Thoughts and Poetry on Scraps of Paper

While volunteering in Sri Lanka, the first two days left me a lot of time on my own with nothing to do, so I began to write on scraps of paper I found in my backpack and on the street. Eventually I'd like to scan and post them up on here but the writing is so small it would be illegible, so this is for my own records...

7/21 Day 1:
Plans fell through to take me into town so I spent a good 2-3 hours reading my Marquez book. Sitting outside drinking tea with my mom wrapping wood and her brother chopping it, I had already obtained the kind of "real" cultural experience I was looking for. Hot sleep fell upon me like a heavy blanket that night.

7/22 Day 2:
Herot is a wiry construction worker up the road with the best English in town an my new best friend. I see him 4 times per day as I walk to the hospital purged from the excitement of the new and embraced by the reality of the mundane.
-He talks to me about herbal medicine over coconut water.
-He takes me to his house. 50% of me thrilled, 50% of me ready to fend of a 50% chance of being mugged.
Later that night I ride on the back of a motorcycle down 1 foot wide paths in the monsoon downpour.

7/23 Day 3:
By the way things are run here, I have come to understand that most of the time here I must spend in waste- staring off into the distance of a very proximal wall or watching the doctor digitally examine lymph nodes, listen to breathing, and scribble prescriptions (all this if I am lucky!). I did, however, observe the doctor anesthetize a woman's toe before tearing off the nail and excise some tissue hindering proper nail growth.

7/23 Side entry:
There is no touch so pleasing as the familiar
No sound so sweet as the expected
I lay in my Singhalese bed calling Thailand my home...

7/23 Side entry:
I (needlessly?) fear the resentment of my presence from my 5'7'' 250+ lb host, Maey.
7/31 Add on:
Turns out it is nothing short of language barrier frustration and jealousy for my time.


7/24 Day 4:
Sticky nights, spicy dal with rice powder, hopeless thoughts of evading Herot, solitude in the evening. Doctor seems indifferent (dare I say aggravated?) by a young child's pain. I observe the largest Buddha in South Asia. My 2 companions purchase 2 snacks each and give both to me. I possess a Sri Lankan SIM card. 500 rupees to the ageless monk watching cricket in the temple. Itch and sting of countless mosquito bites. Exploring new writing! My first thoughts of real failure entertained, boiled and simmered, accepted?

7/25 Day 5:
4 cups of tea and 3.5 rotis all before lunch. Lots of learning and explanations before 11, then one hour with shirtless doctors smoking cigarettes, drinking tea, and reviewing records. Return home at 4 to find myself trapped by drunken Singhalese soldiers. Songs, dancing, vegetables, cigarettes, whiskey, whiskey, ballroom dancing with interlaced fingers with Maey. My own music brings on longing for a God-fearing woman for my own?

7/26 Day 6:
Realities of free medicine in a rural area. Scabies, epilepsy, the terrifying cervix! My first attempt to cannulate a vein. I fail but so does the doctor. Maey takes pains to show me a fish in the garden pot. Did he buy it? Herot gives me a monstrous green papaya. Circus dog!
7/31 Add on:
Turns out the fish are giant catfish in there!


7/27 Day 7:
Analogies of being milked or preyed upon by parasites faded much faster than they had manifested. Two requests to use the internet took me to a Dutch fort in Galle and a large statue of Buddha in Kosgoda. Talk of starting my own volunteer organization took shape for the first time. World's most annoying chicken this morning! I look forward to morning "rounds" quite surprisingly. How masked in uncertainty my future seems to be! An unfrequented box is your fate, dear note!!

7/28 Day 8:
More blood than I've ever seen and more exposure to others in pain. Why do I want to be a doctor? Why does it matter? A woman breathes her last breaths as the doctor struggles and fails to start an IV. No matter. A baby is born. I jump in a random car that takes me to the hospital. Counting pills. Singhalese words dance on the tip of my tongue and flee whether or not I pursue. A letter reveals some of my bitter thoughts. The idea of love. Memories fly by, nostalgia flows from where they pierce.

7/29 Day 9:
Chip! Chip! Get that cat out of here. Another papaya from Herot, far from ripe. 100 Rp for cigarettes or drugs, I don't care. A very satisfying "good job today" after taking blood pressures of all the women at the prenatal clinic. "It is better to die after eating" as they say here. The perplexing yet truly simple decision to take a 2 day journey for 26k Rp alone or just remain here doing my thing at the hospital. Boredom vs. danger vs. adventure vs. spending! Hopes of attempting another cannulation weigh heavily...

7/30 Day 10:
After breakfast I was already satisfied with my decision to stay. An average morning then tea with the minister of health. Drinking a king coconut with Herot. Later, joking about climbing a 15 meter palm tree, a boy scales it dropping down a plethora of the golden fruit. I drink and consume the tropical treat amidst the herbal garden. Beli fruit smoothie for 7:00pm snack. After 2 weeks I'm just starting to feel comfortable here. Why so anxious for solitude? So desperate to be "away"? In my own defense I am not needed nor do I need anyone Perhaps I'm drawn to the dramatics of it? I feel no guilt. What can possibly come from all these unique experiences? Who can understand how alone it makes me?

7/30 My first poem entitled: Worth a Shot-
Eyes wide open to an impenetrable darkness evokes the seduction of simplicity
Texture smoth, sound a clear ringing, unmistakable the sickly-sweet scent of nostalgia
A voice beckons, without reason, startlingly unprovoked, languageless
Novelty and profanity seem equitable opponents
Yet curiosity remains a clay jar riddled with the cruelest cracks

7/31 Day 11:
Once again the blood pressures of the entire maternity ward are my responsibility. Instruments: 1 stethoscope, 1 mercuric sphygmomanometer. A trip to the rocky beach to Maey's brother's donated house. More food than is comfortable to eat. Delicious. Handfuls of sugar in everything puts Thailand to shame. Explains Susy's diabetes. Herot's darkside revealed in a tense residential encounter. A dangerous man to the naive, a possible splinter to the experienced traveler. Playing with children never fails to make me happy. Another cup of buffalo curd?