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The Escape – Part XI – Every individual’s meaning in life is brought about by that person’s choices of employ, to whom and where they give their time, and the relationships they enable in their lives.

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Indeed.  After mere survival of this life, Daniel’s mother in a fatalistic fit - “Now or never.  He’ll leave home before I know it and our years will have been overshadowed by difficult memories” - throws her son and self into their FIRST overseas holiday/first holiday in YEARS – since relocating from Perth (west) to Melbourne (east) Australia for wont of a life over mere endurance.  Previous pieces of this series can be found here…. or skip directly to this chapter far below:.

Part I I had a Filipino stepmother when I was 13.  She came out of a magazine, as far as I could tell, seeing Dad show his mates the rows of black and white photographs and pointing to her, saying she was a nurse.  Having a profession, she would make Dad’s life easier (financially).

Part II - I had completely overlooked the real possibility that one human being could feel deranged achievement, purpose in obliterating Daniel and my lives, our potential for life; and the baby and grandparents two aisles up from us, and the couples and individuals row upon row.“ 

Part III -  I consider that people are mistaken, they who abandon animals/disregard the potential and life force of children/tread upon coworkers to get to the illusive “top”, that they are doing “well” in life, having brought whatever outcome their tunnelled vision sought.  Such people (to my view) are trading their soul bit by bit for a win that is a hologram of the substance of true living.

Part IV Suddenly, the Qantas attendant’s question at 6 o’clock that morning, ’Did you pack this luggage yourself?’ – and my nervous ‘Yes’, boomed to the foreground of my mind.“ 

Part V -  The rider, a Thai man, held the handlebar with his right hand and his child, about aged two, in his left.  The child looked dreamily over Dad’s shoulder, safe in Dad’s strong arm.  It was beautiful.  I loved this man’s freedom to exist this way.

Part VI -  Workers chatted amongst themselves in Thai, laughed at happenings in the street, darted away to visit another stall, return with spicy skewered meat for the others, or soup in a small plastic bag (the same way you carry a goldfish! – no styrofoam cup and lid there, to be tossed aside after use, clogging waterways).  The people remained vibrant and cheerful by their very surrounds, I realized.  It was so alive, prickling with activity, culture, true living.

Part VII - “‘Sorry, I have no money,’ I’d be saying. ‘Yeah, right,’ they’d be thinking.

Part VIII - We both contemplated how for survival, you realise what you are made of.

Part IX   **a video*   

Part X - The brogue was largely Russian, and the red hot blood resident in my female being flushed enough that I had to look away from my son…  Testosterone imbued the vehicle with hints of culture-rich fare hotter than the most raw of curries.

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ESCAPE TO LAMAI, Koh Samui – Part XI

A drink in my hand not alcohol, as I didn’t want to strain my under-slept, long travelled system any further (and didn’t want to present at my first muay thai session bleary eyed and with a hangover on Monday), I took to various levels of the yacht.  

I mostly watched as people interacted with the tattooed Russian DJ mixing beats, as people spontaneously broke out dancing, laughed, joked in various languages – Russian largely, French, and some gorgeous cheeky English accents – and partied all around.  I deliberately separated from Daniel so he wouldn’t feel he had to take care of me, and so he could gravitate toward his kind of people and I would find whatever I might find. 

Somewhere along the way observing from the peripheral, I began to reflect deeply how I was not in fact living in my suburb there in Melbourne, Australia.  It’s not that I wasn’t partying enough, but I was not LIVING.  Living is being free, true, real.  Quoted from The James Diary by Noeleen Ginnane, available Amazon

“ I lusted for the guitarist on stage as Des and me spoke about our daily events, the collection of which are then thought to be ‘our lives’.

            I told Des that ACE had given me film work this Friday, so I am again faced with finding a swap for the shift I’m rostered on, or being sick. Des said ACE don’t give me work equal to my talents and I shouldn’t bother making myself available for them. I argued that if I began saying no to work they’d cease to consider me.  He said “so what” – what they give me is not worth having.

            As we sat on the floor by the fire near the band, I told Des I thought the music was all right, but especially liked the young blond guitarist who seemed to really feel what he was playing. I could see the boy’s sweat from where we sat, I could smell the boy’s sweat.  And I wanted his sweat to drip on me.

            I told Des that while the guitarist was doing a powerful solo, I imagined giving him a head job. I could imagine the guitarist on his back in the privacy of his room and I’d do my stuff and he would have to keep playing so I could hear what I was doing to him.  He wouldn’t be allowed to stop and indulge – he would have to play and play and play through to climax so that through his music I could feel in vibration and twang of sound the shrieking, wild, hard tunes crescendoing. I imagined a splatter of notes at the end, and felt near drenched at the thought.

If you just held me, lying beside me – instead of the ‘phone and my books – I could close my eyes, and by the comfort of your beating heart, grow steadily stronger. But instead, and such is my life since I have left the marriage, I tuck the blankets in closer. And lying alone in my bed, my cat at my feet, no-one to love me or even to pretend to, for want of sex, I lie knowing that someone out there has got the love of James.

            My words: aberrations of thoughts and emotions, literary.  At a loss of what to do with my words, I file them away. Me in pieces, in a cardboard box.  Well, at least I have freed those pieces somewhat. 

Watching from the peripheral on the party yacht, I felt stuck in my head with fear of no money and stuck with dread that only 10 days away I would be returned to an air-conditioned office, uncreatively employed.  There was no meaning in my every day, and I knew with sorrow in my heart that it is a tragedy of the human condition for billions.

Sipping, moving slightly to the music, looking out to sea and then back to the revellers, I mused:  whereas I had always felt myself too dumb for university, and inferior to those so learned, I would brave it in my life now – and with abandon.  What was the cost, yet… and then there was my debt.  If I could be a part time student of writing, media and philosophy, I dreamed… or no – working as a writer, I would then have re-grasped what is living. 

I marvelled at the beauty, which is the freedom, of the revellers on the yacht.  

… ~ … ~ …

I wandered down to the lowest level of the yacht and at its stern (rear!), found five large unoccupied, lounging seats.  I decided upon the centre one and positioned myself, arms wide open and resting on the other seats, facing the wake of the yacht as we forged through the brilliantly fresh ocean.  In the most magnificent setting, I contemplated life, its meaning, and that every individual’s meaning in life is brought about by that person’s choices of employ, to whom and where they give their time, and the relationships they enable in their lives.

~ … ~ … ~

“Anyone here?” a French man asked, leaning down, entering my range of vision.  He was slender, had long dark hair.  Sunnies shaded his gaze.  And like everyone on the island, was so very casually dressed.

“No, you’re welcome” I said, bringing my arms down.  He joined me.  

We started with the usual – initial enquiry of how we got to be on a yacht off the island of Koh Samui, Thailand, this day.  He then progressed to enquiry of whether the windows of the house are open to let in the breeze and the blinds are up to let in the sunshine.  He then offered me a drink, and nature took its course.

Copyright Noeleen


Tagged: Culture, journey, Lamai Gym, life, muay thai, musings, philosophy, Thailand, Travel, Zidov

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