An afternoon in a temple with a bar girl

I am having a very humbling day here in Nha Trang, as I write these lines in a little notebook at a small temple on top of a hill overlooking the city. Tin and her cousins are taking me out for a meal and a prayer. I feel under dressed in my swimsuit (it's laundry day).

I met Tin last night while going home. She is a flyer girl / waitress in a bar in town. She handed me a flyer but I told her that I was going to bed. She asked me why, am I on a holiday after all? I told her I'm trying to get used to getting up early, because I am a teacher. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes getting bigger. "Can you help me? Lesson?" I answered "Sure, tomorrow, 10 am, I give you a lesson, you buy me a coffee". With a huge smile she shakes my hand and says, yes, thank you, see you tomorrow!

Today. Tin tells me she hopes to have a boyfriend either from Canada, Holland, Germany or Poland because men from these countries are always nice (Nha Trang is over-run by Russians, last night one man asked if he could buy her a beer and fuck her, she slapped him, he slapped her back and was kicked out of the bar). Vietnamese boyfriends drink everyday, she tells me, and hit their girlfriends when they're drunk, like it happened to her cousin who is with us. She is pretty, with a smoking body and delicate manners. I notice for the first time, what I mistook for a small birthmark under her right eye, is in fact a bruise concealed by make-up.

Tin is praying right now, on her knees, forehead resting on the back of her hands, on the floor. She is praying to a lady Buddha, perched on a lotus, on top of a globe, itself towering over a shrine and steps.

It is very quiet here, compared to the buzzing city centre. Little dogs are sleeping everywhere and cripples wait patiently for a hand out. An old woman with tiny legs, sitting on the ground, looks at me and says "Money" while holding in her hands small bills. I thank her and pretend to take the money, everyone laughs. I am left alone after that. A monk in brown robes, wearing glasses, is copying a text from a small book onto cardboard while serving people who want to buy water, fruit, incense. The smell of incense fills the air.

The small temple has no roof. It is built on top of a conic tower, you drive in circles around it to get to the top. There are small shrines at every cardinal points of the platform.

The monk is preparing for a ceremony, setting a pillow at the foot of the stairs. he also sets a small table and boxes of beer that appear very light, full of little holes.

He kneels on the pillow, in front of the statue where Tin was praying earlier, prepares his microphone, puts on his reading glasses.

A Lasapso, absolutely dirty, scratches himself on the shrine's steps, not too far away.

The monk rings a bell a few times and starts his prayer. Women kneel behind him for prayer.

At a certain point, he hits the bell 3 times and everyone bows to the ground, before he starts chanting.

Tin tells me she comes here to pray every day. I ask her what she prays for. As I thought, she is praying for a boyfriend, for a good man to come to her. She said she also prayed for me, that I will find work in Saigon and meet a beautiful woman.

Many people just arrived, probably from work, on their lunch break. The monk is still chanting.

Minutes later, a lot of the people who gave water bottles as offerings - set at the foot of the statue on a golden altar with rising golden dragons - are taking them back and drinking from them. I ask Tin why they take the water back. She takes her own water bottle and tells me "I tell the Buddha, I will drink this whole bottle of water that I gave you, to show you my devotion. When I finish it, please reward me with  a good man".

The monk now dips a big yellow flower in a bowl of water, delicately, to then bless whatever is in the boxes of beer in front of him.

Tin is next to me, speaking with her cousin. She is crying. When they are done, I ask her why she is crying. She is crying but she is strong, she tells me. She meets lots of men at the bar, but none are nice to her. She had a westerner boyfriend, but she left him when he started convincing her that it was okay for him to sleep with other women. She had a Vietnamese boyfriend as well, but he was treating her like property. Another Vietnamese man proposed to her, for she is always smiling and he wants a happy wife. He gave her 10 million Dongs so she could buy pretty clothes. In the end, she turned him down, because he was 50, the same age as her father.

The other bar girls tell her she is stupid, because she will not fuck men for money. An American offered 5 million Dongs for her "just to come to his hotel room and sleep in his bed, nothing else". She did not take the offer. Most bar girls make 2 million Dongs a month. She doesn't care about money, she wants love, from a good man.

As we talk, I miss the opening of the beer boxes. The monk let out the blessed birds within. When this was done, he came barefeet to sit at our ceramic table and speak with the girls. His eyes are surrounded by smiling lines, his eyes appear completely honest. He smiles a lot. I think he is giving them advice. He looks at me often and I think he is asking questions about me.

After that, everyone went for a nap, while I retreated to my hotel room to plan the next few days. The day after, I would take Tin to the Ba Ho waterfalls where we would play a little bit in the cascades, watch a group of Vietnamese people drink beer and play music, and clandestinely look at a couple in their forties, cuddling in a pool of water, kissing. This is not a scene you see often, as people are very reserved here.

That night, Tin tells me I am a very good man, because I did not ask her for boom boom and offered to give her lessons instead. She tells me that I should stay in Nha Trang, that she will cook for me every day. She asks if I want kids. Jokingly, I say, I want 10. She answers, I will give you 20. I will start with a baby boy.

I tell her, you don't know me. I've made a few girls sad in my life, she should not give herself to me so easily. I am going to Saigon to work, and I might never come back to Nha Trang.

"I wait for you. 10 years. You will be 40, I will be 33. Then I give you a baby boy, and I cook for you"

"Don't wait for me. Live your life."

"Okay. Thank you for being honest."

If you take the time to get to know people, if you give your time to them, you are often rewarded with smiles and good memories. My stay in Nha Trang was no exception. Sometimes though, you get to be hit in the face full-force by the reality of their lives.

Keep your head up, Tin. Good things will come to you.

More Don Det Reflections

It's a nice sunny Sunday here in the english-dominant upper-middle-class suburbs of Montréal and as one of my old co-workers would say every day for the whole season, it's hot as bawls.

I find it harder to feel comfortable in the summer than in the winter, mainly because in the coldest season you can always put more clothes on but during the warmest part of the year there's only so much you can take off.

Coincidently, today's entry is called:

Comfort

More and more I find myself sitting in the internet shop here, watching hockey game recaps of the Habs while my mind starts to drift to my comforts from home.

Tv.
Couch.
Bed.
Manageable room temperature.
Hot shower.
Food ready in minutes.
Music shows.
Friends.
Beer.
Diversity of said beer.

I'm reflecting on this in my hammock on the balcony of my bungalow which hangs over the Mekong. My living quarters consist of a second hammock for guests, a large bed with cheap mattress, pillows, a fan and a light, all contained within a bamboo square room. I also have a mosquito net that I don't use (it blocks too much of the precious wind created by the fan) and a window that I don't open (the street is made of sand so by the end of the day my stuff was covered with an inch of dust).

I could use a drawer.

I spent so much effort at home looking for simplicity. For some reason, it's hard on my continent. There's just too much available for every possible need.

Here you make do and I think it's great. The Laos people are also not used to having furniture or much of anything, really. Lately there has been a sort of economic boom and for the first time the locals have "big money". They build giant houses (compared to their hutts) but they don't have anything to put in. No extra money and as is mostly the case, the products are simply not available here.

A TV with satellite, a table, mattresses on the floor.

I was also on the internet to try and find work back home for the summer.

The fact that I've lived with nothing but the shit in my backpack should help me however, because no matter what job I get (fruit picking, marina work, landscaping) I'll have to live with very little in order to save good money to come back to Laos as fast as possible.

I can't wait.

I'm finally getting the life I've always dreamed about.

I just needed to get depressed first.

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.

Don Det - The Lost Chronicles

Wow... Feels like it was a lifetime ago for some reason... But it was not even 2 months ago that I was taking a small wooden boat packed full of backpackers, the heart full of melancholy, leaving my little paradise island towards Nagasan, where I would catch a ''VIP'' bus for about 20 hours, all the way to Bangkok, in company of Constantine, a German dude that was chilling with us at One More Bar.

Today I found my little notebook of scribbles from my stay on Don Det. As promised (if you read my stuff written in french), time to shed some light on my 3 months-stay in the 4000 islands region, province of Champasak.

The first notes were written after I read a few pages of a book written by a Buddhist monk, over one of many hungover breakfasts with a new acquaintance. It was her book, and I was digesting in a hammock conveniently set up between two tables right in the restaurant over-looking the Mekong river, a nice breeze helping us ignore the imposing hot temperature of the country. She was checking up on her messages using the Laos-speed Wi-Fi.

It made me want to write again. So, after about a month of absence, later that day I dug out a pen and a notebook from the pile of my limited possessions lying on the floor of my bamboo bungalow, and set out to write - with a Beerlao, music in my ears, sitting on the floor mats of One More Bar.

Here is the text, with some corrections and add-ons (When I handwrite, I become impatient since I'm too slow and I often skip words or whole sentences)

When you see these *** it means the end of the text from that day.


''Today is Sunday''

Not that different days of the week make a marginal difference in my daily life here on Don Det, but on Sundays I make poutine.

So, on Sundays I rent a bike and pedal over to King Kong Bar on one of the two roads following the river (sunrise side), where I order two liters of gravy that I will come pick up with Ken and his scooterbike before sunset. We put the gravy in a juice jug and I hop on the back of the seat, making sure not to spill any as Ken negotiates the tiny sand road back to One More Bar.

My fucking chain kept on coming undone. By the fourth time I was swearing. On the fifth, as I was putting it back on impatiently, muttering to myself. I hear ''Bo Pa Nyan''. I look up and see a Laos man missing an arm, smiling at me.

There really are worst things in life than a skipping bike chain.

I gave the man an apologetic smile, gave him the joined hands salute as I said ''Sabaïdee!'', and left.

I was still infuriated by the eleventh time the chain came undone. This, however, gave me cause to ponder. Why should I let this minimal complication unnerve me? After all, I still had both my arms. All of my limbs were present and intact, in fact.

I tried to find good things to retain from this experience and found one: it took me seconds now to put the chain back on. By the 13th time I was in all respect, an expert. By the 14th time I was a zen master.

On the 16th time it all came crashing down on me as I fought the temptation to throw the bike in the adjacent river. I looked for something positive again and found rejoice in anger instead. Motivated, I used the excess energy to pedal faster.

I can't remember if I was wearing my Yoda shirt.

Certain emotions are addictive.
Love.
Hate.
Anger.
Sadness.
Wonder.


***

Hahahaha! I was obviously influenced by that Buddhist book I read over breakfast that day.

The following page is covered with chaotic pen markings, the art of Baringa. (Read my previous post about having to take care of her randomly). I kept it because it helps me remember what my days were like. She was probably dumped on my lap and grabbed the pen instantly, started imitating me and drew on the notebook as I laughed.

Well my friends, this is all I will be writing today as well. I like to keep the posts short, because I tend to lose my train of thoughts (if you haven't noticed), I am lazy, and am working on something else as well.

Sabaïdee = Good day/Hi
Bo Pa Nyan = No worries (kinda)

My writing spot. From the glass of water I can deduce that it was probably in the last month as I was struggling to stay hydrated

Vie manquée

There's this guy at work - 40 years old, rocker type, faded dragon tattoo around his left arm - who's always pissed.

One day during a conversation with other co-workers, his name came up. I had to ask. "What's this dude's deal?". The answer I got was: "He messed up his life. Big house, car, pool, but he lives alone in there". Simple explanation. Yet, I started to ponder...

All the dudes at work, they're all the same. They all have a house, car, pool, girl. Is it really because he doesn't have a wife and kids that he messed up? Do they understand how quickly they could lose everything?

It was the first time I heard such a thing. "Manquer sa vie", not being succesful - at life!

When I try to think of something like that, I can only picture a homeless guy, or some old CEO in a tuxedo drinking by himself somewhere. Two very different visions, but in both of them the man is alone.

But really, it's all about your dreams and goals, amirite?

When I was a wee 14 years young, I used to think that if I never have dreams and goals, I will never be disapointed in my life. Right. Live for the moment, all that punk rock stuff.

14 years later, and I find I have accomplished nothing, because I have worked for nothing. Single, broke, renting my parents' condo. Messing up my life? I was starting to feel that way.

It's realising that I was drinking alone - not because I didn't have friends, but because they were busy doing their own shit - that kick-started this whole life-changing thing.

It's never too late. That's what I told myself when I turned single yet again, at 26. I learned to ice skate, I picked up a guitar, I tried new drugs, I'm going on a months-long trip in a land far away. It's that mentality that keeps me going. Never fucking give up. Never fucking surrender.

Maybe by regular, fit-in-the-mold standards I am not very succesful at life. But when they tell my tales at my funerals, they'll have enough shit to talk about to last them all night - and that's good with me.

I may be broke, but I consider myself rich. Memories, experiences, friends... I have had a lot of fun in life so far. It was starting to diminish, and so it's time to change. And I am welcoming that change with open arms. Feed me. Nurish me. Get me out of my fucking comfort bubble... Surprise me.

You may be wondering what I'm trying to get at. Me too hehehe. I think back to 2010, the year of the break-up. I may have had 30 sober days out of 356 that year. I had all kinds of problems. But I kept smiling, and a lot of people came up to me and flat-out said they found me inspiring. My couch welcomed half a dozen broken up dudes, guys that were sad, angry, lost... They all opened up to me (after a few drinks), and it was incredibly fulfilling to hear that heartfelt thank you bro when they were walking out of my door.

The last drink n think session has long passed now, and yes, I kinda miss it. This blog might just be a natural occurence, a survival reaction... evolution. My chance to help more people through the inter-webs.

I guess all I'm trying to say is that, if you find yourself starting to depress because you find your life lacking some things, let go of these unexisting things. Focus on what you have. Picture what you want - small goals at first, then build your way up, step by step.

We might meet on that staircase.

Make sure you hi-5 me.


Live for yourself.

Introduction obligatoire

1st post... Obligatory introduction? Time to talk about my motives and visions? Let's start with my surroundings... I'm sitting on a sidewalk bench, on Avenue Mont-Royal, in beautiful Montréal, my home town. It's getting cold outside, but for the first time in 10 years, my hair is longer than my beard (which is getting pretty scruffy in itself) and offers good insulation. Drinking Arizona Iced Tea and dicking around on my iPod...

In truth, this is the perfect time to start a blog. I used to have one - about gaming and comics - that I would update during working hours. This one will be different however. It's going to help me understand my own moral compass... A sort of personal journal open for discussions. Hey, maybe it'll entertain or inspire some peeps.

The crossroads which I am standing at, there's so many ways to go... Except back.

2 years ago, I broke up with "the big ex", the one everyone thought I was gonna have kids with. Ever since, it's been an emotional rollercoster. But you get used to these sensations. And so, I find myself becoming number and number, and only the highest of frustrations or the best of laughs (or help from drugs) gets to me.

Thus, my first step in that new life that I chose for myself, was to quit the customer service job that was killing me, find a more hands-on job for a few months, and purchase a one-way plane ticket.

I've never done anything like that. Always played it safe and boring, and drink all my money away to compensate. I still drink most of it away mind you, but this feeling of adventure, excitement, curiosity... I feel like a kid again. And it's starting to feel fuckin good.

I'm looking forward to speaking with internet weirdos. After all, I'm writing these words for you a much as for me. If not, I'd be writing in a book, and stashing it in a drawer somewhere. I tried Tumblr, but you can't leave comments. So, comment away.

Until my next evening walk interrupted by free Wi-Fi, have a good one.

Make bonds not bombs.

Étienne