I arrived home two days ago from Southeast Asia. And I don’t want to talk about it.I mean, I do. If you just give me a second of your time, certain stories will come so fast that I can almost guarantee you’ll regret you ever asked. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it; it’s that I don’t exactly know how to say it.
A dear friend called yesterday to ask how my trip was and I don’t even know where to begin. “Life-changing” is the word that comes to mind, but I cringe at anything cliché and fear appearing dramatic. “The food was amazing. And I rode an elephant,” I add lamely.
But Curry Massaman, the snake charmer who put a cobra in his mouth, and the "Fantasy Island" one-mile-radius beach we stayed on one night is all I have the courage to talk about. It’s what everyone feels comfortable with, and frankly, that includes me.
But the truth is that everything I did as a tourist was periphery compared to what went on in my heart. Southeast Asians have a particular culture—full of respect, depth, and compassion. And plain and simple, I fell in love. Fell-over-smack-dab-flat-on-my-face in love.
As is their custom, daily I bowed to the people, and warmth spread through me as they bowed back in body and heart. Wai as Thais refer to it, sompeah in Cambodian. For Hindus, this greeting is referred to as namaste, literally translated from Sanskrit, “I bow to you.”
I recognize the divinity within you.
C.S. Lewis put it this way, "There are no ordinary people. You have never met a mere mortal . . . Next to the blessed sacrament itself your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses" (The Weight and the Glory).
As my brother Allen translated their stories and hearts, bowing felt natural, even necessary. I walked around the streets of Chiang Mai and Siem Reap with an expanded heart in an aching chest. I would never forget these people--even though I knew I would soon have to leave them.
The feel of our seventy-year-old tour guide’s leathery hand in mine is still fresh on my skin. Although very tired, he held my frightened hand up the entire crumbled staircase to the top of Angkor Wat. When my brother and others had initally begun the climb, he'd seated his bowed body on an anciently carved stone, visibly grateful for the rest. I immedietely sat down next to him, my fear of heights paralyzing my ability to follow. But he insisted I get this experience, and warmly grabbed my arm. And in the safety of his care we ascended together.
Allen will live over there for the rest of the summer. He's not yet had to say good-bye. As I instant messaged him yesterday, my cracked heart finally spilled.
"I don't know how to truly capture or talk about my trip, Allen. I find myself only able to mention certain details, but not the heart."
"I know, Em. They are such a special people and what you feel for them is so deep. What you learn from them and want to include in your life is hard to express in a simple rushed response. I am sorry."
His quick empathy for my vice-gripped heart makes the tears pour as I type my response.
"I'm crying right now because you put it so well and I just dont know what to do about it."
"Em you are the best," he types lovingly. "Your body and spirit and mind have been through huge things lately. And to tell you the truth, I don't know how to answer that. Ever since my mission, I feel like a part of me is Asian, but at times I don't know what to do with that in America.
"Can you see now why I started balling the night I saw Grandma after my mission and I couldn't sompeah her because she wouldn't understand what it meant? That is why I tried to sit cross-legged in my English classes to keep my calloused ankles. And that is why I still bend down whenever I walk in front of people, and try to still hand things back to people in respect, with two hands instead of one. Just trying to hang on to something beautiful."
My heart expands yet again as I compare my small sorrow to the grief Allen must have felt after living there for years. His many tears after coming home now penetrate me. But I know that what happened to him, to the both of us, transcends countries and languages. To love another person is to see the face of God. I'd barely caught a glimpse.
We wrap up our converstation. His final words are lighthearted but helpful: "Em, just eat some rice today and be kind and gentle to the people you see."
I'll keep pondering what to make of this all. For now, that sounds like good advice.
