stranded...

My eyes feel heavier than my limbs. I have been chasing sleep for days now with no avail. Lights, noise, or movement have kept the illusive luxury just out of my reach. The introspective thoughts stream through me but the fog that seems to have taken up residents in my brain, forbids me from grabbing them. I struggle to place my muscles in any functional direction.  Coordination, which has never really been my friend, seems more a foe today than in any past memory. My body can hardly stomach the idea of running from gate to gate. Instead I think I may make my bed in the afternoon corridor. I search for my imaginary friend. Some one who can check the boards and continually list me on flight after flight. I wonder if my sleep-deprived delusions can be considered a TSA violation. I wonder if the airlines have a limit on the number of days a person can go without showering and still be allowed on a plane.  

An Afterthought.

After spending some weeks with the orphaned boys at Azul Wasi in Peru two things have become painfully clear to me. The first is that my life and the soul that wrestles within it will never be satisfied until I find a way to make my career a catalyst in which I can help those without a voice in the world, have one. Second, I could use a few pointers in the small yet effective tools of educating children.  

Lima Flows

Recently I was talking with a friend about Peru. When posed with the typical, "How is it" question, I responded with my generic, "It's like any other big city, but everything is in Spanish." Immediately after saying it, I felt estranged from my comment.  Somehow the words that escaped my mouth didn't quite fit with a nagging but unnamed thought in my brain. I searched for a qualification to ease my separation but had none.

 

Over the next few days or maybe weeks I thought more about my knee-jerk response to the city. I thought about this while I mastered the bus systems and memorized the streets. I consideration my statement as I tasted the dishes, fresh fruits and dulces Lima has to offer. I mulled over it while I stood at the cliff of the city overlooking the South Pacific Ocean and watched the wave's crash. And finally I reconsidered my short answer as I watched the housekeepers in the neighborhood work with care and drivers offer directions while pushing buses through traffic. 

 

Lima is not just another big city, rather Lima is a rhythm. Everything ebbs and flows here as smooth as water. When one stops resisting the initially bothersome jerks of the bus and let's go of the seat in front of them, they fall into the same flow. What initially appeared as madness clears into the rhythm of waves. Traffic moves not to slow and not to fast. Drivers consider pedestrians and equally traffic around them and flow with them. In and out of the lines, vehicles of all sizes maneuver and squish four wide in streets designed with three lanes.

 

The food moves with the texture of an old river, neither to spicy nor to plain. It comes heavy and light at the same time and always in waves as it is prepared. The fruit is delicious, extensive, and plentiful, while the vegetables are slower, less frequent and heavier.

 

And finally the people, they move with conscious intention. Each housekeeper or caregiver seems to be thankful for the job, stroking the face of their charge. Each server, salesman, bus caller, and park worker taps through there job with a subtle yet strong contentment for the employment. It seems as though people in Peru never woke up with a list of what the world owes them. Rather, the majority of Limans seem to wake with the sense appreciation for current state of affairs never taking anything for granted.  

 

The locals holler directions while negotiating through traffic and not blinking. Taxi drivers drive as long as it takes to get their fare through a maze of streets for the same price quoted despite the hour of complications. People flow in and out of the numerous parks through the city, marked with the Virgin Mary as an eddy safe haven in otherwise dangerous neighborhoods. In droves people walk in and out of events with no major problems, moving with the same steady strong flow of a river.

 

Lima may not hop like New York, nor pop like Chicago, nor vanish and resurface like London, nor move with the madness of Mumbai. However, Lima moves, it just moves smoother than the rest. This extremely significant yet easily unnoticed detail is what separates this big city from the rest. This cliff high water side monument to water raised, raises the bar on what any other big city should be.