Healing... in the Wake of the Jian Ghomeshi Trial

Do most women have Daddy issues?  This is not a rhetorical question.  I’m serious!  As I ponder the outcome of the Jian Ghomeshi trial… an outcome predicted, based on contradictory and inconsistent testimonies by the women who launched the original charges…. it’s a question worth discussing.  

I’ll confess that like many women I know… those who listen to the CBC…. I really liked Jian as a broadcaster.  I looked forward to the old Q and I still miss him on air.  But, I also believe… he did it.  Too many women came forward with similar Jian encounters for me to doubt.  I believe the women's stories because I recognize a familiar ambivalence in their telling and I value anecdotal, qualitative sharing.  But.... I also understand why the testimonies of the women cast legal doubt. Puzzling questions remain as to why the women lied and gave inconsistent testimony.  I believe the answers lie in a psychology of women that we need to understand with intent and seriousness. We owe it to ourselves.  

Marla Levy , in a recent opinion piece she wrote for the Vancouver Sun in response to Jian's verdict, proposes that…. “As outsiders, we don’t have to understand the host of reasons why women delay reporting or maintain contact with an accused…”   I disagree.  I think we absolutely do need to understand why women delay reporting, maintain contact with their accusers and can’t provide socially acceptable reasons for doing so.  We need to bring this discussion into the public domain because it’s the reason why intelligent, articulate, accomplished women have difficulty telling consistent stories on the stand.  And, I’m going to propose that they simply don’t understand the reasons themselves.  Otherwise, they would have been more credible.  Therefore, I do agree with Marla when she goes on to say that… “ we do need to understand that such behaviour is commonplace and has no bearing, legal or otherwise, on the truth of their allegations.” 

“Asking the legal system to tease this out, to get at the truth, may be asking too much…”   Again…. Marla’s right!  The legal system, dependent on empirical and quantitative evidence as it is, is not capable of teasing out the ambiguities of human behavior.  Furthermore, the legal system, grounded as it is in an old school and tired patriarchy, is incapable of understanding or accepting the nuances of female behaviour.  The legal system and those who participate in it seek clarity and a hopeful structure to human behavior that is not inclusive of anecdotal, qualitative testimony.  Rules, that the legal system so desperately seeks to apply to emotionally charged cases, are incompatible with human behaviour. Especially a behaviour under stress. Human behavior is never black and white.  The lines are always ambiguous.  Emotion is mysterious and vague.  It’s grey.  It’s dark.  It’s the scary bits.  And… when rules are applied they are based on male emotions and models of behaviour… not female. 

From my experience, I would say that men are characteristically disinterested in understanding the mysteries of female emotions and behavior.  Afterall, men still stand to benefit the most from societal norms that, despite 50 plus years of a second wave of feminism, are still entrenched in patriarchy.   But, this is a moot point because it would benefit everyone if they… men… could take the scary, but necessary plunge, and ruminate on their own wounded psyche. 

So ladies, here it is.  It‘s contingent on us to consider the origins of our most contradictory behaviors that don’t serve us well.  We need to steal some “me time” and stop trying to understand the children and men in our lives in order to engage in an inward discovery of our own self-esteem and confidence in order to help us take responsibility for our reasons for doing things that don't make sense.  We need to take matters into our own hands so that we can testify… in any venue… to our life experiences more effectively.  We need to take responsibility so that we can stop the emotional bleed.   

I believe that some contradictory, inconsistent and even doubtful female behavior could be rooted in the persistent… until we recognize it…. need of many women (including moi!) to forever seek…  from the men in their lives,…  a quality of approval and acknowledgment that they never got from their disengaged and emotionally absent fathers.  We... women... have to accept that most men aren't capable of giving us the acknowledgement we seek. In short, even articulate, accomplished, professionally confident women are disabled in their adult relationships with men by their need to fill a void of invisibility that they were forced to adapt to in their fractured relationships with their emotionally arrested fathers.  As a result, women who did not have capable fathers (the boomer s and X’ers),  are hardwired to do almost anything to fill the void of absence…. even if it means engaging with men who are deeply wounded and disabled themselves. Men need healing too.  
  

Simply identifying and accepting our gender differences, as was popular among self-helpers in the late 1990’s…e.g. “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” (1992)… is not enough.   We need to delve deeper.   We need to plunge into the grey.  We need to get dirty.  We need to get acquainted with, and heal, our child within.  I speak from my own personal experience.  I speak from observing many of my dynamic, ambitious, accomplished, kick-ass women friends excel in their professional lives, but struggle to feel fulfilled in their romantic relationships with men. 

Artist:  Gary Price, K Newby Gallery & Sculpture Garden, Tubac, AZ

We know intellectually that women need their fathers in order to develop healthy relationships with men.  The problem is that for any number of reasons, many women haven’t had the benefit of being raised by hands on, loving, present, engaging fathers.  I wish I could say that women of my generation… that is, the boomers… are particularly crippled.   My own, and most of my friends, fathers were remarkably unenlightened and absent both physically and emotionally due to societal pressures,  expectations and work.  But, sadly, I fear that the problems of parenting by unenlightened fathers persists into the X‘ers (1966 - 1976), Y’er (1977 - 1994) and Z (1995 - 2012) generations.  Yes… men should be held responsible... for their own healing.  But, in the meantime, it is contingent on us, as women, to know ourselves better in order to nurture and create more enlightened young men.  In order to do this we must take responsibility.  We must make peace with our wounded/abandoned/disappointed child within.

I’m done with blaming men.  They need to do their own healing.   I’m going to take responsibility for mine.  I believe that the only way to find a healing path…. years after the wound was inflicted… is with reflection and vigorous, but finite, counselling.  A type of analytical counselling that was founded by Carl Jung and has been embraced more recently by Alan Watts, John Bradshaw, art therapy, music therapy and any number of 12 step programs.  Self-awareness is a good start… but not efficient.  Self-respect is learned.  It comes with experience and maturity.  Reading self-help books is helpful… but not enough.  Reflective counselling isn’t enough.  Oprah’s definitely not enough.  Guided meditation isn’t enough.  Girlfriends… bless them all… aren’t enough.  It takes hip waders to get into the muck of our messy childhoods.  It takes remarkable self-awareness, courage and direction to delve into the depths within.  It takes fierce determination to face the pain of our early abandonment.
 

Artist:  Gary Price, K Newby Gallery & Sculpture Garden, Tubac, AZ  

This past year, for me, has been a year of reckoning, taking responsibility and healing.  I’ve put my hip waders on and I’ve greeted my child within. I’m forever grateful to my counselor who introduced me to my own pain of abandonment and guided me through it. She's remarkable in her loving, kind approach.  Like all of us…. I’m a work in progress.  I’m thankful to my people…my posse…  who are still on the journey with me.  I believe that I would not have been loyal to a wounded man in a 32 year relationship, that did not serve me well, if I’d recognized and listened to the child voice within, decades ago.  A voice that was in fact tiny... but noticeable. 

I believe that I would have been a better mother to my son had I sought to know my own inside before looking outside.  I believe that the women who encountered Jian Ghomeshi would not have agreed to and gone back for more attention in the form of angry/abusive sex if they had heard, encountered and honored their inner child before consenting.   I believe that men and women would have the tools to support, enrich and enjoy each other more if we all put our hip waders on. 

It might be too late for me to find a healthy, loving relationship with an enlightened man my own age.  Sadly, I don’t have a lot of confidence that there are m/any enlightened boomer men in my orbit or even an X’er who is willing to take on the journey.  But… I have great hope for the Y’ers (my son) and the Z’ers (my grandson).   Although I see them struggling in their relationships with women, I also see them as devoted, hands-on, down-in-the-muck-with-the-kids, daddies.  Some of this might be due to arrested development.  But, that’s another analysis… and, I’m hopeful that as wounded humans we’re open to learning.  We’re open to evolving.  We’re getting to somewhere kinder and more generous.  I’m really hopeful that the women who testified against Jian get good analytical counselling.  They’re going to need some big hugs. 

If you’re interested in the name of my counselor, I’ll share it privately.

If you want to read other's opinions about the outcome of Jian’s trial: 
  

http://www.vancouversun.com/sports/Opinion+Ghomeshi+trial+sparks+difficult+conversations+about+consent/11795012/story.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/lauren-messervey/understand-women-who-accused-ghomeshi_b_9544232.html?ncid=fcbklnkcahpmg00000001

Artist:  Gary Price, K Newby Gallery & Sculpture Garden, Tubac AZ

The Silence

Bring on 2016!  I’m ready to kick 2015 to the Been there/ Done that!… dust bin.  Someone else will no doubt pick up the heartache and continue the universal journey of a life suddenly stolen. 

Honestly, I think I navigated the stony path… the slimy cess pool… the underbelly of doubt and uncertainty that this past year served me… pretty well.  I’m still learning to recognize curve balls. That’s my biggest challenge. To take off the rose coloured glasses of romance, make believe and delusion… and accept that not everyone has conscious, mindful, good intentions.  Not because the “everyones” I speak of are bad people. (I don’t believe in bad people. I believe in wounded people.)  But, because they are terrified of looking into their hearts for fear of what they might find there.  Because they can’t give love when they don’t know how to receive it.  Because narcissism is a cover for paralyzing fear… of invisibility. And because at the end of the day what narcissists want more than anything is to be seen…. at all costs… take no prisoners… for better or for worse… and not necessarily by the people who love them the most. That’s far too threatening. The human condition is forever ironic.

   

And so… my journey now… going it alone… as for so many women my age…. is about finding new purpose.  Changing direction.  Looking inside instead of out.  Learning how to sit still. Learning how… in the words of my middle sister… to live “the slow life.” (She’s much better at this than I am.)  Learning how to say, “It’s MY turn!” Learning how to set boundaries. Learning how to put me first.  Learning how to be just a wee bit selfish. 

Learning how to be selfish would be easier if I could deny... indeed defy... my upbringing, the dogma of repetitious family expectations, the guilt of mothering... poorly, at times... and my true nature. I was raised to be the good girl.  And so… it’s not!  Easy, that is! Personal counselling has taught me that as the oldest girl/ daughter/ grandaughter…. I was reared to be obedient and loyal and trusting… against some odds, I might add!. Sure… the usual battery of social expectations that were imposed on all girls growing up in the 60’s and 70‘s… ensured my path. But, my personality… plus a set of unique and tragic circumstances that pre-dated my birth and defined my family, are even more relevant reasons why it was easy for me to put blinders on and hang on way too long to relationships that did not serve me well.

 

So, now the question is… what’s next?  What do kick-ass, nurturing women do when the children leave… well, sort of?  The old codger succumbs to arrested development…and fear?  Family members die?  (miss you, Mom!)  Friends die? (miss you K and A). The career in advanced public ed is swept out from under you? (That’s another story!) What do kick-ass, nurturing women do… when we’re faced with... the silence? 

OK!  I know the answers!!!  I’m a big reader. I’ve read Ekhart Tolle.  Pema Chodron (“When Things Fall Apart.” My favorite!), Don Miguel Ruiz. Brene Brown. Cheryl Strayed.  Elizabeth Gilbert (I loved “Big Magic!”). Sometimes… guilt alert!!!... I even watch Super Soul Sunday!  I meditate and pray… when I walk.  Yes… I know the answers!  But… the silence… it's a shock. 

Don't get me wrong. My posse of kick-ass women can be a noisy bunch. My son and grandson can certainly create some wanted… and unwanted… commotion. I’m grateful for the comforting, familiar, opinionated noise from my two equally determined, supportive, kick-ass sisters. I'm grateful for the noisy, if somewhat entitled, men in my life.  But… I once led a pretty big life. I’m not quite ready to hang up my shingle. The silence…now that the kids are gone, the man is gone, the career is gone, youth is gone... is deafening! 

Yes... I know what I have to do. Say yes… to everything!  Say yes… to staying trim and fit and healthy.  I do my best!  Say yes… to accepting a wise beauty… if not a youthful one. Hmmm… still working on that!  Say yes… to travel.  I do… and I will.  Say yes… to building a small house on a tiny nose of land that points south. That’s my next big project.  Say yes… to giving back to my community, my family, my friends.  Say yes… to being a better grammy than I was a mother.  Say yes… to getting back into my studio, daily… where making is my best friend.  Say yes… to the men folk. I won’t succumb to anger. I know there are less fearful, less entitled men out there. Especially among the  Xer’s, Yer’s etc.  Say yes… to forgiveness… of myself.  But, mostly, I think I’m obliged to say yes… to the silence.

Happy New Year!

Bring it On!

May the Force Be With You!

The Message is in the Massage

When I was a little girl my maternal grandfather used to stroke my hair. He wasn't otherwise a very demonstrative man. And he was a man of few words. But, I would lay my head on his knees for what seemed like hours and he would run his long, work hardened fingers through my hair. It was bliss.

As kids, when we got sick or scared or anxious,  my mother would do the same. Lulling us into pain relief and comfort. She continued the family tradition with the grans, spending hours of quality time soothing them... loving them... with their heads in her lap. After she died, the only thing my son wanted of hers as a keepsake was the knitting needle she used to run through his hair.

Even today as adults, my father, though emotionally absent and rarely attentive when we were children will lovingly administer foot massages to my sisters and I upon request. Touch…. as a form of communication in my family... goes a long way. 

All of this is to say... and possibly explain why...  I love to be caressed, stroked, petted and hugged. That is, in a kind, non-threatening and non-sexual way!!  And... why my sister and I “massaged” our way through Southeast Asia! Body massages. Foot massages. Head massages. Thai. Vietnamese. Swedish. Therapeutic, Accupressure. Aromatherapy. Bring it on! I've had massages in India and Bali. Now Vietnam and... Thailand. My sister out did me by adding Cambodia to her list.

I arrived in southeast Asia with a notion… easily confirmed by Professor Google... that Asia has a long and respected reputation for massage, considered to be an essential part of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Sex tourism aside… history and tradition tells me that most establishments providing massage in this part of the world do not exist just to provide happy endings!  Though sometimes, it’s hard to know for sure?  An American/Asian man called Tony posts a hilarious story in his blog about awkward, personal encounters he had with three separate and enthusiastic Vietnamese masseuses in Ho Chi Min City... aka Saigon... who assumed, incorrectly, that since he was a man he was seeking happy endings... when all he wanted was a decent, deep tissue massage. You can read his story... and laugh... at:
http://tonysvietnamblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/baby-massages-and-happy-endings-in-viet.html?m=1

Thoughts of shady happy endings did not deter my sister and I from getting as many massages as our trip schedule allowed.  By the end we'd had about a dozen… that’s almost one massage every two days. All administered by young, tiny, remarkably agile and acrobatic women.  Except for one! It wasn't until I opened my eyes…. well into my first massage in southern Vietnam.... that I realized the thin, child-like voice of my masseuse belonged to a tiny, agile and very beautiful young man.   

I quickly learned not to underestimate the strength and expertise of these fragile looking young Asian... women.... and men... of small stature with high, microscopic voices.  I can personally vouch for the fact that they possess brute strength and a skill that comes with sheer determination and will if not formal education. 

The massages I received involved full body contact whereby each encounter involved the masseuse getting on top of me or squiggling underneath me in order to heave me into a backwards posture that even my chiropractor would either envy or despair. That’s when the magic happened!  Just when I thought I'd be thrust into a state of backward vertigo... for which I’m prone…. for the first time in years... the tension in my neck released and my shoulders dropped. I’ve been home from this adventure 2 weeks and I still feel the relief.  Now that's the kind of happy ending I can really appreciate!  So…. note to self:  don't be deceived by diminutive size or child-like affectations. These young ladies… and men…. have the strength of an Amazon!   

This is my last blog post based on my escapades in southeast Asia.  It was a wonderful adventure.  Best of which was sharing it with my sister.  But, I doubt I’ll go back to that part of the world because I’m inexplicably and repeatedly drawn back to India.  It’s not the markets… which is a primary draw for me to visit any part of the world.  It’s not the textiles or jewellery… which feed my art and have inspired me since I was a teenager.  It’s not the people… who are warm and generous and curious and infuriatingly contradictory.   It’s certainly not the spirituality… of which I only see blatant opportunism and exploitation.  I'm drawn to India for the never ending, in-your-face, always inconvenient mayhem/pandemonium/bedlam.  India gives me a feeling of impunity.  It boosts my confidence.  It bolsters my self-esteem.  It eradicates my fears.  It makes ME feel like an Amazon!  If I can navigate India… especially on my own… I can do anything!  

Losing Men to Thailand

I'm obsessing... I know! But, it's hard not to! My first sightings of western men "hanging" with Asian women was at the very beginning of this trip to south east Asia. Although I've been aware of western men's evident attraction to Asian women ever since John married Yoko and... not long after, my own father married a Japanese women... younger than myself!... I hadn't given these unions much thought until my first arrival in south Vietnam where I observed a few white men with young, beautiful Vietnamese women in the Saigon airport. There was little to no evidence of these cross cultural unions in communist north Vietnam or in Cambodia. But, evidence is overwhelming here in Thailand. So much so that it leads me to wonder if Thailand's primary resource is women... and sex. And... if women... and sex... factor into the nation's GDP?

Even from where I lie now... on my chaise... on this tiny, rural, green, under developed, relatively non-touristy, beachy, idyllic island... Koh Chang (Elephant Island) in southern Thailand... evidence is everywhere. Single white men... hanging with each other... in couples, in small groups, in large groups... in droves!!! And, white men with Thai women. Everywhere I go!!! All ages. All shapes and sizes. Not just the old dudes!!! British, German and French being the top three tourist nationalities visiting Thailand...  in that order. (That's a fact!, according to a local Thai newspaper.) Not sure where North Americans fit into the numbers. We haven't run into any North American tourists so far on this remote island, south of Bangkok. But, I know they're in Thailand!!!

It seems to me that this apparent exodus... please allow my disparaging exaggeration!!!.... of white men folk seeking... what?... in the arms of seemingly child-like Asian women... contributes to a huge loss to white, western women... of all ages! And... to Asian men! Especially in a country like Vietnam, where men already outnumber women due to religious and political restrictions. (See my previous post titled The Floating Women for my ruminations on this dilemma.)

I'm trying real hard not to make judgements and assumptions here. But the nagging question is... why? Why do so many western men seek apparent escape from western women? I've seen more than one documentary about the sex trade in Thailand. But, is it just about the sex?
Thai women are far less sexy and mysterious and enigmatic and ethereal and feminine looking than Vietnamese women. And, I would say, far less beautiful.

So, why are so many western men drawn to women who are not from their own "tribe?" My recently abandoned heart wants to say it's all about the sex!!! But, my critical thinking mind suggests there might be more to these cross cultural unions than meets my wounded eye.

In an effort to be forgiving, compassionate and open-minded, my gut says it's not just about the sex. It's possible... even probable... that western men ... especially those suffering from arrested emotional development... are seeking something they can't get from independence-seeking, confident, ambitious, kick-ass, western women who are no longer willing to make the compromises necessary to "mother" their men. In terms of enlightenment and emotional ambition.... as the 1980's cigarette ad claimed proudly... "We've come a long way, baby!" Sadly... for us western ladies... we've out done most men in terms of enlightenment and emotional development. And...they... "our" men!... don't want... or don't know how... to equal the apparent imbalance of our dissatisfaction and expectations.

Is it fear? That they... "our men" will never measure up to our over zealous, perfectionist wants and desires? Fear of aging? Fear of loss of importance? Fear of loss of significance? Fear of loss of stature? Or is it fear... of fear?

With some obvious wisdom at age 39... our ambitious, Thai, female tour guide... her name is Tar...in Bangkok suggested an insightful, compassionate and forgiving perspective.  Based on her observations, western men are drawn to Thai women because they... the women... are raised to be subordinate loyal, devoted care givers. In her opinion all men... eastern and western alike.... want to be looked after... cared for... like children... and Thai women, putting their needs secondary to the men, do this well. In Tar's opinion, this is an exchange that Thai women... especially those from poor, rural families are eagerly prepared to make given that opportunities for their education and advancement are limited. For these women, their only marketable commodity is their willingness.... and need. Citing Thai/western marriages she knows of that have lasted some years, she doesn't see western men or Thai women, willing to exchange sex for security, as bad. She calls them all "special!" Thus raising the question, in my mind, as to her definition of special.  It's a naive, but generous and pragmatic perspective.  At this point it should be noted that as an educated women and youngest daughter, she has happily chosen her career.. and caring for her widowed mother... over marriage and caring for a man. It's good to know that Thai women... the educated ones... do, indeed have choices.

OK... no big surprises here! Given my knowledge... and assumptions... of how women take ownership... or not... of their independence on both sides of the cultural divide. Western women have born witness to a steady exodus... permission requested, again!... of their men i to the arms of Asian women for  decades. One might say it's all part of the global economic exchange. But, Tar's comments make for an interesting validation from the Thai, female perspective.

In all fairness, I do want to get a male perspective. I do want to know about this from the men folk. Not sure if they want to talk to me though. It takes courage to talk through shame and embarrassment. Especially to a woman... me!... still showing obvious signs of betrayal.

I can say that I know a Canadian guy... my age.. who married a Thai woman... not that much younger than himself... and had a daughter with her. The marriage ended badly. She betrayed him with a man from France. He was devastated, but quickly took up with another Thai woman. I lost touch with him when he closed his export business in Vancouver and moved back to Thailand full time. But, I can see from his postings on FB... and my point here... is that he spends alot of time with his daughter and seems to be a devoted, appreciative and proud papa. He got a daughter out of the deal.

During our time here on Koh Chang, our beach chairs are situated right next to an older German man and his Thai girlfriend. Neither speaks English. My first impulse was to say something disparaging and offensive to the man. But, I have to admit that as we try to communicate with smiles and fragments of English, I'm warming to them both. He seems caring towards her. And he speaks Thai! That goes a long way in my books. It looks like he's in for the long haul. It looks like he's made an effort?

I doubt I'll ever have answers to all my questions. I'll never know for sure what's going on in the heads and hearts of our men... because I don't think our men know themselves.  But... I will say this... it hurts to think that I, as a western woman, is being rejected by my own tribe for all the things I feel most proud of: confidence, maturity, financial and emotional independence, critical thinking, emotional intelligence, good health, good fitness... and more. Perhaps I'm taking this to personally. But, in North America... from my wounded perspective... it already feels like there are too few men to go around. Regardless of age! These sightings... here in this highly sexualized country... this loss... makes my loss hurt more!!! 

Sent from my iPhone


Sent from my iPhone

Loss of Pride and Shopping in Vietnam

In India where the colours, textures and silhouettes are irresistible to my aesthetic sensibilities....I've felt compelled to contribute amply to the local retail economy.  Indian handicrafts have beckoned me forever.  

Handicrafts local to Vietnam are rich and plentiful. There's tribal embroidery from the northern regions. Embroidered "paintings" that are so intricate you'd swear they were photographs, done by women everywhere. Rubies, sapphires and precious gemstone jewellery from all over the country.  (Gaining access to gemstones was a main reason why the French dominated Vietnam for centuries.) Wood and stone carving from the centre. Laquered accessories.. plates, jewellery boxes and such... from the south. Delicate blue and white porcelain is everywhere. As are folded paper cards so intricately cut, they are a feat of creative engineering. 

Nevertheless, on this trip I've not felt so compelled... to possess... as I did in my travels in India. Having said this though, I have made a few purchases... and  given my considerable travelling experience, it's humbling to confess that I've been duped to pay more... too much... almost every  time.  

Retailers here are a sly and crafty bunch! The currency, given that $1.00 CAD is equal to 16,650,000 Vietnamese dong doesn't make shopping easy. There are way too many zero's attached to even the smallest purchases and much of the currency all looks the same. 10,000,000 dong is the same colour as 100,000,000!!!! Local merchants know this and naive tourists... moi!!... I'm ambarassed to say!!!... are easy prey. 

My first purchase was a large box of roasted cashews that I had to have... at 9:00pm... from the night market in Saigon. I bartered with intended confidence...  but the transaction happened so quickly I lost track of the zeros. I'm pretty sure he got 50,000 dong (3.00CAD) more than the bartered price in the end. 

Having honed my bartering skills on multiple trips to India and Mexico... or so I thought!... and thinking that my cashew experience was enough initiation... I made another purchase in the market with renewed confidence soon after. This time it was 6 intricately embroidered bags... intended to be gifts. I bartered hard and paid $5.00 each. Only to discover later that I could have bought the exact same bags for $3.00 each in a shop close to our hotel. No bartering required!  Now my guard is really up! 

But, wait!!!  The most humiliating experience is yet to come. Despite being warned by our guide not to buy anything in a gift shop attached to the tomb of one of many diabolical emperors... I spotted a tiny, precious teapot carved in stone and embellished with ornate brass. It looks antique... though I know it's not... and I hadn't seen anything like it so far. The last thing I need is a tiny, precious teapot! But this isn't about need. This is about sentiment. The teapot possessed me!!! I gave in and with the cautionary words of our guide looping in my head, I thought I'd won the teapot for 1,000,000 dong ($65.00) less than the asking price. For about 24 hours I was pleased. Then, I saw exactly the same teapot... in fact many tiny, precious teapots... In the airport gift shop for a mere fraction of the price. I'd paid $50.00 CAD too much. Ouch! The teapot doesn't feel quite so special any more. The loss is to my ego as well as to my pocket book. I've put myself on shopping probation!! We'll see how long it lasts. 

Oh oh! Bangkok lies ahead!!

Sent from my iPhone


Sent from my iPhone

The Floating Women

I'm fascinated by Vietnamese women. Their ethereal, seemingly fragile beauty is most evident in their tiny voices, second only to their perfectly symmetrical, tiny bodies and... most of all their mystery and quiet, alluring sexuality. No wonder western men are intrigued by Asian women. Unlike western women who flaunt their in-your-face sexuality without discretion, Vietnamese women exude femininity and grace with enigmatic softness and ballet like movements. Vietnamese women don't walk. They float.

But, big social problems are evident because in Vietnam there are 30% more men than women due to outdated, patriarchal social and economic pressures on families to birth boys rather than girls. Plus a government induced mandate... though not enforced as it is in China... that couples have only two children. Social practises are changing but family expectations die hard and until recently couples, overwhelmed by poverty, lack of education and family pressures would abort their girl babies. Today Vietnamese doctors are not allowed, by law, to inform couples of the sex of their child before birth. 

And so, today,  there are more boys than girls. It's a social dilemma that there aren't enough girls for young Vietnamese men to marry.  Their problem is compounded by the fact that it is common knowledge here that ambitious, young, Vietnamese women prefer to marry European or North American men. Age doesn't seem to be a factor. I've been here less than 2 weeks and it's almost common place to see much older white men with young Vietnamese women. 

Of course there's nothing new about this. I get it!!  Old codgers suffering from arrested development and sexual insecurity who can only get it up for the pretty young things. And, I understand the time honoured and ancient exchange of sex for security. But, here... in the eastern daylight... it looks predatorial and creepy. And it does make me wonder what sacrifices... loss of culture, family, integrity and self-respect... these young women have to trade off in their bid for a tenuous security. What amount of loss and grieving do these young women have to endure to sleep with the old guy? And, that makes me wonder if these relationships can really last? But, then... maybe longevity isn't really the point. 

Forty Years Later... In Vietnam... on Phu Quoc

I first learned about the war in Vietnam from my mother when she took me to a peace rally to protest the war, on the grounds of the Vancouver Art Gallery.  It was 1969.  I was 15. My little brother was 5. I don't remember if my sisters were there. But I do remember there were lots of people.  Wearing black arm bands, singing protest songs that were popular at the time... and marching. Those were heady, hopeful times. And in the years that followed, until the war ended in 1975 and draft dodgers were pardoned by Jimmy Carter in 1977, I learned about the risks that many young... too young... American men... no, boys!... draft dodgers, evading conscription by escaping to Canada... were willing to take in order to exercise their politics, their religion, their anti-war convictions, their fear.  I even entertained the idea of marrying an American boy I didn't even know in exchange for his safety.  Yes... those were times of naive innocence... and ignorance. 

Ever since the American war... as it is referred to here.... on the other side of the world, Vietnam has been grieving. And so, I come here on the heels of my own grieving with a curiousity to know what fills the holes... both literal and metaphorical... of despicable loss the size of an entire country.  

I'm travelling with my sister. The one I've written about before. The one whose recently experienced her own losses... of the life changing, anxiety inducing, intestinal kind. Our last journey together was about enduring unexpected, knock-the-wind-out-of-me, shock. This journey is about finding gratitude for each other and forgiveness in ourselves. 

And so we begin on Phu Quoc island off the southern tip of Vietnam. Having been repeatedly dominated over centuries by entitled parties, notably France, the US and Cambodia. And... while still recovering from ghosts of the past. On this tiny isle... comes perfection... in process.  

My knowledge about present day Vietnam is minimal to none. What I'm learning is that some holes can be filled with tourism. The tourist industry here is still in its infancy but potential is everywhere. If you want to see a tourist mecca in the making, come here. The Russians have already discovered it. And although Russian tourism is down compared to recent years, due to a failing ruble, the second language here isn't English. It's Russian! US tourists are few. But we have run into some Canadians. And savvy merchants from Kashmir. 

So my advice is... come now!!! Before it's too late. Unlike Mexico it's safe. Unlike Hawaii, it's not converted by US commercialism. Unlike Europe it doesn't suffer from entitlement. The food is superb. The sea is warm. The beaches are clean.  Tonight we head back to Ho Chi Min City, aka Saigon. We'll move up the east coast to Hanoi. 

More stories to come.