How to Capture a Whirlwind

It's been 60 days since we landed in Bangkok, and I've used exactly 100 pages of my journal to attempt to capture an experience that - I have a theory - might just be indescribable.

Ticket stubs and brochures and stickers fatten the pages, threatening the binding, adding to its weight. And yet, even as I flip through, bits keep falling through the cracks in the white spaces at the edges of each page. Underneath my taped-down ticket stub exists an experience. Between the pages live minutes and hours of days I forgot to record and now have trouble remembering. Already the places and faces and names blend together in my mind, blurry like a picture taken withtoo much commotion.

Around the group there's that "what city was that?" vibe, that "remember when?" and "no I can't remember" and "wasn't that actually when" until nobody knows who what where when -- and why don't I just write down every detail so my mind doesn't do that silly thing it tends to do called forgetting?

But the truth is that I really have tried. Often I have been so diligent with journaling that each entry resembles a school book report: factual and utterly lifeless. So where's my middle path?

How do I express the changes that have occurred subtly within my consciousness, the way my focus has widened in scope and how everything I've seen has affected my goals for the rest of my life? I still haven't figured anything out. If anything, this trip has opened my eyes so wide that sometimes it feels like there's simply too much in the frame for me to see clearly what I want, or who I am. And in all that experience, all of that life, things get lost in the shuffle of memory, leaving me with bits and pieces, fragmented intel, a map missing its compass. How can I pick and choose, selectively remember the good bits, the thrilling bits, the chaotic-but-fun bits, and remember to forget the rest? What do I even wantto remember?

I want to remember Hoi An: the sun-washed hues and lanterns strung like mardi gras beads on telephone wire, the way I felt implicitly welcomed and at ease with the local people.

I want to remember Kampot: the murals that stay fresh in my mind because wow! it's been a while since I've seen street art!, the beauty and the simplicity in the performance by Epic Arts, and the feeling I got when I finally found something I could devote myself to, a way that I can help change the world with the skills that I have.

I want to remember Pakbeng: that tiny town on the side of a mountain next to a big river, the fresh-baked croissants and the hippies and the backpackers who rolled on through.

I want to remember Chiang Mai: how every day I would lose myself in the back alleys of that maze-like town, and how every day I couldn't bring myself to curse the city for its labyrinthine ways because it was just too damn pretty.

I want to remember the faces and names of every single person I have met on my way, in each and every detail, but I'm no good at faces and even worse at names, so maybe I'll try to remember the smile of a little girl who just finished successfully spelling "egg" in front of her whole class.

I'll try not to forget to remember how our local guide through Laos laughed like a maniac at our silly games, nor will I forget any of the guides that helped us through with wisdom, patience, and generosity.

I'll try to remember the bad times, too, the stomach bugs, the awkward stares, the snafus and run-ins and bumpy, bumpy bus rides. I won't forget them, because those moments build character and context for a trip that, really, is centered around a challenge. Can you push yourself? Can you leap out of your comfort zone? Can you befriend total strangers, from your group mates to the tuk-tuk drivers that get you place to place? Can you seize this moment? The answer - for all of us - has been a resounding yes.

So maybe we lose some moments along the way. Maybe that's the price of present-tense thinking. If it is, I think I can be okay with that. As long as I don't forget to remember that every moment is only as long as it lasts, I think I'll have memories enough to last me a lifetime.

Jackie Bowes