Days here often feel like months; hours drag on as if being pulled through quick drying cement, struggling their way from one to the next. And yet the hand-made count down calender hanging from my wall kindly reminds me that I have already spent eight months in this country. The passing of time is a strange thing - in the presences of living through its passing it crawls, freezes completely, skips ahead, and then again falls behind, but at the end of a week, or month it is hard to believe all of those hours marked only by the turning of another page have actually ceased to exist and are resting in the dust of the past. More than half of a year of my life is now done and gone; the first part of it was spent in a frenzy of meeting people, getting settled, learning the language, training sessions, living with a Thai family, becoming an actual volunteer (not just a mere trainee), and moving to site - at which point time started to slow down and my life was blurred by tired eyes from too much reading and ringing ears from the constant clamour of Thai students. And somewhere in the midst of all of this changing, learning, struggling, growing, and searching I realized that it had been eight months since I last saw Alberto - the only person with whom I have been in constant contact every single day of the last five years of my life.The first four months of my service were marked by daily phone calls from his familiar voice, connecting this new world I was striving to make my own to the one I temporarily left behind. Anyone who knows Alberto knows that he is gifted, maybe not always motivated or timely, but truly talented; when he decides he is going to make something a part of his life he does so with a determination and skill few ever have the opportunity to possess. So it was with this same zest that he joined the Marines. We were in high school, in Mrs. McElroy's U.S. history class to be exact, when we met and from that day forward he has always talked about being a Marine. So it came as something less than a surprise when he once again pulled the dream from the closet, brushed off the dust bunnies, and made it happen.
Months four through seven of my service here lacked his sarcasm, his laughter, his regular inquiries into the experience I am living each day. During his three months at boot camp I wrote him a letter every single day and received one in return on a weekly basis. It never ceased to amaze and frustrate me how slowly things were delivered from one location to the next; it sometimes took more than three weeks for letters to get from here to there or from there to here and yet they continued to get me through my weeks spent in his complete absence. Of course through it all he was doing what he does best, he was taking charge and making a name for himself. Standing out amongst the rest of his platoon as a leader and hard working recruit he quickly became a squad leader and was the only recruit to maintain the position for the entire duration of boot camp. Before graduating he was meritoriously promoted to Private First Class (I have no idea what that means, but it's a good thing), and finished his time there far ahead of his peers. It was to be expected that he would take this challenge and conquer it, but it doesn't diminish the accomplishment or how proud of him it makes me feel.
Right before he left for boot camp he decided that as soon as he was finished he was going to come and visit me. Planning a trip that consists of a minimum of two lay-overs, 20 hours in a plane, and a pick up at an unknown airport is something of a struggle when attempted through letters that are, on an extremely great week, two weeks delayed - but somehow we made it happen. Don't get me wrong it wasn't without set-backs - like take for example the fact that he missed his initial flight here and had to wait for the next available one on stand by. That's right, he got here a whole day later than expected, but that was OK because I went into Bangkok a couple of days early only to find out that my credit card had been flagged and put on a restrictive hold, leaving me penniless and in a panic, no need to worry, however, because I had plenty of extra time to get it all worked out with the delays in our plans. When he finally got here his return flight was for the very next day, which was just simply not going to do, so we had to set about righting that wrong and once that was taken care of we were in perfect form to set out and see the sights.
It's funny how quickly one's surroundings become mundane, the norm, and the expected. I never stop complaining about the heat, but it is also something I have just come to expect; I forget that the people here move unnaturally slow regardless of venue, circumstance, or situation; it is no longer a strange sight to me to walk past unknown species of meat on a grill; the language which is tonal, choppy, and loud seems natural and to a certain degree is understood; and dealing with shystey cab drivers doesn't at all phase me anymore. Alberto, however, was mesmerized by all the foreign and unique attributes of this land in which he suddenly found himself in the middle, and for the short time he was here I was brought back to the novelty of it all and found myself enjoying the things I realized I stopped appreciating.
We spent three days walking. We walked all over the city, through markets, up and down little streets and allies. We wound our way through the stalls of Thai vendors at the local mall and investigated every single stop on the Sky Train routes. I saw more of the city in three days with Alberto than I have in my combined ten visits since living here. But walking wasn't all we did, in fact, it paled in comparison to the real reason for this reunion . . . we ate!
I went to the airport and retrieved my precious cargo and after a quick drop off of luggage and shower we hit the streets. Thailand is full of vendors selling such a wide assortment of foods it is hard to even begin explaining the things one will see and find on any given street at all hours of day or night. Less than an hour after his arrival Alberto had already consumed a chicken shawarma wrap, an assortment of bugs, a kabob, drank a coconut, shared a mango and sticky rice with me, ordered a strawberry hooka, gulped down a Pakistani custard, and surprisingly passed on some yogurt drink that tasted more like salt than anything else. Exhausted and full we called it a night. Only to wake up the next morning and have freshly made juice, pastries, duck, and coconut custard for breakfast. It went on like this the entire time he was here. There wasn't a single vendor we passed that he didn't want to stop and investigate and usually we ended up with a bag full of something warm and delicious. He ate fish, an assortment of fruits native to this area of the world, home-made ice cream every time a vendor passed us by, Thai tea whenever we saw it, and SomTam (traditional spicy papaya salad). And these are just a few of the Thai meals, snack, drinks, desserts, and adventures we indulged in. We found ourselves at a middle eastern restaurant at one point, where we had what was deemed the best hummus of his life, a watermelon slushy (made from fresh watermelon, of course), and about thirteen different plates full of savory food. I woke up every day bloated from the night before and went to bed feeling a little more round than I previously remembered.
I just read a book called "Laughing Without an Accent" and in it the author mentioned a belief held by the Japanese; it said that in Japan they believe that for every new food a person tries they add seven days to their life. If this is the case then Alberto is well on his way to becoming an immortal. I have never met a person in all of my life, and find it hard to believe I ever will, that enjoys a culinary adventure quite as much as he does. Every new opportunity is like a window into is soul and while some souls might be fed by things like love, trust, humor, passion, and friendship, Alberto's is simply fed by food.
That is not to say that is wasn't wonderful having him here . . . it was. Being near him again, hearing all of his tales of military life, seeing him smile, feeling him laugh, having my hand held, and my forehead kissed were all things that I missed more than I would ever allow myself to fully realize (I'd be on the next plane home if that were the case). He is a Marine now, but he is also still the Alberto I fell in love with and who will always own my heart . . . and I guess my stomach. It is a blessed life when you get to spend it with someone who supports all your dreams, feels natural by your side, and loves you on your good days as much as on your bad. And for my part, I don't feel insecure or hurt when he follows "I love you" with "now let's eat," because I know what it takes to keep his hungry being going.
