Holding On

Yesterday evening, I watched the sun go down in the reflection in the window from the far wall of the gym, where I was busting my guts on the bike. It was a perfect circle, laced over with palm fronds, and I could stare right at it as it slowly dropped out of sight, as I counted down the minutes and watched the sweat break out in beads on my wrists.
I’m going home for Christmas in six days, and it’s all I can think about. Going to the gym most evenings is the only way I can keep my mind clear.

I think I’ll probably be leaving Laos in the next few months for good, so this time, I’m taking home as much stuff as possible; I’ve started to feel weighed down by stuff. Although, in fact, considering I’ve been here for two years, I don’t have that much. Books, clothes and some framed pictures. And piles of papers in my room.
I’ve mentioned my lifelong habit of gathering and keeping documents. When I was a kid, the desk in my room used to be bulging with files and papers, and I would put off emptying it all for as long as possible. I remember at the age of 12, we had a Tahitian exchange student stay in my room for two weeks, and she couldn’t understand why I, a kid, had so much paper. I was more of a slob back then, but I haven’t stopped filing things away.
Sorting through piles of papers in my room, I’ve chucked three quarters of it, for practical reasons, but I’ve also uncovered some things that I remember why I kept and intend to hold onto. All my Lao language notes. The medical report from Aek Udon hospital when I fell off my motorbike last year (I had forgotten all about that!). The letter informing me that I had been accepted for the AYAD program, two years ago (changed my life!). A couple of Lao wedding invites, festooned with pink flowers and gently perfumed, addressed to ‘Miss Sally’. Some birthday cards and things torn from magazines and newspapers that I obviously felt the need to keep at the time and still do.
But all in all, it’s a pretty small pile that’s left. It’s the books that are the killer.
It’s going to be a strange trip home, not least because the Island is coming with me, huh? But I’ll also be assessing the scene – I’ll either realise how desperate I am to go home and focus on my ‘career’, or decide I never want to leave this place. Who knows?
But I think I know already.

My seat of learning
I went to a lecture a couple of weeks ago by a French man who is an ordained Zen Buddhist monk. He gave a sort of beginner’s guide to Buddhism, and this is what I learnt:
Buddha died when he was 80, or maybe 60, of dysentery. He ate something called ‘Pork’s delight’, which meat-eaters assume was some kind of pork-based dish, while vegetarians were adamant it was something containing mushrooms or something else that pigs would like.
That solves the vego / non-vego dilemma, right?
He also reiterated that Buddhism is completely tolerant, against any sort of proselytising, and is devoted, above all, to the middle ground.
This means it’s ok to be a Christian and to spend time in a Buddhist temple, or to be non-religious altogether. As long as you don’t do anything that prevents others from practising, it’s ok.
I like it, I really do. It’s such a gentle philosophy, and no one ever minds if you do it all wrong, like me at important events like the Island’s mother’s funeral, and I can’t see that people feel hemmed in by it. They’re not praying to sacrificed, bloody figure, but rather for a good life, and a good afterlife. I think I’ll always respect it.

Boys and their things
I went for lunch recently with some of the boys from my office. They always go to this dive-y old noodle shop that sells a bowl of yellow noodles for 50 cents. As I doused my noodles in chilli, fish sauce and lime, they all complimented me on my Lao-ness. My sinh, my shoes, my bag – I wore all like a ‘real Lao girl’, they said. This is the highest compliment, really. Boys here always say they want a falang girlfriend, but really they just want to please their parents.
One of the guys was already in the restaurant when we arrived, sitting with some girl. There was a solemn moment when he introduced his girlfriend to me- the boys were all respectfully silent. I asked her where she worked, realised I knew someone there, mentioned this, said she had a nice office, and then they left.
I felt obliged to ask a couple of the others whether they’d hooked up yet. They looked down, played with their food, shuffled their feet, and admitted that no, they had yet to find the perfect woman.
Most of the guys in the office (it’s mostly guys, and just one young woman left on the reporting staff) are married, gentle and quiet, the ones who keep their heads down, do their work, never ask questions, never seem to progress. And yet, the boys in question were the ones in the office I admire the most- the ones I can have almost normal conversations with, who like to argue, who respect their profession and drink hard, have phenomenally messy desks and keep thick chaotic files of contacts from throughout the city, ranging from farmers and shopkeepers to high-ranking officials. These are the boys who can’t seem to score chicks. It makes no sense to me.

Big Brother Mouse
When Mum and dad were here, we visited the Big Brother Mouse office in Luang Prabang, a local organisation that takes storybooks to Lao children in poor villages. It’s such a great idea – young artists draw the pictures and write the text, which is translated into English on the opposite page. For US$250, you can sponsor a ‘book party’ – a group goes to a village with stacks of books and snacks and spends the day playing games and eating with the kids, and gives each one of them a book. They teach them how to look after their books and swap them with their friends.
Mum, of course, didn’t hesitate to slap down the cash and demand a ‘book party’ in Ban Sop Kong, the Island’s hometown, which we had just visited that morning.
That was months and months ago, but last week, an envelope finally arrived at my office, containing a letter and a CD full of photos taken of Ban Sop Kong’s very own ‘book party’.
Now, you can probably tell that although I may be passionate, irritable and emotional, I don’t normally cry at cheer sentimentality, but these photos most certainly brought a tear to my eye.
The last thing the Island’s relatives said to us as we left the last time was ‘Please bring some books’, and here were all the boys and girls, in their matching dirty school uniforms with the red scarves around their necks, sitting enthralled as this group of young adults handed out books. These poor, poor children having a day of unexpected treats! The ‘report’ that came with the CD finished with “All students are very happy and exciting that day!”

Saying goodbye (not me!)
There’s been a whole spate of goodbyes here of late, as a large proportion of my closest Vientiane friends have finished up and left. Many seem to have found it really difficult, but I’m so used to it that I find it almost impossible to shed a tear.
I suspect I’ll be the same when I actually do leave for good.
In the meantime, I’m focusing on compiling lists, lots of them, hording small change for my next trip to Bangkok, enjoying the weather, exercising and counting the days until our big holiday. Hoorah.