I've already had some amazing friends donate to my travel in the past week. Its humbling to see the support I have back home. To see that people believe in me and my writing and my experience enough to put money into bus tickets, food and lodge for me. I've already raised an extra week out here and have no expectations on raising any more but its worth a shot.

First Step: Bangkok Pt. 1

After we left the funeral, every thing was pretty numb. Paralyzed emotion. I was stuck inside of phone calls I couldn't un-answer and moments that replayed like bad TBS shows in the morning that I try to forget existed until forcing myself back to sleep. I hate "All In The Family". I hated that day even more.

Some of us were going back to work while others were going back to family Christmas'. Or at least be present there. Try to be. There wasn't really a going-back-to-any-thing-the-same at that point. We lost a brother. We lost a brother during the holidays. That wasn’t just tragic, it was poetically unfair. And even though the word "unfair" shouldn't exist in 26 year olds vocabulary, it doesn't bother me to call bull shit on that entire situation. The universe was wrong for that. The whole thing.

However, the silver lining was each other. The surviving close 12 of us who knew the inside jokes, the favorite sayings and brotherhood; we reunited under loss. Came together like family and embraced one another. Held each other through knee shattering weeps and laughed at anecdotes over dinner.  It was trampolines of valleys and peaks and by the time I headed back to Kalamazoo, my heart was heavy and tired. I needed a bed. I needed a hug. But mostly, I needed to leave…    

The rest of the beginning of my Story is fairly easy to brush through. The tough stuff's been wrote. So because I don’t have the patience to describe these next events in entirety; their affect and how I dealt with them and so on, I'll just do bullet points to save time and hair pulling out. The headaches and such. I…

• Started up my winter semester.
• Flew to LA with Taylor to bring back Jared.
• Drove back during the "snow-pocolpyse", playing amateur weather man and finding snow in Texas.
• Wished Taylor and Jared luck as they left for Australia.
• Met some beautiful poets who inspired me to write again.
• Had my girlfriend leave the country with her ex under the guise she left with her room mate.
• Broke up with said girlfriend.
• Helped teach through local non profits in Grand Rapids and Kalamazoo.
• Performed.
• Booked my ticket.
• Passed my classes.
• Sold my car.

Most of that is self explanatory. I encountered a lot of good growth opportunities mixed in with poetry and shitty women. That’s an honest summarization of my adult life, actually. The only difference was this time, I had a ticket to Thailand and very few fucks to give towards anything else.  I  was visually antsy to get away. It was a fact. I was ready.

The week before I flew out was long and beautiful. It was filled with Put Up Or Shut Up and The Drunken Retort; with mad love and appreciation at both and in general. From friends and family and every one. There was no shortage of dinners or dog cuddle sessions. It was just good. I kept telling myself that I didn't need much time to pack so it didn't matter putting it off; I was just bringing one bag. I knew by simple Google searches and reasoning what all was necessary to bring. After reading, "If you think you're packing too much, you probably are" enough times, it became second nature to think light. I needed …

• A few pairs of shorts.
• A few shirts.
• Boxers.
• Socks.
• My toothbrush.
• Some ointments and creams the internet scared me into bringing.
• A hat, of course.
• My computer.
• 2 rechargeable batteries.
• A pair of shoes.
• My passport…

And a few other littler things. I basically had my mind set thinking that as long as I didn't forget power cords, I would be completely prepared.

For no reason at all.

Like I had traveled outside of the country before and knew exactly what to bring and when to pack and how. Somewhere along the line of never-leaving-the-United-States, I convinced myself I was a professional and continued on with shenanigans and eating ice cream with poets and balloons until the very last day.

My flight left late Tuesday from O'hare, so my only focus was waking up early, packing, and taking myself to the train station. I hadn't taken the train from Kalamazoo to Chicago before. I normally would catch rides or drive myself. But part of this excursion was minimalizing , budgeting and getting to some foot work. Amtrak was the least of my worries, anyway. I was more interested in my connecting flight in Abu Dhabi. Or the encompassing 24 hours on a plane. Or if there was going to be any infant children sitting near me because, so help me God, if there was… I've been known to get vulgar when I'm woken up annoyingly and might potentially tell a Middle Eastern woman's child to "shut the fuck up". Dangerous things can happen at high altitudes in closed spaces. I will not hold back.

I woke up way later than I should have, blowing my nose and coughing. It was great timing for allergies and being late. I needed to be at the train station by 2 and it was already 11. I accordingly also didn't have one thing packed. I set myself up for rushing because it was clearly the smartest thing to do. You can Google it. However, after I got my hair cut, dropped my dog off, ate while packing and then sped downtown, I made it out the door fearing I had only forgot a few things. Nothing important, I knew that much.  I triple checked that I had my passport and my debit card and my head phones. The rest was now irrelevant and was subsequently chalked to the game of great planning.

From that point, a bunch of traveling ensued. There was a train, subway, plane repetition for 12 hours before I eventually made it onto my destination flight to Bangkok. As I had hoped for, there was a god damn baby that I did tell to "shut the fuck up", but in my defense-- the kid woke me up and I sorta mumbled through a stretch at her. Like a whisper almost. It was reflex. I couldn’t help it… Fuck that kid. Don’t judge me.

I flew into Bangkok and followed the Thai directions with pictures of taxi cabs. Customs was a blank-stare at my passport under a sign saying "International" and a stamping. I didn't get the feeling safety really mattered here, which was super comforting. I made my way to the exit and noticed cab drivers waiting in line for people to get paired up with like a speed date. It was incredibly hot-- upwards 90 degrees, and these fucking guys were wearing black pants and collared shirts. Just all normal and fine with it. But I didn’t worry about the process too much; I just wanted to finish my cigarette, go eat and make up for the sleep that baby aggressively took from me. Before any of that could happen though, I had to figure out my way to "Lub D Silom", where ever that was, through a language barrier. I began asking women at ticket stations about "Lub D Silom", to which I received several pointed fingers in different directions and eventually a driver. I flicked my cigarette, took a deep breath and cringed.  The weather was expectedly humid, but the smell of Bangkok… the smell was something not even Chicago could prepare me for. Or a compost pile. Or actually, I can't even think of anything remotely close to relatable to that smell. That was my first reaction of Thailand -- "It is gorgeous out but… what … the fuck… is that?". I instantly felt the embrace of rotting sewage wrap around my teeth.  With every inhale brought a worse taste in the back of my throat. It seemed the reality of foreign soil was in the air even. I could feel it soaking into my stomach, lungs and pores -- quickly reassuring me that this--

This shit isn't Kansas anymore.

With my American cigarettes, back pack and only route of direction being "Lub D Silom", I found a cab willing to take me for 400 baht. It was a fair price, I thought. Or at least from what Taylor told me. I honestly just didn’t care at that point. My concept of what a baht was or how it converted was limited so I just focused my energy on getting where I needed to go, cost aside. The driver opened my door, got in the right side of the car and shot the car onto the highway at crazy intense speeds.

I was here, I thought. That wasn't as hard as I expected… 

Preface

When I first started to think about how to describe how my journeys been going in detail, a visceral gloating feeling rose in my stomach. Like I shouldn't even write this because, as every one knows and keeps telling me and I keep telling my self, this is probably the most beautiful experience a young 20-something-year-old can decide to do. To buy a one way ticket to South East Asia with a backpack and myself and go. Even though no one likes a show off, I'm going to fucking show off. This trip has been too important to not document. So instead of shying away from that Story, that onion wrapped excursion where 3 friends meet 7,000 miles away from anything that feels remotely "normal" -- I'm just going to tell it. In entirety. Or loose entirety for creative right,

For the sake of writing, for sake of Story. For the sake of us.

Talking about privilege is sort of easy for me. Its been something I've understood as "normal" or at least "aimed towards" most of my life. Even in the low moments, I've had abundances. Of friendship, of food, of transportation. Of basically first world shit. I mean sure, I've lost some things along the way, like a mother and some brain cells and quite a lot of self esteem. But generally, I've had a very gifted life. There's been a harsh truth here and there but most of my hardships have ignited by my own actions while my family, support system and country have always been there to extinguish me. When I don’t have money for rent, my dad lets me live with him. When I don't have money for food, my friends can cover me-- at restaurants, with fresh food. When I don't have clean water, money for groceries, money for school-- I always have something, somewhere to fall back on. The education system, Bridge cards, a fluorinated water supply which, true as it may be, doesn't sound the safest… it is still better than what I had read about. Better than the last story on the 5 o'clock news about tainted drinking water in the third world and death tolls. With our strong teeth and shrunken pineal glands, we still have the privilege to wake up without uncontrollable discharges and stomach leeches. By standard, we have basic sanitation. And that is so basic that--

A lot of days, its easy to be blind to. Blind to all of that. The waking up to amenities and privileges that don't exist everywhere. The swipe cards for government assistance. Laws. The saftey nets that might be unraveling but still catch us when we grab like kids for their parents, America, in Michigan even--depleted of morale and jobs-- life still doesn't miss hospitable for the majority. And as I type these words, this very moment, in the middle of Laos, with bugs on my screen and a long brown hair in my bed, trying to battle off dreaded traveler sickness and heat-- I feel embarrassed. Still. Like some part of me still doesn't want to admit any of that and instead lie and claim to have always been really well cultured, humble and green. I, myself, want to scrutinize that dumb world view and unfortunately, I wore that blind fold. I put it on daily. I would take moments to peek out and appreciate or watch but having to remind myself that I'm blessed didn't always happen. Its oxymoronic in a way. A backwards proverb. There shouldn't have to be a mental note to remind or reflect. It shouldn't take effort to look at. I wanted it shoved in front of me. Pushed like a deer in front semi truck realities that might hurt-- might cripple me at the digestive system and give me E. Coli. But on a certain level, as a privileged American, I felt this was my duty. To take that first real step outside of my self and understand scope. How my microcosm is just that. How my privileges are just that. How life exists outside of comfort. Or at least mine, any way.


They say the first step to breaking a vice is by admitting you have one. Among many other things, my most shitty vice was blind perspective. It was sheltered truths from drug riddles and boredom in city that held too much of me there. 24 years. The only option left was utter abandonment. To the unknown with a backpack and some Klonipin. If not for anything else but to search and experience. To find. And mostly,

To be. To just fucking be.