Fire and rain.

Recently, it rained in Nongkhao. For two days, a cloud cover buildup of gray impressed a ceiling across the sky, and the familiar smells of earth and grass struck memories of scent. An air of familiarity. I knew it was going to rain. I could smell it.

In the morning hours between 9 and 10, the water finally came. The cumulonimbus dam had been cracked, and in a rush of pressure the walls were breached as cool teardrops dove from sky to ground.

As most teachers were supervising student final exams, I sat by myself in the almost empty administrative office. With the sound of wind and a downpouring drizzle, I walked away from my chair to stand at the railing on an open air walkway. I felt the breeze and watched a dousing of trees and soil.

It must have rained for an hour with small and distant claps of thunder, until reaching a level of satisfaction, the clouds gave way to the sun, and humidity skillfully wielded saturation and discomfort.

These days, my mood, like infrequent surges of dark weather, seems to every so often bounce on the ups and downs of a minority in an exotic land. Culture shock is punctual.

I have copied some music from my iPod to the computer of my host family. This morning, I awoke to the sound of James Taylor, but while so far from home, a familiar song can invoke pensive thoughts and melancholy.

Yesterday marks two months since my departure, and while I know I am doing very well here, I certainly am beginning feel the pendular inconsistencies of emotion associated with infamiliarity. This is why daily I must use my mind to travel, and allow my heart a partitioned role in decision-making. Self-awareness is a fundamental necessity, and a routine mental diagnosis is commonplace in my day-to-day Nongkhao life.

I am in Thailand.

Solo travel carries with it both angels and demons; just as, I assume, group travel bears its own wandering inconsistencies of joy and sorrow. I love this lifestyle, despite the sometimes unsettling reality of my situation; (I am the only white person in this village, and in two weeks I have not shared more than 15 minutes of conversation with another caucasian).

I will keep pushing on though, through the heat and the rain.

For an update, the school term in Nongkhao has ended. I already miss the students, but my time with a good number of them is not yet complete. Beginning on Monday morning, I will be helping with an English camp for two weeks in which twenty to thirty students are expected to attend.

After this... who knows where I will go, or what I will do. I will wait for inspiration.