It’s good to be back home. I still have a lot of space in my work schedule, but that’s good for now. I prefer to have the time to recover. Physically, I seem to have adapted to the mountains. It only took a year for me to be able to come back from vacation and not feel like I’m dying from asphyxia. I still have trouble with martial arts, but it’s getting easier. I just wish there was a way to speed up recovery time.
In some ways I’ve already started to focus on the next place. I need to get my internship taken care of, then I have to start figuring out where I want to go next. There is too much in the world to see to stay here. At the very least I want to find someplace on the beach in Mexico, or anywhere in the world beyond. I’ve considered Latin America, but I still hope I can get Taiwan.
That’s the problem really. I look at what I have here, and I only have four months left before I move on. It seems like nothing, and forever. I’m starting to feel the strain, feel the wind picking up before the clouds roll in. I’m looking forward to the storm as much as I fear it this time. I know I can make a life here, then I can make a life anywhere. I didn’t give up, I didn’t fail, and I didn’t get stuck here. I am grateful for all of my mistakes, but it’s time for me to go.
Mexico has been what I expected it to be, and a lot of things I wasn’t. It’s a good place to start, a place where I can learn and move on. A place where I can make friends, learn a few things, and avoid making enemies. The biggest problem is that I’m studying sociology, and the more I study this country the more dangerous I realize it is. I’m in a safe location, but outside this city it gets dark, fast. Even in parts of this city it is more dangerous than most people imagine. Most, if not all of the teachers have been robbed or attacked, some more than once. I know there must be a safer place to be. Funny that I’m looking at Africa next.
I only have stories of Africa, but they come in two styles. The majority of people repeat the dark stories that they have heard a thousand times. They have never been there, and don’t know anyone from there. They only have legends. The other are the people I know who have been there, and they always seem to love it. The disparity between the two always amazes me. Love and fear, totally opposite emotions. Each seems to try and grow, to consume your life. Too much of one or the other and you can lose your mind to them. I wonder if that is always a bad thing. It seems to me that life is just a series of moments of insanity strung together. Sanity is for the weak, not for those who seek truth. Sanity is living a lie so that you can sleep well at night, not fighting against the world to make it the place it ought to be. Just the Don Quixote in me I guess.
That’s the problem with me. The life I lead is not for the faint of heart, it’s not a vacation, or an excuse to not grow up. I bury it in humor since the age of Chivalry never really was, and it’s not tolerated in a modern world. Some people can attack the problems of the world head on, but I always preferred to enter with a flourish, question everything, then bow out with a laugh. Don Quixote buried in the magic of the Bard. I wonder what effect it really has, who I really help. I just have to hope it’s enough to change the world, even if only a little. I always remember the saying by the Buddha, that where an evil man walks he casts darkness across the world, and where a good man walks he brings light with him.
That will always be the question, is it enough? Can it ever be enough for me to fight the way I do, to try and shift things without being in the spotlight, to affect the people around me without making it obvious what my true motives are?
I think that is my real problem. No effort is ever enough. There is always more I could have done. But, each time a knight falls low he rises again, and woe be to the wicked.