A Swooper

Sunday afternoon here. The sun will shine for a few more 

hours before the rain comes. I woke up late and walked

to school through the jungle trak - a bikepath through 

the forest that connects the metal container where I live 

to the center of town, and on the other edge of the 

towncenter it picks up again, to the school and the gym.

It's a two meter-wide gravel trail shaded by the trees 

and junglyness it cuts through. I was reading while 

walking - probably the most exotic activity I engage in

 - a copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Timequake that I traded for

 the head of a Cassowary.

“Writers who are swoopers, it seems to me, find it wonderful that people are funny or tragic or whatever, worth reporting, without wondering why or how people are alive in the first place. 

(p 138)

I'm a swooper. Only the stuff here is just what's entertaining. If I told you the rest, my grant would be revoked and I'd return home as the first ever person from North Park University to lose a Fulbright. Since you've been asking, yes I'm still brewing over my forthcoming bestseller exposé and the gigantic profits it will bring. I have been given an incredible opportunity, and to whom much has been given, much is expected. But I don't have anything to show for it. Everything is is progress. One big fat belum (not yet). Whatever I actually do take away from this year, I know it will be much. Much rather than many. Ideas. Pictures of the big picture.

Much is for uncountable things, like pain and thankfulness. It didn't hurt much, but thanks so much for asking. What I take from this year will also be uncountable, probably unexplainable. Much more than I can put into words.

I've learned one thing already, and I'm only halfway through. Everything is way more complicated than I ever thought it would be. There is no exposé to write. If I tell the real story of life here it wouldn't be what you want to hear. Not worth reporting. Maybe I'm not a swooper, because the real question I find myself asking is why we are here in the first place. When I walk through the jungle, I stop to listen. I am overwhelmed by the difficulty of my job. I don't wonder why I was sent here, I wonder why we are all here. Something isn't right- it's too much something -and I haven't figured out what that is.