Laos and intimations on mortality (from abroad)

Apologies to Wordsworth for the gross bastardization of his title, but it somewhat fit the spot. I will get to the second part of the title presently, but to begin with I am now in Vientiane, the quaint and charming capital of Laos. The shock of being here after departing from the North East bus station of Bangkok alone is enough to send you reeling. Chickens on the streets. Unpaved roads. Three currencies. 2300 curfew! Quite the difference from the up-all-nightness of Asia that I am used to. However, I will say that I could easily get used to this life. Perhaps it is the slow creep of age talking, but going to bed early. Up with the sun. Nothing more sophisticated or hectic than a Beer Lao while the sun goes down over the Mekong. Surely Graham Greene has already written about this somewhere.--side note Beer Lao is truly the king of Asian macro-lagers. There is actual flavor that appears in a quaff--Vientiane gives me the same feeling (in part) that being on the Gilis provided. It would be easy to stay here for a long time. Indeed I have met plenty of people who seem like that is their plan. But unlike the Gilis, which seemed rooted in escapism and hedonism, Vientiane seems rooted much more firmly in the daily rhythm of life. Indeed a more suitable feeling for someone with my aspirations (or lack there of) and tastes.

I suppose that is enough of an endorsement of Vientiane. And, while I haven't been elsewhere yet, I imagine most of Laos will exude a similar vibe. A place where I can concentrate on my reading (I have made it further through Gravity's Rainbow than my father), the wonderful scenery. Colonial architecture, which I love. Have nice chats with robe-clad monks who masquerade as English teachers etc. Good. I am sure the tourist board of Laos will mail me my check soon enough...

As for the explanation and subsequent disection of the latter half of the title: a high school friend of mine died suddenly of a heart attack en route to Bogota earlier this week. This is not meant to be a pity party or anything of the like. To come clean up front I did not even know him very well. A very nice guy. Friends with some of my good friends and the like. But, especially coming from a boarding school, people are all so connected and the community so small that something like this surely reverberates quite noticably among my friends.

However, that is not the angle I am going to take for this ponder. More this throws into light a very interesting aspect of the life that I have since chosen for myself. I cannot even come close to claiming that were I living in the states this event would have changed at all etc. What it places in relief for me is that there is a certain level of consciously chosen disconnect I have allowed into my life. Funerals aside there are plenty more events in life that I have relegated almost to a past life. Weddings also spring to mind. I have neither the time nor the money to up and head home and as I approach my late 20s no doubt such a temptation will occur far more frequently. Even more basic than that I have not seen my family for almost 20 months. An amazing feat considering I probably went at the longest span 2.5 months in the first 24 years of my life without being with my parents or my brother. Does this mean they are no longer important? I would venture, with great certainty, no. That is not the case. I suppose in my mind I have made a choice to explore something different at the expense of certain things. Sometimes this expense can be great or sometimes quite trivial (drinking a Smuttynose IPA springs to mind as a trivial matter). But this is my choice. Probably the most American of my traits. No doubt fierce individualism will take more than a generation to breed out, if indeed that is what I or anyone else wants to do. But it remains a fact. My life. My choices. This indeed is not the same as some of my friends. I make no claims to know their motivations. Be it filial loyalty. A sense of social obligation. A need to return to familiar (not that the familiar can't be found almost anywhere in the world).

To be sure, and this should not be understated, it is with great sadness always that the news of the loss of life should be accepted. Whether it be from close or from far. A person close to you or distant (although it is more difficult to mourn directly those you did not know). It should also be accepted with thoughtfulness. And I think more so that than sadness. Grief, for those who the loss was not the greatest, serves no purpose as to the memory of those loss. Rather, for me, it seems a time to reflect. To observe. To be immensely thankful for what you have. To make sure that when that time comes and like it or not it will eventually come for us all, that you are pleased with the life you have led. I cannot be 8,000 miles away for any number of things. Nor would I make the claim that I would want to for many things. But perhaps it is enough to state for the record that these events do not still touch me halfway around the world. Just the opposite they give me ever more reason to pause and reflect.

To end I will provide some seemingly fitting lines from William Wordsworth's poem Intimations of Immortality From Recollections of Early Childhood

We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind