I keep waking up in the middle of the night. Sometimes from the acid ravaging my esophagus from some annoying ailment, sometimes from the jet lag that sits heavy on my eyelids at two in the afternoon and pries them awake at four in the morning. I tell myself that first thing in the morning, I will finally compile all of the golden thoughts and sparkling experiences- and predictably, this will vanishes as soon as the sun’s morning rays streak through the window. But after fingers fluttering around my neck and keyboard and apartment for several days, it’s time to write of the past two weeks. My past two weeks in Australia. Our past two weeks in Australia.
Category Archives: Expat
Whirlwind.

Layers of ugliness and masterpiece.
Stranger.
Throughout the thirteen hour plane ride to Taipei, I could not stop watching the woman in front of me. Between bouts of sleep and finding myself staring at the ceiling, I would notice faintly but strongly her presence in a plane full of people. Forty years old or sixty, it was difficult to gauge. Her high, gaunt cheekbones battled against full, tanned cheeks and her hair flecked with dove grey stranded elegantly through inky black. I never quite got a strong, clear look at her eyes or mouth, only glimpses through the space between the seat and the window as I sat behind.
Retreat.

A departure.
The lust to wander is back full force and I don’t quite know what to do with this familiar feeling. It’s a bit of a chicken or the egg situation: I purchased a ticket for a brief stint (hopefully filled to the brim with work and collaborative ideas) back to Phnom Penh and since then haven’t been able to take my mind off getting out. Did the desire to make my way across the world again force me to finally buy a ticket or was it purchasing my flight that’s got me all riled up to go?
Lack.

Jane Heng‘s “Baby Man Hand“
Yesterday I was awakened from a hazy sleep with a text from my landlord asking if I had a check ready for rent and I popped out of bed, immediately wrote one out, and handed it to her as she ran by with her dog, Pepper. Even though I felt a bit chagrined that I had forgotten to put the rent in the dropbox a day before, ran out with a sweatshirt hastily pulled over my slip and was caught sleeping in like a teenager- I was grateful.
Nook.
This week I shared drinks on the sunlit porch of Hank’s conversing about life, work, projects and everything in between. When my home came up in conversation, my friend jokingly but truthfully mentioned that I’d never invited him over to hang out. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel bad about my lack of hospitality at all.
Dream.
I dream a lot. I dream vividly and lucidly and remember clusters of them like they were pulled from a photo album or notes in a journal from last week. Sometimes my dream world becomes so rich and evocative that it comes close to a dangerous escape from reality, my pillow a ship to worlds unknown and the sheets wings of creamy high thread count to adventures that await.
Gaze.
I’m sitting in my dimly lit living room with M83 playing in the background, grapefruit La Croix in reach, snuggled into my new little body pillow covered in cats (thank you, Lisa) thinking about… marriage.
The thrum.
7:40pm
I imagine the heavy thrum I hear when inside an airplane being similar to that of what a baby experiences in the womb.
Grateful.
I’m spending my first Autumn (although it feels like Winter) back in Washington since my move to the Kingdom of Wonder, my beloved Cambodia.