"someone's gotta show a little butt crack" -mai

I've been reading travelogues, travel magazines, travel guides, searching for the answer to why we leave home. In its most simple form, the editor of The Best American Travel Writing writes that we travel "to see new places, meet new people, have exciting experiences. Also, I travel just because I like to move." He then goes on to explain what best can be described as a some kind of circumabulatory disorder, with symptoms ranging from enjoyment of microfiche to the misuse of rolling dishwashers. I don't particularly trust him, his disorder, or his simplicity.

It is clear that trekking through Africa or perhaps South America both make winning fodder for travel writing, only second best to traveling to war-ravaged countries, as contemplating the political state of a living in poverty while being surrounded by machine guns never fails to pique interest.

(don't tell, but I also remembered the secret to avoiding cliches. i'd share it with you, but not here, not now)

In any case, I feel that I can breathe easier these days, which is a relief. I am beginning to realize what I am and what I am not, what I can do here and what I cannot.

This afternoon I spent an hour conversing with an ICU professor about the state of gender studies in Asia -- in Japanese, no less. Of course, she cheated a little and used English vocabulary when the Japanese was too difficult, but given the subject matter, I think that we accomplished a great deal. You win some, you lose some. Some days I am incompetent, some days I speak Japanese.

I have decided that some people come here to find what makes "us" different from "them," whereas I came here to find what is universal. Perhaps neither of these things exist, perhaps both quests are inherently flawed. Perhaps we'll never know. As they say in the islands, "A bird in the hand is better than shooting five with your foot in your mouth." Right? Right??