La peur.
Peur de mourir jeune.
Peur de mourir vieux.
Peur de mourir seul.
Peur de mourir pauvre.
Peur de vivre pauvre.
Peur de vivre seul.
Peur d'être jugé.
Peur de pas vivre pour de vrai.
Peur du futur.
Peur du passé.
Peur du présent.
Peur de perdre ses amis.
Peur de perdre ses rêves de vue.
Peur de la routine.
Peur du changement.
Peur des autres.
Peur des différences.
Avant, c'était les religions qui faisaient peur, pour nous garder en place. Je crois honnêtement que les créateurs de ses mythes et de ses fables avaient les meilleures intentions en tête... Après tout, il fallait bien controller la population et leur donner une raison d'être bonne.
Malheureusement, ce n'est pas tout le monde qui est bon dans le seul but d'être bon.
Alors pourquoi ne pas donner une raison à ces égoïstes, ces obsessifs, une raison d'être bon?
Une promesse. Un paradis. Allez, donnez au prochain car une fois votre vie terminée, ça vaudra la peine.
Mais si vous ne le faites pas, vous souffrerez pour l'éternité.
Tabarnak! C'est lourd.
Ensuite, les médias. En plus des sermonts d'église, les journaux, la radio, la télévision.
Faire peur à la population pour qu'elle reste bien ancrée.
Va travailler et surtout revient vite vite chez toi t'enfermer à clef, car ce monde est si dangereux.
Mais quand il pleut, tu devrais aller te gâter au centre d'achats. Tu le mérites, avec ta conduite exemplaire! Et puis, les voyoux, ça sort pas quand y mouille.
La peur de l'inconnu. La plus facile. Tout le monde en souffre. On a peur du noir, on a peur des étrangers, des autres cultures. C'est naturel on dirait.
N'apprenez pas une deuxième langue, surtout. Sinon vous allez vous promener dans le monde et découvrir d'autre cultures et ce qu'on vous a montré à la télévision, dans les films et les livres d'écoles ce serait que de l'argent gaspillé car vous réaliseriez qu'on vous a menti.
Je ne crois pas que ce gouvernement a notre meilleur destin en vue. Je ne crois pas la droite, je ne crois pas la gauche. Tout le monde a un agenda.
Par exemple, le miens: donner une petite poussée dans le dos à tout ce monde que je connais qui a l'air si misérable à l'école, au travail, sur leur sofa. Ce blog a commencé pour me pousser moi-même dans le dos et si une seule personne a finalement eu le courage de faire ce qu'elle a toujours eu envie de faire, alors je crois que c'est réussit.
L'argent, ce boulet.
C'est le meilleur outil. Esclavage du dernier siècle.
"Crisse que t'es chanceux de pouvoir décalisser quand tu veux!", je l'ai entendu souvent dans la dernière année.
J'aimerais spécifier que je ne me pense pas supérieur ou plus intelligent à cause de ma façon de penser. Si avoir une famille est ce qui te rendrait le plus heureux alors bien sur, vas-y à la vitesse maximale. Le but dans la vie, c'est d'être heureux.
On pourrait aussi dire que j'ai simplement peur d'avoir des responsabilités. Moi je pense plus que ça découle de la simplicité volontaire.
Je ne suis pas "chanceux". Cette vie est une accumulation de choix, d'obstination, et de se boucher les oreilles par entêtement.
J'ai jamais vraiment eu envi d'avoir de carrière. Je me tanne souvent de ma job très rapidement. Aucun engagement égal je peux démissionner quand je veux. Par contre, cette sécurité d'un gagne-pain régulier s'évapore du même coup.
J'ai jamais cru en l'âme soeur. De toute manière, je vire trop facilement jaloux et possessif quand je tombe en amour. Cet automne ca va faire 4 ans que je vais être célibataire et ca ne me dérange pas du tout. Oui, des fois je me sens seul, mais mon sentiment d'indépendance l'emporte.
J'ai pas d'auto, pas de maison. "C'est un bon investissement" qu'on me dit, mais ce semble être la cause #1 qui retient les gens à leur point d'origine. "Es-tu malade, j'ai bin trop d'affaires à payer! J'ai des paiements moi crisse" qu'on me lance, comme si ils essayaient de se prouver ou de m'impressionner.
Depuis quelques années que je pense mettre sur papier mes pensées de tout les jours, ma façon de penser face au monde, à mes principes.
Je n'ai pas de religion. J'en ai pas besoin. J'ai un bon coeur et je le sais, j'ai pas besoin qu'on me dise comment faire pour être bon. Mais après mon petit voyage en asie, le boudhisme a clairement fait son influence sur moi.
Tempter d'aimer personne en particulier, mais tout le monde en même temps.
Tempter de trouver un objet, y mettre un effort pour l'obtenir, et ensuite le donner.
Se débarasser du besoin matériel, du sentiment d'appartenance.
Je suis pas pauvre, ni riche. Je ne suis pas québécois, ni canadien. je ne suis pas de gauche, de droite.
On est que la personne qu'on veut être.
je sais pas où ça va m'apporter. Ça risque d'être dur, je vais peut-être perdre des amis en chemin, du respect, du comfort et de la sécurité.
Mais en ce moment, cette cage dorée qu'on nous a batît, cette frontière pour garder les autres en dehors, j'ai plus l'impression qu'elle me garde en dedans.
Un jour je vais sauter sur un train, disparaitre au bout du chemin.
Friday 28 June 2013
Monday 24 June 2013
Don Det Thoughts
Hello folks!
I was supposed to work today. It's sunny, it's windy, it would have been perfect, except for my stomach that feels like it just shotgunned 6 energy drinks.
In truth I just had an espresso and already my body has expressed itself twice on that regard.
These following notes were scribbled down when I came back from the scooter trip I did with the two nice Argentinas. Another hard good-bye.
Sans plus tarder:
Back to "Work"
After a few days off Don Det for a much-too-quick Bolivan Plateau motorbike loop I am back at One More Bar.
I will spare you the details but the cook quit while I was gone, taking with him his only possession: his hammock.
The 13-year old girl named Ban who had been helping out has picked up the slack and it really shows how the kids really are mature here, and how quicker they become it. At 13 I couldn't be bothered to cut the grass for 5$ and when I did, I botched it.
That was the original text. However, the 2 individuals mentioned deserve to be fully fleshed-out.
Pan, who we called "Pee-Pan", was a gay, 40-something Lao man working in the tiny kitchen of One More Bar. When it was quiet he would be sleeping in his hammock or playing games on my iPod. Sometimes I'd find random pictures he took during the day, mostly of the kids walking by.
I was not that surprised to discover that he quit, however. His frustration had started to show a few days before. I mean, he's there working hard (when it was busy) every day while I, the new guy, was holding the bar and joking around with the people I met. One night he thought I was slacking and when customers left after their meal, he immediatly went and cleaned the table, slamming the empty beer bottles on the bar in front of me when he was done.
Message understood.
We always got along though, even if we couldn't communicate very much. I was always patient when giving him the orders (he couldn't read english but would re-write my instructions in immaculate Laos and then take an extra second to make me practice pronouncing the words. Basil = Pakapow. Pah-kapow") and always invited him for drinks, to which he would always say no and rub his flat stomach.
The day I decided to leave the island for a few days was the same day Ken, Matt and Arron all left for a visa-run that got extended into a week-long drinking fest, Ken visiting his relatives that lived in the north of the country.
When Pan saw me with my bag, leaving, he just ran up to me and said "Pakse?" which is the name of the next "big" town over, north of Nagasan. I said yeah, motorbike, Pakse, Paksong, 3 nights and mimed sleeping, then held 3 fingers up.
he nodded, put a hand through his hair, then got his cellphone and called Ken.
He was pi-issed. I could not really understand what he was saying except sometimes Pakse! Pakse!
I left with a mild feeling of guilt and only saw him 3-4 times after that, riding his bike around the island or sleeping in his hammock under a cousin's house.
Ban, the 13-year old. Always with a look on her face like she is going to poison me. She started liking me after a month and we started playing rock-paper-scissors when it was quiet. She tried teaching me to count but I never memorised the words.
From what I gathered, Ban was a kid going to school on the island when the family decided that it was time for her to learn to be a woman and a good wife. Off she went to Ken's family to work in the kitchens and basically become their servant, learning with Yaun, Ken's wife.
I could always eat for free at One More Bar, and they never let me cook, so if I wanted to eat during the day they would yell Ban's name until she'd show up, give me a look of hate and cook me some fried rice. I only did it twice however, when I realised that. I felt bad about ruining her play-time.
I'd go walk around and eat at another restaurant even if that meant digging into my precious and dwindling remaining budget.
I met a lot of people that way however, so I guess it all evens out!
But yeah. In retrospect: Laos kids are hardcore.
I was supposed to work today. It's sunny, it's windy, it would have been perfect, except for my stomach that feels like it just shotgunned 6 energy drinks.
In truth I just had an espresso and already my body has expressed itself twice on that regard.
These following notes were scribbled down when I came back from the scooter trip I did with the two nice Argentinas. Another hard good-bye.
Sans plus tarder:
Back to "Work"
After a few days off Don Det for a much-too-quick Bolivan Plateau motorbike loop I am back at One More Bar.
I will spare you the details but the cook quit while I was gone, taking with him his only possession: his hammock.
The 13-year old girl named Ban who had been helping out has picked up the slack and it really shows how the kids really are mature here, and how quicker they become it. At 13 I couldn't be bothered to cut the grass for 5$ and when I did, I botched it.
That was the original text. However, the 2 individuals mentioned deserve to be fully fleshed-out.
Pan, who we called "Pee-Pan", was a gay, 40-something Lao man working in the tiny kitchen of One More Bar. When it was quiet he would be sleeping in his hammock or playing games on my iPod. Sometimes I'd find random pictures he took during the day, mostly of the kids walking by.
I was not that surprised to discover that he quit, however. His frustration had started to show a few days before. I mean, he's there working hard (when it was busy) every day while I, the new guy, was holding the bar and joking around with the people I met. One night he thought I was slacking and when customers left after their meal, he immediatly went and cleaned the table, slamming the empty beer bottles on the bar in front of me when he was done.
Message understood.
We always got along though, even if we couldn't communicate very much. I was always patient when giving him the orders (he couldn't read english but would re-write my instructions in immaculate Laos and then take an extra second to make me practice pronouncing the words. Basil = Pakapow. Pah-kapow") and always invited him for drinks, to which he would always say no and rub his flat stomach.
The day I decided to leave the island for a few days was the same day Ken, Matt and Arron all left for a visa-run that got extended into a week-long drinking fest, Ken visiting his relatives that lived in the north of the country.
When Pan saw me with my bag, leaving, he just ran up to me and said "Pakse?" which is the name of the next "big" town over, north of Nagasan. I said yeah, motorbike, Pakse, Paksong, 3 nights and mimed sleeping, then held 3 fingers up.
he nodded, put a hand through his hair, then got his cellphone and called Ken.
He was pi-issed. I could not really understand what he was saying except sometimes Pakse! Pakse!
I left with a mild feeling of guilt and only saw him 3-4 times after that, riding his bike around the island or sleeping in his hammock under a cousin's house.
Ban, the 13-year old. Always with a look on her face like she is going to poison me. She started liking me after a month and we started playing rock-paper-scissors when it was quiet. She tried teaching me to count but I never memorised the words.
From what I gathered, Ban was a kid going to school on the island when the family decided that it was time for her to learn to be a woman and a good wife. Off she went to Ken's family to work in the kitchens and basically become their servant, learning with Yaun, Ken's wife.
I could always eat for free at One More Bar, and they never let me cook, so if I wanted to eat during the day they would yell Ban's name until she'd show up, give me a look of hate and cook me some fried rice. I only did it twice however, when I realised that. I felt bad about ruining her play-time.
I'd go walk around and eat at another restaurant even if that meant digging into my precious and dwindling remaining budget.
I met a lot of people that way however, so I guess it all evens out!
But yeah. In retrospect: Laos kids are hardcore.
Wednesday 19 June 2013
Ma barbe, cette bête
Aujourd'hui, sur un coup de tête, je me suis rasé.
En fait, hier je l'avais raccourcie un peu... Un peu trop.
Depuis ce matin que je me regardais dans le mirroir du pick-up et j'étais tout débalancé.
La passion n'y était plus.
Alors je l'ai rasée.
Tuée.
Cette barbe que j'entretenais depuis le 5 novembre 2012, qui m'a suivi dans 4 pays de l'asie. Cette barbe qui a méritée d'inombrables commentaires d'humains des 2 sexes.
Cette barbe qui mangeait autant de beurre de pinottes que moi.
Cette barbe qui me donnait du caractère à la tonne. Un air de marin. Un air de pirate. Un air de gars, un vrai.
Cette barbe qui me démarquait de la masse.
Cette barbe, cette masse.
Mon père vient juste de me dire ''C'est comme si t'avais eu un déguisement''.
J'ai même pas gardé la moustache. S'aurait été une insulte.
Top moment de ma barbe:
Assis sur un ti banc en plastique devant mon auberge de jeunesse, à Bangkok, durant leur nouvel an. J'ai un fusil à eau (et une barbe) et j'arrose qui bon me semble dans leur face. Un couple dans la trentaine se tenant par la main, venant du moyen-orient, ceux que leur barbe fait partit de leur religion, passent devant moi. Je ne les arrose pas, ils étaient bien habillés. L'homme me regarde en passant, je lui sourit. Après 2 mètres, il s'arrête, comme si soudainement il était inspiré. Il se tourne et me pointe en disant à sa femme: "Mielleuse (Honey), regarde, c'est une barbe comme ça que je veux!" Il s'approche de moi pour mieux la regarder. On jase barbe. Une moto s'arrête derrière lui. Un conducteur adulte, 2 enfants en arrière de lui, armés de fusils à eau. Le devoir m'appelle.
Je l'aimais, ma pilosité faciale. Secrètement je l'appellais ma barbe d'écrivain. Entre 2 lignes je la flattais d'un air penseur.
J'ai des sueurs froides en écrivant ce texte. C'est plus dur. Pour vrai.
Un jour tu vas revenir, je le sais, je le sens.
En fait, hier je l'avais raccourcie un peu... Un peu trop.
Depuis ce matin que je me regardais dans le mirroir du pick-up et j'étais tout débalancé.
La passion n'y était plus.
Alors je l'ai rasée.
Tuée.
Cette barbe que j'entretenais depuis le 5 novembre 2012, qui m'a suivi dans 4 pays de l'asie. Cette barbe qui a méritée d'inombrables commentaires d'humains des 2 sexes.
Cette barbe qui mangeait autant de beurre de pinottes que moi.
Cette barbe qui me donnait du caractère à la tonne. Un air de marin. Un air de pirate. Un air de gars, un vrai.
Cette barbe qui me démarquait de la masse.
Cette barbe, cette masse.
Mon père vient juste de me dire ''C'est comme si t'avais eu un déguisement''.
J'ai même pas gardé la moustache. S'aurait été une insulte.
Top moment de ma barbe:
Assis sur un ti banc en plastique devant mon auberge de jeunesse, à Bangkok, durant leur nouvel an. J'ai un fusil à eau (et une barbe) et j'arrose qui bon me semble dans leur face. Un couple dans la trentaine se tenant par la main, venant du moyen-orient, ceux que leur barbe fait partit de leur religion, passent devant moi. Je ne les arrose pas, ils étaient bien habillés. L'homme me regarde en passant, je lui sourit. Après 2 mètres, il s'arrête, comme si soudainement il était inspiré. Il se tourne et me pointe en disant à sa femme: "Mielleuse (Honey), regarde, c'est une barbe comme ça que je veux!" Il s'approche de moi pour mieux la regarder. On jase barbe. Une moto s'arrête derrière lui. Un conducteur adulte, 2 enfants en arrière de lui, armés de fusils à eau. Le devoir m'appelle.
Je l'aimais, ma pilosité faciale. Secrètement je l'appellais ma barbe d'écrivain. Entre 2 lignes je la flattais d'un air penseur.
J'ai des sueurs froides en écrivant ce texte. C'est plus dur. Pour vrai.
Un jour tu vas revenir, je le sais, je le sens.
Le jour en question. C'est de la farine, pervers!
Merci Mélanie de corriger mes fautes ;)
Thursday 13 June 2013
More Don Det Pondering
Hellooooo.
Landscaping has really been kicking my ass.
Also, when it rains, I don't want to trek to Twigs, the little coffee place where I write most of my stuff, so the blog gets updated less often.
I'm doing an effort (really just killing time while Skyrim downloads) to have at least one update this week.
This last entry was written after 2 awesome weeks with an awesome girl and my moods were not very bright. Saying good-bye is not my thing.
Back to Atheists
The new energy displayed by atheists online has really become hypocritical. You spend so much time and effort to debate something you deny the existence of, to convince a believer that his faith his foolish... you become a fucking missionary of your non-faith.
You're doing what you blame them for: impose your beliefs onto someone else's.
By giving so much attention to the inexistence of God, you make him real.
You are just like the religious zealots that you claim to hate.
You don't believe in God?
Just don't talk about it, then.
Landscaping has really been kicking my ass.
Also, when it rains, I don't want to trek to Twigs, the little coffee place where I write most of my stuff, so the blog gets updated less often.
I'm doing an effort (really just killing time while Skyrim downloads) to have at least one update this week.
This last entry was written after 2 awesome weeks with an awesome girl and my moods were not very bright. Saying good-bye is not my thing.
Back to Atheists
The new energy displayed by atheists online has really become hypocritical. You spend so much time and effort to debate something you deny the existence of, to convince a believer that his faith his foolish... you become a fucking missionary of your non-faith.
You're doing what you blame them for: impose your beliefs onto someone else's.
By giving so much attention to the inexistence of God, you make him real.
You are just like the religious zealots that you claim to hate.
You don't believe in God?
Just don't talk about it, then.
Sunday 9 June 2013
Thinking on paper
Oh boy. Here’s a pretty personal text. I didn’t want to put
it in at first but I think it’s those that really count. I’m letting off steam.
I’m calibrating my own moral compass as I said when I first started
writing this blog 9 months ago.
A little background story for these following lines: I was still on
Don Det, on my last month. I was starting to think about the fact that my money
was running out, my health was not doing so good, I was starting to miss home.
I had been hanging out with this woman for the last 2 weeks and we both had an
amazing time and I was starting to think again about relationships – something
I mentally blocked for the last 3 years.
Due to a difference in cultures we had 2 pretty big
arguments in the last few days we were together and it really pissed me off. I
mean, if I can’t even stand sharing my time/life with someone else for such a
short amount of time – with such little constraints as we normally have – what
chance do I have to settle down with someone permanently back home?
Not that it keeps me up at night, but I already know I would
be lonely if I ended up with no girl by my side, no children running around, no
family later in my life.
So. Here goes a text I wrote when I was angry at said woman,
trying to cool down (both emotionally and physically) under the shade of a tin
roof in Laos. It starts rough but you almost see my mind fighting itself,
trying to fight the negativism with bullet-proof positivity.
At one point I’m literally talking to myself.
What’s the fucking point?
What is the point of being nice to everyone, let alone just
one person?
You try your best to make that one woman feel special, to
make her see how unique she is to you.
You can spend minutes, days, years doing this but eventually
a collection of events will make you two hate each other. To me, it seems
inevitable.
I don’t believe in soul mates or life-long love so why do I
even bother with relationships? I could just be fucking around. Seems simpler.
Maybe because when you share your life with someone it feels
like you are building something… “Look what we made together!”
And when everything is going smooth, you’re on a fucking
cloud.
So, I ask again, what’s the point of being nice if it all
comes crashing down anyways.
It comes down to that day-by-day mentality I guess. When I
wake up before her to bring her a fruit salad and a coconut shake it’s all
about the smile she gives me and the way her eyes look at me.
The rest of the world doesn’t matter.
I’ve had a few years of being not-so-nice. Not being an asshole,
just being less of a nice guy. It felt simpler.
When you’re doing favors for someone else or try to surprise
them with a gift or take that little two minutes to send her a compliment by
text, you’re using of your own time – your most prized possession – to make her
time better.
These are the foundations of your construct.
When something happens between the two of you and the whole
structure is shaking, it’s these foundations that save the day.
So, again, what’s the fucking point when you have “Everything
good has an end” mentality?
Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe I get off on making people happy.
It makes me happy to see you smile.
Or maybe there’s no point to it besides why not?
I’m as far as anyone can be from being religious –even
atheists get on my nerves lately – but “Do not do to others what you wish would
not be done to you” sounds like a good mentality. I want to take it farther
though and say “treat others how you wish you would be treated”. Pretty much
how I’ve been trying to live my life since as far as I can think back.
A little backtracking to the construct. As I re-read these
last lines, the best way that I could picture this said construct was a
sandcastle built by two people trying to withstand the waves. It is possible
but when high tide comes and goes and nothing is left…
Do you rebuild? Do you quit? Do you start over, maybe with a
different partner? Farther from the sea? Sure it’s easier – safer even – but it
lacks the excitement, danger, chance that you may lose it all.
If your castle will be smothered in a ruinous pile of mud in
a few hours, why build at all?
Because it’s fun.
And sometimes you have cool pictures afterwards.
Sunday 2 June 2013
Sandy and A Little Break
Don Det: The Lost Chronicles Double Header
Sandy
Sandy is a female dog the color of sand who is currently pregnant with what looks like 6 or 7 puppies. She's huge.
She smiles.
You call her name and she actually smiles. She lowers her ears horizontally and squints her eyes manga-style, and her tail wags so hard her whole body swings from side to side.
In the morning we get on our little boat to go to Nagasan (the mainland) where the market is. Sandy always willingly comes along. She hopes on the boat and sits at the front, sniffing the air.
Only, we don't take her back. She makes her own way to Don Det. Sometimes it takes a day, sometimes a few hours. Sometimes she's all happy, sometimes she's dead tired and covered in mud.
I really want to write a children's book about her adventures.
With dimensional travelling and left-wing propaganda.
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Sandy
Sandy is a female dog the color of sand who is currently pregnant with what looks like 6 or 7 puppies. She's huge.
She smiles.
You call her name and she actually smiles. She lowers her ears horizontally and squints her eyes manga-style, and her tail wags so hard her whole body swings from side to side.
In the morning we get on our little boat to go to Nagasan (the mainland) where the market is. Sandy always willingly comes along. She hopes on the boat and sits at the front, sniffing the air.
Only, we don't take her back. She makes her own way to Don Det. Sometimes it takes a day, sometimes a few hours. Sometimes she's all happy, sometimes she's dead tired and covered in mud.
I really want to write a children's book about her adventures.
With dimensional travelling and left-wing propaganda.
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Awesome Picture by Anthony Toussaint
A Little Break
I've been fortunate enough to meet two really cool Argentinas (Florencia and Melissa) while "working" at One More Bar and after 10 days of hangouts they invited me to join them on their Bolivan Plateau motorbike tour (a little area in southern Laos sprinkled with waterfalls. You rent a motorbike and do a loop of the villages in 2-3 days and it's awesome).
This required us to stay one night in Pakse, a little town north of my new lieu de residence, Don Det.
I'm telling you this detail because as I arrived there I had to cross a street during very very light traffic and I literally froze. There was one car driving very slowly on the street and I waited until it was completely gone before I stepped on the pavement.
It then occurred to me that I did not have to do watch for cars for a month and a half. In fact I can count on my hands the number of times I've seen a car in the last six weeks.
I was then assaulted by thoughts of me having a mental breakdown in the middle of downtown Montréal a week after I came back (for the record, it did not happen, but then again, I've avoided downtown so far).
The next day we reached Paksong and it was so cold, we had to stop and buy warmer clothes. Florencia was always speeding ahead on her little scooter so we lost her but me and Melissa thought we should stop for the night and wait for her to realise we were not following her any more.
We stopped at a little store installed in the front room of someone's house, what would pass as a thrift store back home. The owner was trying to sell me a girl's hoodie. I was outside trying it on outside when the group of 6 young Laos men drinking on the terasse next door stared laughing at me really hard. I started laughing too and went back inside when I realised it was not for my sex.
I instead bough an army jacket I found lying under a pile of pyjama pants. The dudes showed their approval for it by laughing again while shooting me the thumbs up and then invited me over for a glass of Beerlao. I drank a few down with them as Melissa was finishing her shopping. I pretended to leave but instead I went to get Melissa and bought a bottle of beer sneakily.
When I returned with a woman and a bottle of beer they all started laughing and cheering and suddenly we had 6 new friends.
Genuine laughter ensued despite the language barrier.
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