On Arrivals; or A Charming Introduction to the Behemoth of Bangkok.

My first taste of the metaphorical open road was to be Oriental in origin, with a long planned sejour in South East Asia the perfect segway into Europe. Of course, it wasn’t to be anything intrepid, with a greater emphasis on hedonism over hardship. Still the trip promised much, and with the brothers I planned to meet there already three weeks hardened I was anxious to arrive.

My final night in New Zealand coincided with the last day of the corporate year and it was with little surprise that I found myself still in town at the witching hour, wobbling back to the familiar Freemans Bay villa I had called home for the last two years. An early alarm, some last minute checking and I was off, my hangover momentarily placated by the remaining buds of nature’s panadol.

Then the first of what would be many queues, impatient proles shifting restlessly behind me while the line slowly snakes forward. A greasy dose of chicken to ward off looming nausea and some painkillers, then customs, safety announcements and settling into my budget sized seat –finally I was in the air, but it wasn’t without some sorrow that I bid my beautiful nation good-bye.

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On Beginnings; or A Mission Statement of Sorts.

So. Here we are. This is a project that I have meant to start for a long time now; a wee social experiment, with myself as the subject. I’m not aiming too high, and hope to avoid a lot of the indulgent self-infatuated pandering that flies across cyberspace on a daily basis. My goal is simpler than that of the blogging narcissist, but it is certainly not a unique one.

What is the appeal in taking your private moments, your special anecdotes and perspectives, and casting them adrift in the vast sea of the internet?

Anonymous blogs provide a unique opportunity for self-reflection. They seem to sit at an intersection between the honesty produced through anonymity, and the clarity of thought demanded by a discerning global audience. This creates an environment that helps to facilitate the truthful reflection that is normally only accorded in private. But it is more than this. The pressure of knowing that someone will read your work, even if you do not know them and they not know you, creates a demand for quality that raises the stakes beyond that of the humble journal.

The shift from private recollections to published perspectives has made a happy bedfellow with narcissism, and much of the moaning about the pointlessness of social media reflects this. But while the mechanisms of the internet have been sufficient to produce these outcomes they are by no means predetermined.

What is the role of the writer? Social commentary, to record and reflect, reason and treason, to question the nature of reality and reveal profound truths about human nature and all our deviations. Or something. You get the gist, right?

So long story short here I am, testing the solidarity that the internet promises those claiming honest insights. Practicing my writing while travelling and living – being a wanyasi. Here goes nothing.