Part159, The last 4 months


Saturday, July 03, 2010,

About the last 4 months. Ever since I went
to Malaysia I knew I had picked up some bad luck. I could feel my luck had
changed. When I rolled Sarah’s suit case out of her parents flat and the wheel
broke I thought that it was a bad Oman. I have had a challenging time in Haikou
thus far. I have been more stressed than I ever had before. I have been over
worked, cheated; I have lost my temper more times than I can remember. I have
been shouted at, sworn at and I have lost my inspiration more times than I have
kept it.

 

As it all started badly in Beijing, so I
think it will all end badly and in a similar way in Haikou. I cannot see how
Catherine will let me leave without taking away my salary and any other thing
she has the power to control. We will just run away from the situation, like
the way we ran away from Bei jing.

 

My time here has been a trail and I have
become more who I have always wanted to be in these 4 months than I have in any
other period of my life. I am proud of myself. I am a changed man from being
here and none of it was how I planned or even what I would have thought
possible.

 

I am more confident, more self reliant,
more knowing of the small problems we have to face and even though there has
been more negative than positive I am happier now than I have ever been. Even
though my travels are unsure my legs are strong and my feet are itching to keep
going.

 

I feel like I have been sprinting threw a unknown
but much thought about jungle, wanting a direction but not really finding it, I
have been whipped by branches, scrapped by small thorns, my feet have trodden in
the mud and rocks and calluses have appeared, The sun has beaten me from above.
I was bitten by the odd snake and I stupidly licked a few poisoned toads with
the best of intentions. I am still in the jungle with a dubious direction but
my feet are coated in mud boots and my souls are hard, I have scarred and
become harder from the branches and thorns in my way, the leaves and foliage of
my surroundings have stuck to me so that I have green leafy armor. I am more resiliant
to snake bites and I don’t lick toads as often as I did before. I am not out of
the Jungle but I am running faster and it’s not just a green mass of things
which I am blindly fighting threw anymore. I am dodging vines and roots and
finding easier paths with more bananas and sun light. Slowly I am becoming the
monkey I have always wanted to be.

 

And on a flimsy connective tissue, a
wonderful poem which was always enchanted me. The funny thing is that I
remember this poem by heart a long time ago from a children’s book but only now
that I found it again I realized the version I learnt was much shorter and the
words where a bit different, this one seems to be the longer and proper
version.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fairies

by

William Allingham

 

 

  Up the
airy mountain

Down the rushy
glen,

We dare n’t go a-hunting,

For fear of little
men;

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all
together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl’s
feather.

Down along the rocky shore

Some make their
home,

They live on crispy pancakes

Of yellow
tide-foam;

Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake,

With frogs for their watch-dogs,

All night awake.

High on the hill-top

The old King sits;

He is now so old and gray

He’s nigh lost his
wits.

With a bridge of white mist

Columbkill he
crosses,

On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague
to Rosses;

Or going up with music,

On cold starry
nights,

To sup with the Queen,

Of the gay
Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget

For seven years
long;

When she came down again

Her friends were
all gone.

They took her lightly back

Between the night
and morrow;

They thought she was fast asleep,

But she was dead
with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the
lake,

On a bed of flag leaves,

Watching till she
wake.

By the craggy hill-side,

Through the mosses
bare,

They have planted thorn trees

For pleasure here
and there.

Is any man so daring

As dig them up in
spite?

He shall find the thornies set

In his bed at
night.

Up the airy mountain

Down the rushy
glen,

We dare n’t go a-hunting,

For fear of little
men;

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all
together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl’s
feather.

 

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