Thank you, from the bottom of my heart that my parents gave me.
Thank you, from the innermost part of my core and from my instincts that my teachers told me follow.
Thank you, brother, from my spine and skeleton and bones.
Thank you, sister, from my running legs that you showed me how to use.
Thank you, friend, from my hands and arms.
Thank you, from my breathing lungs.
Thank you, from my joints and many injuries, from my sensitive nerves, from my ears and my cloud eyes.
Thank you. So much.
Not certain if my memory of Phongsaly is real or fake.
Because the ends and starts of the conversations I observed in Moutern seemed similar enough that I think I might be misremembering the whole thing.
In my memory, discussions followed a schematic: a greeting and introduction (delivered in a particular fashion and with particular physical posturing), then the conversation proper (when the back-forth of the speakers’ exchange falls into a repetitive pattern where one person speaks while the other listens and performs reactive acknowledgement), and finally the winding down of the speaking (when sentences are short and staccato until one party chooses silence).
The beginnings and ends, with their apparently more defined behavioral rules, seemed to resemble each other because of those rules — likely because I couldn’t understand a single word being spoken.
Continue reading “Descriptions to Moutern”
It wasn’t too long ago that Vientiane laid down its silken fabrics along the Riverbank.
Later, folks would sell these and other wares under moon- and floodlight. Real and fake sandalwood prayer beads would be presented alongside the pa-biang/ຜ້າບ່ຽງ scarves, laid out from left to right, overlapping, like a textiled rainbow.
Continue reading “For Vientiane, history, and Moutern Village”