Oh darlin’ my heart’s on fire…

Pardon the delay in posting this blog.

Well I don’t know how and I don’t know why
When something’s living well you can’t say die
You feel like laughing but you start to cry
I don’t know how and I don’t know why

Well, I don’t have many and I don’t have much
In fact I don’t have any but I got enough
‘Cause I know those eyes and I know that touch
I don’t have many and I don’t have much

Oh darling my heart’s on fire
Oh darling my heart’s on fire
Oh darling my heart’s on fire
For you

Well I don’t know where and I don’t know when
But I know we’ll be lovers again
I’ll see you someday before the end
I don’t know where and I don’t know when

But oh darling my heart’s on fire
Oh darling my heart’s on fire
Oh darling my heart’s on fire

You know those love songs will break your heart
You know those love songs will break your heart
You know those love songs will break your heart

Oh darlin’ my heart’s on fire

love love love this melodic tune. This one too.

how to explain my life? well the day started bright and sunny, saw a goat slaughtered on my way to the gym, worked out in a half lit room because the electricity went out, missed getting sideswiped by motorcyclists by centimeters while walking to drop off my laundry that will be expressed and ready by 8p.m. all pressed, folded, and sealed in plastic, hailed a taxi, spoke Bahasa to say the directions while on a whatsapp call with a friend back home, met my Australian friend for coffee as the day clouded up to pour rain, got out of a taxi, walked to my gate- stepped over the sewer- and a chicken crossed my path, for dinner, I will probably walk to the neighborhood warung to get rice and vegetables, and to top everything, for the week we are on standby because of immigration inspections so I’m not allowed to be at the office.

And the next week I walk along the street and grass because there is no sidewalk and a bunch of kids carrying a makeshift fishing pole and net call out ‘bule’ (meaning foreigner) to me as I walk to a donut shop with free WiFi for reading and coffee. The old men in their street stand stalls and the becak drivers wave a friendly hi as well.

The day before I went to church and sang “Amazing Grace” in Bahasa Indonesia. My friend the translated the sermon for me over coffee and traditional snacks, our Sunday ritual. A little boy came over to where we were sitting on the patio and started a simple English conversation with me. So cute. He left and brought me back a flower “I picked this for you Miss” and I promptly stuck the flower in my hair. He ran over to his mom and whispered, then returned and said to me, “Miss, you are so beautiful,” heart melt from a five year old.

I only have 10 days left in Makassar and on Thursday I will be going to Singapore for another visa run. I will meet a friend I met last year in Taiwan who moved back to Singapore to live with her family.

Blue skies radiate my Google weather app…bright sunshine… and 90 plus degrees. And I’m wearing pants. Because that’s the norm I’ve been accustomed to alleviate stares even though my hair is now light from being bleached blond and red with mixes of light brown by the strong sun and my skins glows white against the tanned locals’ and they still stare.

A hot mess I will be, coming home to my 5,000 population town in the Nebraska countryside. Where the only noise is the passing midnight train, an occasional siren or car alarm triggered, and birds tweeting in the trees. Where the air is fresh and rich, especially after a springtime rain, lucious and fragrent,reeking of earth and flowers. Where my white porch swing sways in a calm summer breeze or bangs against the siding in a storm. And I’m torn.

Torn between each country I’ve left and where I belong. Or at least where I hope to belong. But don’t. Because I belong everywhere and nowhere. And I struggle. With wanting to tell every story and burying all my adventures in my mind. With guilt of experiencing the unexplainable and jealousy of everyone’s settled lives. The emotions I feel I often ignore and can converse politely with anyone that asks “how was your trip?” My heart is burned with wanting to tell every good and crazy thing instead of brushing the question with a “it was good. I had fun.” Because who really wants to know about how I think it’s so cool when a taxi has a rockin’ sound system that blasts the entire Westlife collection on repeat or when I can bargain with another taxi driver for a lower fare by speaking Bahasa. Not to mention seeing shacks and shambles with people smiling and going about their business. Because life is too short not to smile. And that’s not even touching the surface of what I have known these past 4 years of traveling.

I spent the past weekend in Singapore. (May 14-16) And I felt out of place. Out of place among the glittery modern city skyline. Out of place among the organization. Out of place among the throngs of people looking down. While I’m looking up. Looking up at the giant skyscrapers towering over the 100 year old buildings in Chinatown with their quaint colors and shuttered windows opened for an afternoon breeze. Looking up at the dusky sky after the noonday rain clouds streaked with orange and pink of the setting sun. Looking up at the greenery, palm trees, and city parks. Looking up at the glamourous bustling city. My eyes had to adjust. What a stark contrast to where I’ve been living for the past 7 months. My favorite part? Flying in. Flying in, over the harbour and a 100 plus boats lit up, reflecting on the water…the skyline sparkling, lights bouncing and shimmering on the calm waters below. Amazing site to see.

Now I have two days left. Two days of Makassar. Two days of kids, of friends, of my cafes, of becaks, of goatman, of my house, of this life I’ve built. And I’m enjoying every second. Soaking up the sun and laughter…