pretty strings in the wind (4/4)

by cthurst6

he•ro: \ˈhir-(ˌ)ō\ n. 1. in mythology and legend, a man, often of divine ancestry, who is endowed with great courage and strength, celebrated for his bold exploits, and favored by the gods 2. a person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life

how does one measure a man if there are no fair maidens to save, no enemies to vanquish, no capital to earn, to burn, to profit from? shall i erect an empire? do the ruins not reveal the folly of raising another? does the act of constructing outweigh the reality of collapse?
all empires fail.
all monuments fall.

i have seen things since i left home that shall shape my life. the long, green rice paddies and horned, jewel-encrusted temples. the slow, gargantuan rivers and towering storm clouds belonging more to the days of gods than the days of the 21st century. indeed, many of the sights i’ve looked upon seem to defy age. others come straight from science fiction accounts of cities of the future.
it has changed me as travel so often does.
i have grown accustomed to this ever-changing world of ours. the modern, ancient, local, foreign cultures of high and low, trust and profit. there is sin, yes, but there is also honor. there is bravery. there are old things that lay in ruin, and new things that stand bright with glittering mirrors. and, sometimes, these modern creations hide traditional ventures beneath their shiny exterior, bringing them forward into the digital age without the dust.
it is a confusing, terrifying thing, being human in the midst of all that is human. and progress. and dirty for all its steel causeways and fleshy, leather, semi-artificial, god-like miracles.

and melting clocks in the field.

Mui Ne was better than Nha Trang. our hotel was a bungalow in a line of other, beach-themed bungalows behind a trendy Mexican bar. it was a strange combination, but the owner was friendly and soon we had checked in, deposited our passports–as is the custom in Vietnam–and exited to find the beach.
the beach itself was surprisingly narrow, cut in half by the never-ending rows of hotels and resorts along the coast. for miles it went, but we found a nice spot just across the street from our place of residence beside some who were jet skiing. just as i took my shirt off to jump in the water, however, i heard a yell from behind us. looking back, i saw a local calling to me.
he was part of the outfit that had rented the jet ski to the visitors. running down to us, he said not to enter the water. i asked why, suspicious of his intentions–i did not doubt he was trying to sell me something. but he said simply, jellyfish.
jellyfish?
yes, jellyfish
what about jellyfish?
they’re all over this beach.
really?
yes! in the morning it’s fine to swim, he said, but in the evening there are jellyfish that gather in the shallow waters. further out it’s clear, but closer in…he nodded to some Chinese tourists frolicking in the water nearby.
there’s a reason you don’t see locals at this time, only tourists.
what could i say? i thanked him and he smiled and waved as we parted ways, me putting my shirt back on and sitting in the sand with Steve for a while, watching one of the children of the Chinese group getting stung and running with his mother back to land.

there was a shy girl who advertised a restaurant as we walked down the main street of the town. upon looking at the menu, we said we might come back later and she looked at her feet, saying okay in a defeated tone.
my heart went out to her. she reminded me of myself when i was young. i had been shy, and trying to talk as everyone else talked–loud and confident–took its toll on me. it was not in her either, and you could tell the slightest rejection took a serious toll. she just wanted to shrink away and have no one know she was there. i knew it when i heard it, when i saw it. it was in her response and i wanted to lift her chin and tell her that it would be okay. she would find solace in all this noise, someday.
so after walking further down to inquire about the morning’s bus ride to Ho Chi Minh, i convinced Steve to go back to find the girl.
i could not find her, though, even after passing every restaurant. finally we entered the one i was sure she had been standing in front of when we had walked by. upon being seated i looked for her, waiting to see whether she would appear from out of the kitchen in back or from behind some dividing wall.

she did neither.