06.08.2013 - 06.08.2013
Tangkoko Nature Reserve, Indonesia
Leaving Indonesia soon and feeling suddenly unprepared to go, though just a few weeks ago I was done with Asia and its heat and garbage and mosquitoes and spicy, MSG-riddled food. And not that I've seen much of Indonesia outside its diving spots and the sprawling, ojek-choked cities we only pass through, a night here and a night there at the most.
Most of the time I've had my head in a book, reading in the most mindless way--hungry, stupefied, without pause to contemplate but just a desire to push on and on until my dreams are filled with the characters and I lose the feeling of my own skin.
I needed it. Needed to be stuck at a dive resort so I could say I'd done my "sightseeing" (underwater) that day and could thus throw myself into reading without the guilt that we were wasting our time doing something we could do at home. Even writing I could not make room for. What was there to say? I only wanted to receive and receive and receive--retreat into someone else's normalcy. What has a snowy Boston morning and an icicle-framed window to do with here? And yet it feels blissfully fresh to me.
Even now I am only writing because I've finished a book. Nevertheless, a half-started Coetzee novel awaits, and my mind drifts toward it, to its sparse, melancholic language. I can scarcely keep my eyes on this page; they rove constantly toward the backpack...