How do we adjust? How do things that at one time seemed so new become so much a part of our everyday lives? Just another thread in our tapestry.
At six months, my body has adjusted to the rise (and less often, the fall) of temperature. I have learned to communicate with my co teacher in such a way that I can bypass his passiveness and get real information. Monks draped in bright orange are simply everywhere, as are naked children puttering across the street during rush hour. I wake up at 6, whether I am in a hotel room seemingly void of all sense of time, or in my room at home, with the neighbors blaring their radios outside.
My highs are less high, my lows less low. I can see good weeks slowly transition into the rough weeks, and the sun start to shine on the rough weeks to carry me into a better one.
Unfortunately for myself and Cambodia, it doesn’t take much to get me rolling downhill. On the upside, it doesn’t take much for me to be on the up and up, either. Today was a shining example. Some weeks ago the inner tube of my front bike tire needed some repairs. I dragged my ass on this flat tire all around the city, getting steadily grumpier, until I was finally directed to a gentleman at a small bike/moto repair shop. The man had a bright, friendly face and patched my tire like a pro. I remember being so impressed by his work and the cheap cost that I bought a bungee cord from him as well. (Always useful.) My mood was drastically improved.
Today, the same fate occurred with my rear tire. I took it to a small bike shop closer to home and the RTTC. The guy tried to sell me a tire as well as an inner tube, and charge almost 7 bucks for it. There were also a few men sitting around who turned their attention from watching the guy work to watching me. Feeling uncomfortable, I wobbled (I do mean wobbled. Have you ever biked on a flat rear tire? Your ass feels everything.) across town to the man who worked his magic on my poor bicycle once before.
He seemed to know exactly what was up, and gestured for me to sit on a tiny blue plastic chair that was most likely designed for a human 10 years or under. Hugging my knees, I watched him methodically remove the inner tube, inflate it, then run it bit by bit through a bowl of water, searching for air bubbles. He found the troubled spot and circled it with a pen. He scored the area a bit with some sort of file, then applied some clear goo to it, and then lit it on fire a couple times. He applied a patch and put everything back together again. The process took about 5 minutes, and was a soothing and reassuring sight. He sent me off with a warm, wide smile.
Like I said, it doesn’t take much.
