in zone are well known for their remarkable stimulating properties.' it's one of those days.

the game last night was intense. the young team played first. they played in a pitched battle that raged up and down the dusty court, four 15 minute quarters, lots of time-outs and huddles. lots of advice.

the older team sat on the sidelines in their jerseys, getting up to stretch or jog around every once in a while. i sat with them and the tension grew into something one could almost hear. it was intense. my stomach began to turn, and i tried to ignore all the people looking at me from the stands. i tried to ignore the fact that i would make a mistake and everyone would laugh at some point.

the first game ended with long xuyen squeaking out a victory. the older team had its mind on other matters and was already making plans for how they would also achieve victory. we ran out to the center court, bowed to everyone and began five minutes of intense warm-ups.

game time.

we played a fairly even game for a while. i scored my share of points and also was laughed at when i missed two free-throws in a row. it was all made up for when, after a court-length drive and a twisting lay-up, the crowd chanted my name for a bit. 'jon! jon! jon!'

the game came to an end with the long xuyen team on top by about 10 points. we all ran to the middle of the court, shook hands and felt the game's tension release. the game was over. the artificial high of being a minor celebrity for a few minutes had dissipated. we were human again, though we might have touched a cloud.

we went out to eat rice porridge with duck. it was a good night.

today we have an important basketball game to play in our new stadium and me wearing new shoes.

the stadium is a court surrounded by a fence with brand new lights on top. it is located in the suburbs of the city, which makes for a nice bicycle ride to and from the games. this is the first competitive game that i've been a part of since the spring trip we took up to hai ninh and tensions were high at our basketball breakfast.

everyone sat around nervously laughing about unrelated things. it was the calm before the storm.

tonight we will all proudly wear the long xuyen colors, strut out on the court, wave our hands, and listen to the throngs of supporters cheer for our team.

how did i ever end up here.

today we have an important basketball game to play in our new stadium and me wearing new shoes.

the stadium is a court surrounded by a fence with brand new lights on top. it is located in the suburbs of the city, which makes for a nice bicycle ride to and from the games. this is the first competitive game that i've been a part of since the spring trip we took up to hai ninh and tensions were high at our basketball breakfast.

everyone sat around nervously laughing about unrelated things. it was the calm before the storm.

tonight we will all proudly wear the long xuyen colors, strut out on the court, wave our hands, and listen to the throngs of supporters cheer for our team.

how did i ever end up here.

governor, man, others, support giant check.

"I want to thank my friend, Sen. Bill Frist, for joining us today. … He married a Texas girl, I want you to know. (Laughter.) Karyn is with us. A West Texas girl, just like me."—Nashville, Tenn., May 27, 2004 gwb

things go down hill. the clouds form above, slowly moving to block the sun and cast everything in a pale gray. there's that feeling inside. that feeling of not being congruent.

being away from the people you love. being away and alone, trapped in a situation, makes something inside ache. feeling like an ant.

i sat along the side of an un-paved road drinking a cup of coffee that was too sweet. my mind was detached from my body and my soul was long gone. i was detached, alone.

then i looked up and saw a man in a small hat. he was a young man, about my age. he was standing at the back of a large truck and working feverishly with a slight grin on my face. i took all my problems and stored them. my soul crept through the floor and my mind fell back into my body.

the man was unloading bricks from the back of a truck by hand. he would grab a stack of three bricks, press them together with two hands and stack them neatly on a pile of even more bricks. he moved rapidly, smiling. he wasn't talking, but something was amusing him.

he had found joy.

i sat on my red plastic chair with my cup of coffee and added a little tea to it. i started to smile. here i was, working with what i had to work with. i had my own inadequacies, my own tendencies and they were all spiraling out of control today. there he was, wearing a tiny hat and sweating in the sun. he was unloading bricks and smiling.

i wanted to tell a story here for a long time but have never remembered at the right times.

on my first full day back in the united states, after a long trip that verged on masochism, i ate breakfast with my grandfather. we met at our local, favorite hang-out, sat down and began to talk.

i sat next to my grandfather and talked. i spent a lot of time with my grandfather when i was growing up. he had a house across the street from the franconia elementary school on route 113. his laws always seemed to be freshly cut and he always had geraniums on his baby-blue front porch.

at the end of his driveway, right in front of the garage, there were always a small army of cats sunning themselves. they would scatter as you approached them but, every so often, they would have babies up in the attic of the barn. they would nestle themselves in an old box filled with newspapers and my brother, grandfather and i would run up to see them. jason and i would mercilessly bother them.

one moment stands clearly in my head. it was the day a handful of kittens died. i clearly remember walking out into the meadow with the limp bodies of the four, five, six or seven beings shuffling against the sides of a cardboard box my grandfather carried. we dug a hole in the ground. it wasn't a deep hole but we were all satisfied with our work. we kindly placed the bodies in the ground, all nestled against one another, and my grandfather asked me to say a short prayer.

my brother stood across from me as i prayed. i don't remember what i said, i only remember that i, for some reason, sang 'amazing grace'. i guess it seemed appropriate at the time. we covered the dead kittens up and walked back to the house feeling empty.

when my grandfather and i were having breakfast, we weren't talking about the dead kittens. i just remembered them and wanted to type about them. we talked about life, food, girls and cars. it was a good talk.

i ate scrapple and cream dried beef on white toast with a cup of coffee.

at the end of our meal, as the waitress was bringing the bill, my grandfather decided to share something with her. he looked at her and said this: 'this is my grandson jonathan and he spent two years in vietnam. he just got home.'

she turned to look at me. i was embarrassed but she was beaming. she grinned and said, 'i... i... just want to honor you. i want to honor you and all of the other soldiers over there.'

*pause.

'i... i... just want to honor you. i want to honor you and all of the other soldiers over there.'

is all this work in vain?

after almost two years in vietnam, i finally found a place to go running.

running was impossible at first. i tried it when i was up in hanoi and found it involved too much weaving and dodging curbs and the like. i woke up a couple of times at about 5 and tried it but found the streets were already busy.

because of the high population pressure, 81,000,000 people in a country the size of california, people are everywhere at all times of the day. the only places that are sparsely populated are the farm areas and they have a house every few hundred yards. i don't life near enough those areas to enjoy that space.

however, behind the current university campus (there are two campuses with a total area of about 9 hectares) is a new stretch of land that will be built on when funding is secured. this new stretch of land (four times larger than the current campus) is uninhabited. tall grass, what i would call elephant grass (though i have no idea what elephant grass really is) blows lazily in the wind. the roads are already finished in preparation for the new school. brick sidewalks stretch out for nearly a mile and eventually lead out to a quiet fish pond next to a rustic shack.

i ran out there yesterday and only saw (not counting the hundreds of people who were gathered around a makeshift soccer stadium a little ways away) about 20 people. i saw men driving their children down the road slowly and talking to them. i saw a couple of older ladies walking down the road for exercise. i saw a number of younger couples sitting and talking next to the natural wall of high grass.

it was a peaceful time and running under the blazing sun was tempered by a cool breeze that blew unhindered across the field and across my forehead.

i had forgotten about the heat. i didn't remember that it seemed to have the power to remove all intelligible thought from a person's head. i forgot that it somehow physically pushed down on you and made you feel ten pounds heavier. i forgot that it acted as a barrier to going anywhere, that, almost like a downpour, people are obliged to stay inside.

today i drove down dusty streets, even though it is the middle of the rainy season, in the early afternoon. i had much to do but little motivation. something inside of me just didn't want to turn. because i couldn't just sit in my room, i mounted my trusty, black bicycle (once named 'dusk') and headed off through the nearly empty streets.

the sweat came. it poured out of my body and escaped into the air. i drove my bicycle slowly, pushing down on the pedals as they came to the top of their rotation and letting their momentum push my feet back up.

then the dust. it swirled and bit me when i made one turn down the main street. i squinted my eyes and turned my head sideways. the little sweat that did not instantly evaporate from my head acted like glue. my face was now a gritty mask of dust.

the heat and the dust. it's all rather easy to deal with once you've gotten used to everything. right now i'm still used to sitting on a wicker chair on the back deck looking out at the silver maple trees dance lazily in the breeze.

the post lunch slow down.

after eating, most people take a bit of a siesta. most thing temporarily slow down or shut down during this mildly sacred time of the day. the heat coupled with rice-filled bellies would lull most people to sleep but i just can't bring myself to participate.

i end up sitting in my room staring blankly at the wall for a few minutes. every day it happens the same. at about one or one thirty, i'll find myself day dreaming, thinking about something of little or no importance. if i go to sleep i fear i'll sleep for days, not willing to wake up for anyone or anything.

oh, sleep, the fowl temptress. every night she holds me down and i roll off unconscious. in the morning, when i am lucky, the refreshing daylight of the sun streams through my room, pierces my twitching eyelids and brings me to my feet.

the days all pass by too similar to remember one from the next.

getting ready to slice one good.

i was picked up at my home. we drove through bustling traffic, people heading home to eat with their families. we were heading to the long xuyen basketball team's new home court. it was majestic.

the court is surrounded by a large green fence with giant halogen lights at various points along the way. this new court attracts a larger crowd than their old court did. people stood outside the gate to watch us all barrel up and down passing and shooting and scoring.

i was greeted by my teamates with warm smiles and pats on the back. 'are you well?' 'what did you do at home?' 'how is your family?'

we played for hours, much longer than usual. i had lost a good deal of my form but it slowly came back. i ended and my legs were shaking from the fast paced games.

we went to drink some sugar cane juice and bask in our recient reunification. it was a wonderful moment sitting on plastic chairs and feeling the blood pulse through the body and the wind blow against legs.

that was happiness.

i just walked out on the balcony of the second story of my office and watched the rain. it poured down and students hid under trees and overhangs. i watched it and it splashed me but i didn't care.

the clouds that hang above the earth throughout the rainy season occasionally decide to open themselves up and release warm water. they amble about the country for about six months calmly observing the goings and comings of the population. we, for the most part, ignore them and go about our lives in search of happiness.

occasionally, we find it.

today was quite a typical day for the clouds. they were up before me and i was woken up and instantly lulled back to sleep by a driving rain that cleaned my window. it stopped and i went to coffee. at coffee it started again. it rained while i ate my noodles and sipped my drink. it stopped as i drove my bicycle home only to start again as i sat down to work.

it was a blessed day for me. the clouds decided it would be better of them if they left me alone to search for happiness.

once again, i find myself in long xuyen.

the bus pulled into town last night just about supper time. we drove down the wet streets under grey skies with our legs feeling the brunt of a five hour journey. i jumped on a bicycle-taxi with all of my bags and we slowly made our way to the university.

as we drove, an incredible thing happened. being pulled by a middle-aged man on a bicycle with at least 100 pounds of bags makes for a slow trip. i sit off of the side of the cart that he is pulling and watch people. yesterday, as i pulled into town, i was greeted by just about everyone.

the lady who sells bread waved to me. the girls at the coffee shop smiled. the man who has the long, tube-like dog waved. as we approached the university, a man i have never met who is in his 60's and sells things by the side of the road looked at me with amazement and said, 'it's been quite a long time since we've seen you here!' i had never talked to the man before in my life.

while this beautiful place can obviously survive and thrive without my presence, it was nice to know that people missed me.

i spent this day trying to reclaim my room from the thousands of brown pieces of gecko remains. they stick to everything. i swept the room out twice and then mopped it down thoroughly. i reclaimed my balcony from the spiders and the dust. i even made a stab at taking my bathroom back from a few months of neglect.

i went down to the local wal-mart and bought things from the hundreds of vendors. (nope. no sam walton in sight.) i bought 'hollywood shampoo', which, on the side of the bottle, promised me a chance to actually meet brad pitt. i bought 'spring soap' and 'vim floor cleaner'. it was, all in all, a productive day.

the best greeting i received was from the dog. he has grown into quite an adolescent beast and wouldn't stop jumping all over me and licking my hand. he sat in the room when i was unpacking and simply stared at me for an hour with his gorgeous, almond eyes.

while greetings were wonderful, i dearly miss people at home. why would i put myself through this pain?

i walked off of my plane last night, which was delayed, and drove with an amiable taxi driver into the heart of saigon.

the streets were empty and she drove slowly. we hummed along as motorcycles passed us in random spurts. burtburtburtburtburtburtburtburt.

the hotel i routinely stay at in ho chi minh city was closing for the night. they had turned their giant golden sign off and had partially shut their front gate. i walked in and gave a spirited greeting in vietnamese that one often hears on television just as the news is about to start. 'xin chao qui gi, cac ban!' hello valued people and friends.

they were all sitting in their kitchen playing card games (which they seem to do perpetually). when they heard my late night greeting they all stood up and came to the door to help with my bags. 'it's been such a long time!' 'where have you been?' 'are you well?' all smiles and cheer.

i climbed four flights of stairs and settled into my humble room for a quite night alone. it was 11:00 and i couldn't sleep. it was 12:00 and i couldn't sleep. i thought of all that i had left, all the people that i cared about. i sat on the bed and hid my face in the pillow.

coming back here feels auxiliary, not necessary. it feels like i gave up too much to return.

the ceiling fan turned and clicked. click-click-click-click all night long. the air was thick with humidity but comfortable. i lost myself in the fan with its turning and clicking.

it has been too long since i have written.

the last couple of weeks in pennsylvania were some of the most wonderful and stressful weeks of my entire life. i took tests, traveled around and, most importantly, spent time with rachel. i left on thursday morning a little before noon, boarded a partially empty plane and sat in seat 31c for almost 14 hours. there:s nothing like sitting in a seat for seven hours only to wake up to the realization that you still have another seven to go before you land in japan.

and here i am, narita airport. it:s really quite an efficient airport with its monorail trains, tiny roads that wind about and free internet cafe. it is about four in the afternoon here and i have another five hour flight before i reach ho chi minh city.

life in america was brilliant. i was surprised how comfortable i became with the lifestyle in such a short amount of time. in those short two months i traveled from new york to virginia, indiana to new jersey. i:ll write all about it another time.

this is another moment of transition for me; it is one of those points in life we all run across that feels like a little hump, or hill. we all eventually work our way over it towards normalcy. i am now in limbo, somewhere half way up the hill. it:s hard to imagine that i:ll soon be riding on motorcycle taxi:s again and thumping along narrow roads in a muggy, wet delta.

i haven:t really told many people that i:m going to be coming back to long xuyen. i:ve left that a seceret.

well, i:m tired and sore. the small, white airport cars are all slowly and carefully driving between the lines. the airport workers all have nice, white hats on and different colored uniforms. there is a giant plane being towed around by one of those box-like trucks with giant tires. cargo moves too and fro. i sit in the internet cafe surrounded by people wearing only the most stylish glasses, shirts and pants. i have a bluffton college soccer shirt and a grey, hooded sweatshirt on.

thanks to everyone i talked to this summer who continues to support me over here. you are all wonderful.