A letter to my sister:

June 8, 2008

Dear Alexandra,

Why I stay, or why I have stayed so far, is not because I am afraid to become an actor as you suggested, but precisely because I am 100% sure there is nothing else I could do without hating my life - and simply because I am trying to work through all the issues I can here (as Swami Sivananda would say, “remove all defects”) before I risk letting my own personal cocktail of baggage ruin the only thing I’ve ever really wanted: my dream career.

The more time that passes, the clearer the image becomes of what I want my future life to look like. This is an unfortunate obsession, and one has a lot of time to think out there…for example, I have already chosen the toiletries in the guest bathroom of my dream apartment. But it is strange, however, to realize my career is the only thing I care about - more important to me than love or money, or even having a strong spiritual community around me…and I certainly have no desire for children of my own. It is stranger still to conclude this here, where no one has a career - where family is the only thing that matters. They can’t even begin to understand.

So while it is true that I hate it here most of the time (though much less with the dawning of the cold season and my ‘mastery’ of firemaking), I hate it no more than I hated the ashram, or Geneva, or England, or any place I’ve ever lived or any job I’ve ever had more than a few months. I am not sure why I am plagued with insatiable restlessness, why my boredom turns to resentment and then to rage so quickly - it often occurs to me that a possible reason is that all I’ve ever wanted is to be an actor in New York and all I’ve ever done is something else, but I suspect it is not that simple, that there is more going on...and I may as well stay in a place where I have 24 hours a day of free time to do several hours of Yoga a day, should I find the discipline (and I’m starting to), read trashy novels in my hammock, and rest in complete financial security. In no other environment I can think of can you delve into being a complete basketcase without it adversely affecting your or others’ quality of life. So - it might not be the most valiant of reasons, but the all-expenses paid sanitorium is a major reason why I’m still drinking coconuts.

I’m hoping to build some strength, purge some of the negativity through a diligent, sustained, consistent Yoga practice before I risk sabotaging the only thing I’ve ever really wanted (my career) by not getting myself together enough before it is too late. So this is mainly why I stay.

Perhaps there is no such thing as ‘too late’, but it’s true that in acting you can’t get away with things the way you can in other fields. Weakness, insecurity, fickleness, nervousness - these are why actors don’t get work, and people have long memories in the entertainment industry. Perhaps it is the same in many fields, but actors are constantly looking for new work so I guess the challenge is more pronounced.

But I was going to tell you about my day.

I woke up at 5, and as it is winter now it was still pitch black. I’ve been in a habit of lolling about till the sun comes up at 6 or even later. This is “bad” primarily for yogic reasons - a meditation before sunrise is exponentially more powerful than after. And, practically, if I get up at dawn to do my morning routine (pee, brush my teeth and use my neti pot) before Yoga, I will be attacked by mosquitoes, so more often than not I hide in my net until well after sunrise. By that time the roosters and children are louder than ever, I get painfully hungry, and start to feel guilty about doing ‘nothing’ for hours when my neighbours are breaking their backs chopping firewood or carrying coconuts.

So, you know, it’s really better for everyone if I get up while it’s still dark. I can always nap later.

I remember a lot of idle conversation about cultures that rise & fall with the sun like this one. It always amazes me that at 5:58 a.m. there will be not a peep in the village and by 6:02 it is light and the day is in full swing. I always wonder if they actually wake up with the light or just wait for its cue to get up.

It occurs to me: as I’m the only one with Indiglo, they couldn’t get up earlier. If they woke up and it was still dark, they’d have no idea whether it was 10:30 p.m. or 4:30 a.m. The roosters, of course - always crow from 3:25-3:50 a.m., so that’s a clue, but they sleep through that, those lucky bastards. Ni-Vans are such deep sleepers that they constantly wake up with rat bites on their ankles. It’s a real problem, especially for kids, because the slightest cut or sore can be grossly infected within hours in this tropical climate. After a year, I remain incredulous. I am awake the moment a rat climbs onto my roof (though these days, roll my eyes & go back to sleep instead of crying till morning), I’d probably wake up to the sound of a rat next door - but then again, I’ve always been a strange sleeper - I can’t remember sleeping through the night more than a handful of times in the past several years. If I ever sleep deeply enough to let a rat get close enough to consume my flesh, I will truly be ‘integrated’ into island life.

(Incidentally, it is a good thing I feel safe here. Peace Corps gives us these useless-in-Vanuatu personal alarms, and once in training a rat pulled the cord out of my friend’s and not a single person in her house woke up. Earlier this year, another friend was actually screaming bloody murder as some stranger broke into her house and tried to rape her and of course no one woke up. Fortunately she was able to fight the guy off and scare him away…)

Anyway, so I got up and was smugly drinking Rooibos tea with Vanuatu vanilla and cinnamon and reading the Bhagavad Gita before dawn. A half-hour’s pranayama then a half-hour meditation to follow. Normally I’d move on to asanas or chanting or sometimes just guitar, but I actually had to be somewhere this morning, which happens (no joke) every 3 months or so, so I went back to the kitchen to reset the fire & make oatmeal when my dad dropped by with a plate of bananas in coconut milk, which when sliced thinly over oatmeal turned out to be almost enjoyable. I’ll eat anything in a pinch, and often do, but after so long I still find cooked bananas nauseating unless I’m starving. I’m often starving with no food source of my own, but I am starting to take steps to deal with that. Last night, I slipped my mom a dollar and today she brought me enough taro for at least 3 days of meals, so at least I don’t have to live on crackers & peanut butter if no one brings me other food. Procuring something green is far more complicated and fruit is more or less out of the question unless I happen to be walking by when someone is peeling a grapefruit or orange. Custom - they have to give me half, especially if I look at it. But anyway, the taro is a good start.

June 11, 2008

Oh, shoot - I might have burned the first 2 pages of this letter. Why am I such a pyro? Now that I cook with fire, it’s so easy to burn things. Sometimes I close my eyes at night and just see flames. Plus I tend to go on these burning rampages. I can’t believe that the only source of fire in my life used to be tealights. It’s just so basic to me now - for food & sterilization and warmth (thank God for winter) and family and spirituality. You should read the book The Vision by Tom Brown Jr. I think you’d like it.

June 13, 2008

I was trying to tell you about Tuesday. I have often bitterly declared, “There is no point working with anyone over the age of 3 in this country” so I decided to take my own advice and visit the nursery school for my most successful workshop ever.

First we all made a circle and I told a story about a boy that had diarrhea cause he never washed his hands, then we all acted out a story (you know, one of those ‘Going on a treasure hunt’ and you all run or hide or reach up, etc) about the boy learning to wash his hands with the Washing Hands song (tune of “London Bridge”). Then we traced all their hands with marker on a poster that said “Mommy & Daddy: Please help me to wash my hands with SOAP and CLEAN WATER all the time!” The poster is now hanging at the Aid Post. Then because of course their hands are obviously dirty from the marker, we all stood in a circle around a basin of water and sang the washing hands song while one by one each kid washed with soap - there was an awkward moment when I made the teacher do it, too - I realized I should have demo’d exactly how to use the soap but whatever - then every kid got to choose a sticker for being such a good handwasher!

I love the nursery school! I can’t wait to go back with toothbrushes!

Then because our phone is down in Bonga Bonga, I strolled down to my old stomping grounds in Meriu to call this guy about a computer we’re trying to get for the school (which has no electricity, but you sort of have to do things backwards in Vanuatu to get funding) hung out with some weaving women and went back up the hill.

I recently bought flour and was experimenting with it in a frying pan and I accidentally made a pita! This was very exciting, and I ran into the house to take a can of chickpeas from my cyclone stash and mushed them up with crushed garlic (jar), sesame seeds (imported) and lemon juice (fresh) and had a theme meal!

Then because I never have any work so a little work is exhausting, I had a nap and read, until I wandered next door at sundown and listened to my teenage brothers practice stringband. For the first time in a long time, I caught myself sighing and thinking, “God, I love this place.”

So something’s working.