In testament to the amazing power of humanity to adapt, I have adapted to being here. My life is wildly different than it was a year ago, but at the same time it has become normal. It is normal to wash my clothes by hand and cook over fire. It is normal to not have cell phone service or internet. It is normal to eat taro and island cabbage and papaya. It is normal to wake up at 6 am and go to bed at 9 pm. It is normal to walk two or three or four miles a day. It is normal to live in a house of woven bamboo. It is normal to drink kava. It is normal to speak Bislama.
Now instead of looking at a group of five kids with four articles of clothes between them and thinking, “Those kids are nekkid!” Jason sees a picture of my cousins and says, “Those kids have too many clothes!” (One of the girls was wearing pants AND a skirt. Excessive I tell you!)
Or, I walk outside in the wee hours of the morning to find Alexandra laying in the hammock watching the ceiling. I ask her if she’s afraid the lizard will fall on her and she says, “No, I’m afraid the crab will fall on me.” I laughed and kept walking, never mind the crab living in my ceiling. He hasn’t fallen on me yet.
My life is different and yet I have nothing to report. I’m losing site of the things that used to strike me as bizarre and hilarious. I still get those moments, but they are fewer and further between. Don’t worry, I’ll keep posting. Jason has plenty of philosophical rants to go on.
|This, however, has not yet become normal. It’s still amazing.|