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Fight or flight, run or hide, pursue or let go... The basics of human nature.

Have you noticed that some people carry an aura around them? Sometimes it's swirling and intense. Others are calm and collected, bordering on brooding. Now, of course, my set of extraordinary individuals (and I do mean that in the sense that these individuals seem not-ordinary) is different from your set is different from anyone else's set. So, in a sense, it's not something about that particular individual, or, rather, it is a combination of two. Like pheromones that my body responds to, these individuals lash out and grab me by the pit of my stomach. I know that's where they strike because my mind and soul lurch forward leaving behind a lump, big and round, in the pit of my belly. They put you in a trance, mouth parched and brain empty.

So, why don't we follow such people? Why not pursue and run and sprint after them? Out of breath on approach, it makes little difference for I have no words to say.

You're beautiful... So dull and plain.

That's a really good book... No, I'm the one carrying a book. She has nothing in her hands.

I'm a really interesting guy... Show, not tell.

I love Murakami. I don't have any reason to tell you, but hear me out for a minute and let me explain. I'm out in the middle of the day because I don't start my new job until August. I read a lot. I love Murakami. I just read a short story of his about love. It's called The 100% Perfect Girl for Me. It's about a boy and a girl finding the right person and foolishly testing themselves by separating, hoping that such a fickle thing as "fate" (whatever that is) will bring them together again. Only, it doesn't. It doesn't matter why or how. It just doesn't.
I'm rambling now, I know. And I'm talking so fast that you don't even have time to respond or nod or say anything. Maybe that's because I'm afraid of rejection and you seem so lovely and there's something about you. The way you hold yourself upright when you walk. The way you walk. I like girls that walk with their feet pointed straight ahead, very much the opposite of ducks. You have lovely hair and a beautiful, but interesting-looking face. I'd like to stare at your face.
I have no evidence for what I'm about to say... But I know this. Like we know to breathe and to beat our hearts, to enjoy our food, to give to those we love. Programmed and innate, I know that you and I could be something. It's chemical, natural... distinctly human. It's all the above, and we stupidly have thrown out our instincts for mobile phones and algorithms...

Reality comes to, the wind whipping my face. I see her faintly on the horizon, blocks away. I drop my book and my phone... And I fucking run.

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I wandered downstairs naked. We were both naked. The only light emanated from the full moon floating amongst the thin clouds. They looked so light… free and unadorned. The air felt cool against my skin, the marble floors icy. A nice reprieve from the heat of the stuffy bedroom.

I was always too hot. You clung to me like I could save your life, and, in some ways, I think I had. I always moved away as soon as your breath slowed to an even, relaxed pace, stirring ever so slightly as I wriggled away putting a stuffed animal into your arms. I lie awake at night these days, thinking about the way your lips would curl as you smiled your sweet smile. Love you baby, you’d say turning and clutching the doll I left in my stead. Always a peaceful sleeper.

You touched me. I moved away. Looking out the window, I saw your sleepy eyes reflecting in the glass, imploring and large. I stared at your supple, young body. Perky, petite. How young we were back then. In love and so close.

I don’t recall when I knew. Not just a gut feeling, but a deep sadness in my belly, heavy and unforgiving. Twisting and gnawing inside like a beast lashing out from the darkness, poised to hit you where it hurt.

How young we were. When we loved, we loved. Full and raw, intense and connected, as one. Until, we weren’t. Funny how that is. Scary, too.

I told you I’d come back to bed and that you should go back to sleep. You hugged me from behind. You told me I would catch cold. I could feel your breasts pressing against the small of back. So young, petite. You reached for my penis and held it in your hand. I told you to go back again with a soft voice, almost a whisper. You moved away and walked slowly up the stairs. I could feel your eyes on me… or…, maybe that’s just what I wanted to think.

I stood by the window for some time, watching the moon inching across the sky. Everything and nothing in my mind the entire time.

You were asleep, pillows and sheets still moist. I held you close and nestled my arm under you, wrapping you tight in my embrace. You shivered as I sought your warmth.

You reached again for my penis, clutching it. I let you and allowed myself to sink farther in. Sleep weighed my eyelids shut, casting me to a rare dreamless sleep, unharmed and in love.

Ivona Jezierska - Chess Master

Hi Ivona (or Ms. Jezierska, as I used to say and be extremely smug that I, little old sixth grade me, could pronounce your last name correctly),

I'm not sure if you remember me. You must have had so many students over the years since I had last seen you.

Regardless of whether or not you recall me, I just wanted to say that I sure as hell remember you. If you didn't know, you were an important person in my life. I learned a lot from you; things I still think about to this day.

1) You made an impact on my life.
I have very vivid memories of playing chess and learning from you. It was something I liked quite a lot (not just for the chessmen cookies you so graciously and liberally provided during lessons). I still recall going to some house (I think it was on Hilgard Ave in Westwood) for a lesson. You showed me the windmill tactic. And... it blew my young mind. I still think about that moment and what it felt like to truly enjoy learning because you like something. I find that particularly useful these days.

2) You taught me why we lose.
My mom never fails to remind me about how I hated to lose at Chess (and in general really). It was the like something snapped inside the pit of my stomach. Putting in all that mental effort and focus only to see something too late. Cheeks immediately flushed and heart pumping outside my chest. Not a pleasant experience. However, despite my anger and frustration, I do remember how I felt going over the lost matches with you, learning from my mistakes... I felt relaxed and comforted, deep in my pit of my belly. In fact, it's a very special feeling to me. Something that I hold dear and quite honestly, reminds me of my late grandmother. In retrospect, you were (and I'm sure still are) wonderful with children and a fantastic teacher.

Anyways, I looked you up because I wanted to tell you these things and say thank you. Better late than never.

An excerpt from an email I sent.

Speaking to the void

I haven't posted in a while, yet I do check to see who looks at the blog. Where they are from, how they get linked to the blog etc. It's weird. A lot of audience is from the US/France. I have no idea if they read anything on the blog or how long they spend on there. I could make it private, but I think that in some part of my mind, I like it being public. Perhaps, it's the "archivist" in me that likes that my thoughts and writings and machinations of my imagination are floating through the cyber-realm. Perhaps my writing helps someone through a time in their life? I always liked to imagine that my old, much more serious blog did in fact help strangers out there in the world.

I find that reading someone else's thoughts gives insight into another human being, providing an escape or acting as an ephemeral and distant figure, a friend of sorts, with whom one can commiserate the woes of life. Don't we always look for some kind of help when we need it most? Though it seems that many people stay shut in, I do believe that we all look for help... However, many simply lack the means to ask for it, or, perhaps, they are surrounded by those who cannot help for some reason or another. Thusly, we tend to look internally, and even though such desperate actions tend to never solve anything, sometimes, we have no choice. (At least, we perceive a lack of options when we look to others so our only remaining salvation lies deep within ourselves, in our imaginations, our books, our fantasies, our movies, our alternate realities).

I tend to make up stories about the people who "read" or simply stumble upon my "work". What they are like? I play their roles, mimicking accents, creating whole lives and families and nations within my mind. Truthfully, they most likely just happen upon a random blog, surfing the web, coming across the most random of random things, some more savory than the next; yet, they never look. They do not spend more time than the half-second it takes to click 'next'.

And so, I speak to the void. Ironic, right? I seek guidance, fulfillment, and, maybe, commiseration by sending my words as far out as humanly possible, only to realize that I indeed am simply writing to myself. To the fictional creations of my imagination who live wherever their IP addresses happen to be.

Maybe, my 'voice' travels even farther? Beyond the space and time that lie within our realm of imagination? Through signals echoing throughout the vast abyss of space... forever travelling at the speed of light across galaxies and stars unknown, flying through black holes to worlds and times beyond even our beautiful fabrications of science fiction?

Poetic. Heroic. Fictional. But a more optimistic fiction, no? Would you rather speak to far-flung alien species, imagining yourself disseminating some kind of future gospel than living entirely within your own mind?

Untitled #1

Iiiii-Iiiii-I saw you first

Is it a dream?

Is it a dream?

We made awkward eye contact as we started bouncing to the music. Perhaps awkward isn’t the right word. There was a sort of… shyness (yeah, that’s perfect) to the way we looked at each other. Smiling, we partially faced one another and belted out the opening lyrics. Neither of our voices could be heard over the rumble and shake of the band three feet from our noses.

Thinking about it now, that moment was so telling about our relationship. A clear attraction. Some sort of… desire that neither of us could really put into words. How could we, given the situation? We’re friends, we’d both say. At least, that’s what we said when we were together. But, even now, nobody could deny the sparks flying between us, especially not that night. Fact is: the whole scene seemed strange in a way… Foreign and floating. Dream-like as though processed in a drunken stupor.

Pulling up to the venue, we both thought we were lost. Not yet accustomed to the new city, she didn’t know the area, and I had just been following my phone. This was clearly not a concert hall, nor even a bar. Not a sound to be heard. Just the bitter cold wind slipping in and out of every crevice it could find. The part of town seemed completely residential, and even for indie concert, this felt out of place. Snagging a spot between a lines of cars, we got out.

In the rush of the song, I put out my hand and she grasped it tight, squeezing my still cold fingers. Twirling her around and around, we danced and hopped and jumped like children, for the moment, lost in the other.

Taking a break from our search, we sat on the iced-over sidewalk. I asked her about school. How she liked it so far. She gave me pretty terse responses. Sometimes we’d just look at each other. I did most of the talking. At least, I recall it that way. I could sense something elusive about her… Unspoken. Maybe she was just too young. Didn’t know what to say to me. But, despite the lack of conversation, we moved in a fluid motion. Nothing sexual about it. I think there was simply a tacit understanding between us. Call it attraction, I’m not sure. I want to believe it was something else. Something more than just the physical. Things experienced and felt deep down.

But, just like that, it was gone. Retreating into herself like lost and confused prey, she let go of my hand. As though remembering who she was and who I was. I felt the stark coldness of the room when she let go. Despite all the dancing and loud music and people in a crowded space, I could feel the bitter wind sneaking its way into the basement through the cracks in the walls and windows of the dilapidated building. Soon that cold would seep into my eyes and ears, mouth, genitals, scars… Finding any way to fill me up till I was frozen solid.

I left early the next morning before she woke up. I haven’t seen her since. She wanted it that way.

Chile Retrospective - Overview / The land of irony

It's been almost two months since I came back home from Chile. For reasons that I will probably get into in another post, I just never got to the blog... It sort of just fell by the wayside, replaced by the sheer force of my experience there. In other words, I was just so occupied having fun and learning Chilean Spanish and enjoying myself that I actively chose not to post.

Now, I want to write up some of my thoughts that have been coalescing in my brain since returning. I feel like it would be weird to post a day to day trip journal as I had done for Japan. Perhaps I will write about a few particularly interesting or entertaining stories; however, I want to proceed by focusing on particular themes and topics related to thoughts I currently have about my time in Chile.

Now that structure has been taken care of... Onto the show.

Something I was thinking about a few nights ago was just the stupendous number of ironies I've noticed about Chile since returning. That doesn't mean that all countries don't have their fair share of oxymoronic behaviors, ideals, origins, and notions. Undoubtedly, all countries have their own idiosyncrasies that make them unique (perhaps except... well, I was going to make a joke, but it's probably best I refrain here). The point is that I was there in Chile... really truly there. It was not a scheduled tourist filled extravaganza. Though I love to travel and see as much as I can, I decided to do things differently. Because of that, I spent a month and a half becoming Chilean in a way, and through my immersion in the people and the culture, I experienced such quirks first hand. I really think that's the only way to experience such things. I actually believe that it was a more powerful experience than going abroad... But that's a different thought for a different day.

Here's what I noticed:

1. Conservative Catholics... with legs!
Historically Catholic countries tend to have a much more conservative outlook on, well, everything. Think Poland, Italy, Spain, Chile... etc. Though Europe has its fair share of intellectual liberalism that comes with free and open minds and even freer nipples, the Catholicism that spread to certain countries has lent itself to the development of particularly conservative cultures. Many feel that such was the case with Chile. Thinking about it, it is not a totally inaccurate statements. Compared to Brazil, Colombia, and Argentina where T&A are regular features on prime time television, Chile is a pretty conservative country.
However, despite the reputation, you'll notice a conspicuous number of coffee shops in Santiago, the cultural, economic, and governmental capital. At first, you don't think about it at all. Then, when you stop for a coffee, you notice a couple of things:

• The bar is raised up about a foot... Hmm, odd.
• Apparently Chileans take the word barista literally... No male employees.
• Clientele seems to be suspiciously all of one gender as well.
• Holy shit that is a short dress she's wearing up on that raised up platform where they're making this horrible tasting coffee.

This is what's known as coffee with legs (café con piernas). What I just described was a very typical café con piernas in Santiago, the driest of them all. The general rule of thumb: the more tinted the windows, the less the clothes, the shittier the coffee. This ranges from short black dresses with decent coffee to g-string thongs and nipple pasties with... wait, what did I come here for?

2. There are no jobs! ...That offer me the six hour days with a two hour lunch that starts at nine and ends at five, oh did I mention I want a siesta too?... And fuck those Peruvian guys working fucking eight hours a day!
Unlike their football rivals to the north and east, Chile had cemented its role as the epitome of South American political and economic stability over the last twenty years. With corruption almost always destabilizing Brazil's government and Argentina having declared bankruptcy again in the not so distant past, Chile has earned its reputation through profound growth and stability. I learned within a couple weeks that this reputation does not quite fit the current situation. While not horrible by any means, the economic situation continues to get more and more difficult.
Since the recession and lower copper demand worldwide (looking at you, China), the Chilean economy has slumped big time. Copper is really the only thing of value that they export in massive quantities, and the price has dropped around 300-400% over the last few years...
Despite the ever tightening belt, the fact remains that most Chileans still want their typical South American/European style work days... Let me break it down as my host-father told me:

• Arrive to work at 8am. (Hmm... seems reasonable).
• Spend one hour changing and getting ready for work... Start at 9am. (Wtf?)
• Take lunch at noon.
• Get back to work at 2pm...ish. (Who knows when they actually start work again though...)
• Leave at 5pm.

Obviously many Chileans are not like that. After all, we all have to do what we can to adjust to the times. However, there are enough of them where this shit gets noticeable. Audibly hearing complaints and news reports about the difficult job market... Subsequently followed by complaints about what would be considered a short to normal work day in the States.

And that's not even the kicker... The punchline is that the same people who want the "Chilean" work day can be so unbelievably racist against Peruvians and other immigrants. Like some of the nastiness against Mexican and Central American immigrant workers in the US, many Chileans harbor a lot of resentment against the Peruvians. In fact, you hear a lot of familiar stories that you would in the US of 10-12 immigrants living in a one room apartment in Santiago and all working longer shifts every day for a fraction of the cost.

So, while the job market is really not very good there... I heard enough about the "Chilean" work day schedule to make my eyes roll.

Just for reference, this is not meant to be offensive in any way. I feel a part of my Chilean family that, as they say, adopted me... I will go back to see them one day (hopefully soon). I know that much about my future. However, I am just telling these generalities like I interpret/see it so it may sound a little harsh. I will note that my host-father thought that anyone wanting a "Chilean" work day was full of shit and shouldn't be complaining.

3 (aka 2a). Despite the way I work, I'll go way out of my way to protest and show up on time!
Humorously, for a country with a reputation for the above work ethic as well as extreme tardiness, there appears to be an almost absurd number of protests and strikes in Chile. Though many of them are for legitimate reasons such as the privatized pension system and ever rising cost of education (even state-sponsored schools), it is pretty amusing how so many Chileans jump at the chance to protest.


4. I've honestly never met such accepting people... Eh Chino?
This was a sort of weird situation for me, taking me aback in an amusing and somewhat infuriating fashion. Sincerely, I don't think that I have ever encountered people that have shown me love so quickly and genuinely. By the end of a month, they honestly looked upon me as family... (Ha! Even more irony that I should find that in a totally different country where I knew nobody). However, there were these oh-so-not-subtle, but too-subtle-for-seemingly-everyone-except-one-Chilean-person-I-met racist comments. I get that it's a totally different country and culture with different thoughts and feelings concerning sexuality and race etc. However, I have to say that the US gets way more flack concerning racism than all these other countries that are equally or even more racist. And it was blatantly apparent in Chile, especially against anyone who had darker skin or looked more native-Indian.
While my Chilean family was not... well... Most of them did not seem to harbor any prejudice based on race etc, but there were some instances and comments (that I don't want to write out since this is a public blog and despite some dumb comments, I do love these people) where I was like... "What the fuck? Did he/she just say that?" Like some really inappropriate things.
In terms of me, for example, there's a district called Estación Central, which is where a lot of the Chinese immigrants own businesses that sell imported Chinese goods (mostly cheap imitation goods). We were all headed out over there to get some random stuff, and the someone says, "Hey Spencer, we're gonna go see your uncles and aunts!" Obviously, I was not happy about that, but I just shut up and let it go because these people are being super generous to me. It was, however, an odd mix of feelings.


5. What do you mean the tour bus doesn't take us up to the torres del Paine (Paine's towers)?!
When you talk to Chileans, they take immense pride in the diversity of terrain and the variety their land offers. From the wondrous icy Patagonia mountain ranges to the beautiful deserts of Atacama, it's truly a spectacular country. When I met new Chileans, I would ask them about their travels in the country, and many would talk boastfully about seeing all of their country from the south of the south to the north of the north.
Fast forward to when my dad and I were in Patagonia... We had an awesome and hilarious guide. He was also the only Chilean person I met that had any idea what I was referring to when I spoke about subtle racism. Anyways, he told me that Chileans love traveling to Torres del Paine national park. But (and this is a fucking massive but)... he reports that a lot of them do not expect that you have to do any serious walking/trekking/climbing to see anything glorious and come completely unprepared. In fact, some of them ask if the bus will stop at Paine's towers for example (which took the three of us seven hours to trek in total). Upon returning to Santiago, my host family said... Yeah fuck that. We just go to the beach.

Japan day 12, Sep 12 - Coming home

Yesterday (Sunday), I made the decision to wrap up my adventure and fly home... At this point, I'm not quite sure what's wrong with my foot. It's still possibly a stress fracture. Regardless of what it is, my foot needs to heal. I thought perhaps it may be better as of this morning, but it's very, very hard to tell since I've been keeping off of it as much as I can. It is certainly less inflamed, but I can tell that something isn't right. After returning the crutches this morning, I walked around Tokyo Station to get the bus to Haneda Airport and have been wandering around Haneda a bit... While it doesn't hurt like before, I can tell that if I kept walking, I'd probably end up back at the American Clinic Tokyo. So, given my budget, I think it's more prudent to return to the states for the time being. Japan will still be here later on (I hope). Not to mention, just sitting around and resting/reading (while I love doing that in my free time) is not the activity I would like to be doing while in Tokyo.

That said, as I posted earlier in a more personal note, I have been somewhat lonely here for a mix of reasons. It's scary as shit going in not knowing where you're going to sleep, trying to get by on $25 a day in an expensive country, walking because public transport is too expensive, hardly finding anyone who speaks English, dealing with some personal relationships... However, I do have to say that I am feeling quite proud of myself. Until the clinic, I actually did only spend $25 or less per day (and probably lost about 10 pounds in a week). I made some really long and sometimes risky treks and saw some beautiful nature. I ended up meeting around eight or nine new people (two of whom I will definitely stay in touch with and three of whom I may see if I ever come back to Japan). I figured out my medical situation and made do with the interruptions to my "plans". I was flexible (though everything had been pretty frustrating) when I needed to be.

While I am a little bit embarrassed that I am returning before even two weeks are up on my like planned ten week adventure, I think that I quickly found whatever answer I had been seeking (if I had indeed been searching for anything in the first place). I have an idea of what I want at the moment, and adventure isn't necessarily a part of it. That doesn't mean I am not going to travel. I may decide on a whim that I would like to continue my trek after my foot heals... Or maybe not.