"I wrote and read a lot about solitude and the pains and virtues associated with it, and spent a lot of time in the saddle of my bike purposely directed away from all the people I know." - http://clapway.com/2015/06/07/finding-beauty-in-solitude/

Many of my experiences over the summer taught me the art of being alone. I wrote and read a lot about solitude and the pains and virtues associated with it, and spent a lot of time in the saddle of my bike purposely directed away from all the people I know. While I have enjoyed the company of fellow travellers over the past few months, it has not been conducive to putting any of those lessons into practice. Today, overcome by boredom and repetition, I went out to find solitude.

The Pai river runs through the town and straight South through Thailand, and is a two minute walk from the cottage. Up close, it’s not a pretty thing. There’s rotting, brown shrubs either growing out of or decomposing in the water, I’m not sure which. It has lumpy movement, which suggests to me that it’s both shallow and rocky. It’s relatively fast-moving and that, combined with what I assume is a muddy, rocky bottom, churns the water into the same brown-green of the decomposing trees.

I made my way down to a bamboo raft floating precariously just down the slope from the graffitied bridge. Books and pens in my backpack, I tested the stability of the raft and, when it only groaned a little under my weight, I lay down following the poles’ horizontal distribution.

With my eyes closed, the heat weighing heavy on my shoulders, and my shoulder blades making sweaty imprints on the bamboo, I listened to the bubbling river beside me.

Edward Abbey remained unopened as I took advantage of such a rare moment. Even the black ants as long as my third toe were becoming my friends; but the red ones, whose space I invaded, left tiny, angry red bites on the space between my shirt and my shorts. I stayed on the raft trying to guess the time by the position of the gradually arcing sun. Every time I thought it might be too hot, the sun would disappear behind a cloud and offer some relief, and I’d have to stay a little longer. When the heat finally became too much, I gradually made my way back to the cottage where Colleen was getting ready for a massage and Frank, the ridiculous-looking pug, was wheezing by the door.

The sun has gone down enough now to cast a shadow on the hillside and my brow has finally unfurled from a full day of squinting. The clean smell of the evening is in the air and everything seems to have slowed.

With my belly now full of curry and a handful of candy, I’m keeping myself warm with a cup of chai while stealing quick glances toward the night sky. I’m still not used to it. The scene reminds me of the skies that I took for granted in Squamish. I think I’ll skip over stones with a smile on my lips on the way to bed tonight.

Finding Beauty In Solitude

Are We Better As Strangers? - http://clapway.com/2015/05/26/are-we-better-as-strangers/

One Tuesday afternoon in March, I was seated in the al fresco area of this tea shop in Baguio overlooking a sea of trees. I glanced at my itinerary for that day, and realized I still had a lot of things to do – visit this museum, do a bit of shopping, try a dish at a local restaurant, etc.

It was still early in the afternoon, so I figured I’d have enough time to do all the things I set out to do for that day. In the meantime, I was determined to just revel in my one big cup of afternoon tea while taking in the glory of the scenery before me. Then, instantaneously, I started giggling to myself. I shook my head feeling like an absolute fangirl – there I was enjoying my favourite drink in my favourite Philippine tea shop scribbling on my planner that was made by that very same tea shop.

“Oh, you’re using that planner,” a man two tables down gestured towards my doodle-infested planner-slash-journal. I was puzzled why this man would take the time to concern himself with something as trivial as, well, me owning a planner. It turns out he worked for the company that produced the planners. Since this guy and I were not friends, and the only common thing between us was our loyalty to the tea shop brand, I figured our conversation wouldn’t last long. But I was wrong.

That afternoon, while keeping our distance two tables apart, we covered a whole lot of topics from our preferences in music to our commitment to the work that we do to what it would take to show the people in our lives that we love and appreciate them. He quipped in a few jokes that got us both laughing. Then, we talked some more. What I thought would be an afternoon of inner musings with myself turned into a delightful time with an absolute stranger. It genuinely felt like being with a long-time friend.

It has been two months since I spent that afternoon with the guy and when I remember that time, my heart swells like a balloon. I feel good knowing that I have room growth in my life. I am saying this in the context of relationships. I admit to having a tendency of being uptight, and it scares me to engage in small talk with people I don’t know or I’m not close to yet. I easily get rattled when strangers in queues suddenly ask me what time it is, or if someone by the sidewalk stops me to ask for directions, or if public transport drivers start interviewing me to pass the time during long commutes.

I admit to have had a season in the past when I told myself that I’ve reached my quota when it comes to establishing relationships. I remember telling myself then, “You already have enough people in your life. They’re not so many but they’re more than enough.” After telling myself that, when I felt like people made efforts to get close to me and build a friendship, I would be crippled with fear and I wouldn’t reciprocate. Yes, it was quite a strange season, I have to confess. There I was, in the position of being the recipient of people’s love and affection, but instead of stretching my arms wide open and embracing the love, I clammed shut. Back then, certain relationships have fizzled out and some even ended depressingly, so stubbornly, I resolved to not enjoying certain sparks of connection I felt with new faces around me. I didn’t see the point of randomly connecting with someone once but never being able to keep that connection. I was tainted with bitterness then.

A lot has changed since then, of course. Sure, I still haven’t won the award for Miss Congeniality, but at least, I’ve learned to loosen up. I have started building my faith in humanity again. I no longer adhered to my paranoia that every stranger who dares engage me is but a thief, murderer or somebody generally harmful. I figured it wouldn’t hurt at all to give a bit of myself for people I may come across only once in my life.

In the few years I’ve spent traveling alone, I am blessed to have been able to create friendships along the way and keeping them up to this day. A friendship did not bloom from that afternoon tea time with the stranger in Baguio, but it’s okay. It’s perfect that way. Through that guy, I learned a lot about myself. I realized that I am capable of sincerely giving and taking without having to be scared of losing. I realized that certain moments I create with strangers can touch me as much as the ones I have with friends and family. And sometimes, we’re just better as strangers.

Are We Better As Strangers?