8.22.2007
Ninety Days
Ninety days does not seem like much. Ninety days is a season, less really, or the perfect average of such. A couple years ago, I took some time, left my job, and flew to Latin America, for 90 days. Today I found a picture and my old journal. Here's the last entry.
"It is my ninetieth day since the beginning of this trip. Ninety days since February 1, when I landed in Guatemala, very wide-eyed, a bit overwhelmed. Weary of staring faces, uncomfortable among beggars with unsitely, mangled bodies. Lost in the speech. I'm 90 days past then, and I'm on my way home. I dont know exactly the things I've learned on this trip down the isthmus, busing among cities and smalltowns, beach and forests, poorest of poor and the wealthy. I dont have a set list, an ordered group of aphorisms, proverbs, wisdom bottled. I hope my heart carries away something, some truth, some good. I just dont know what. At least not now. I hope I am humbled, that I'll give more quickly, love easier, see. "
Then on the adjacent page of the linen colored book, I wrote down names.
"Luis, Marta, and Ana Marcela Cuellar; the brother who read Ecclesiates; Gladis; her sister Flor; Buzz; Grupo Bongo, the wedding band; Brady and Gil; the blinking boy; Svetka, red-head dread-head; Lolita and Juanita of Santiago; Maria del Mar, Aidi, and Gianina; Halle; Leonardo el vigilante; the Bocas; and the Ngobe man from the comarca (seen above) Vicente." Panama City.
Ninety days does not seem like much. Ninety days is a season, less really, or the perfect average of such. A couple years ago, I took some time, left my job, and flew to Latin America, for 90 days. Today I found a picture and my old journal. Here's the last entry.
"It is my ninetieth day since the beginning of this trip. Ninety days since February 1, when I landed in Guatemala, very wide-eyed, a bit overwhelmed. Weary of staring faces, uncomfortable among beggars with unsitely, mangled bodies. Lost in the speech. I'm 90 days past then, and I'm on my way home. I dont know exactly the things I've learned on this trip down the isthmus, busing among cities and smalltowns, beach and forests, poorest of poor and the wealthy. I dont have a set list, an ordered group of aphorisms, proverbs, wisdom bottled. I hope my heart carries away something, some truth, some good. I just dont know what. At least not now. I hope I am humbled, that I'll give more quickly, love easier, see. "
Then on the adjacent page of the linen colored book, I wrote down names.
"Luis, Marta, and Ana Marcela Cuellar; the brother who read Ecclesiates; Gladis; her sister Flor; Buzz; Grupo Bongo, the wedding band; Brady and Gil; the blinking boy; Svetka, red-head dread-head; Lolita and Juanita of Santiago; Maria del Mar, Aidi, and Gianina; Halle; Leonardo el vigilante; the Bocas; and the Ngobe man from the comarca (seen above) Vicente." Panama City.
posted by TB at 13:24
