Skygazing

I never tire of gazing upwards. Every sight is different. Stars may be set in well known families and formations, documented on parchment,  yet each viewing of the night sky is different. Clouds and moodily lit skies tell new stories with each breath of air.

The skies remind me that despite our belief otherwise, individually we are tiny and insignificant. Despite what we are doing to the planet as a race, we are almost non existent in the face of the elements.

Recently I was returning from Bangkok from my last round of medical checks, and as always opted to sit in a aisle seat. Those monsoon flights may be short but the rain and attitude-filled skies can be alarming to fly through. Better not to look at those clouds too closely as we fly through them.

My late afternoon flight was approaching Yangon, and I could see that the the cabin was taking on a golden hue.  Appropriate for arrival in the Golden Land.  I glanced across the empty seat beside me past my fellow passenger at the window seat and was immediately captivated by the skyscape outside. There were layers of cloud, and the setting sun reflecting on the waters far below of the Gulf of Martaban, the northern part of the Andaman Sea.

Automatically, my hand was reaching into my bag for my camera to capture the magic in front of my eyes.

Whereupon I came face to face, quite literally, with a bit of a challenge. In the form of the passenger across the empty seat, who was comfortably eating her spicy Thai in flight meal in her window seat. It is impossible to be unobtrusive in these situations, but I did try, leaning over and angling the camera so that I did not capture her shoulders and noodles. She also looked up and snapped some pictures on her phone.

Within a few moments, the scene had changed. The light had altered, the reflection dimmed and the other-wordly scene outside taken on a much more familiar look. By happy coincidence, and the good nature of my fellow passenger, however, I had been able to capture and preserve the sight.

aviation sunset oct 2015

It has been a while since I have changed my background image here, and photograph of that moment provides just the right opportunity to change that right now, and share that moment right now.

In these days when we stare into our phones and devices oblivious to our surroundings, there is a stronger reminder than ever to pause, look upwards and drink in the free, ever changing moving pictures in the skies above us.

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A dragonfruit in the hand……..

I have, in my hands, my very own copy of the Dragonfruit Anthology.

I submitted my writing for consideration 484 days ago.  I learned 447 days ago that it had been accepted for inclusion along with the writing of 25 other women.

The days and weeks since then have seen the nurturing of this project through editing, signing agreements, selection of a title and the development of the cover imagery towards the hatching of the book itself in electronic and paper formats.  Now this beautiful book is ready to fly.

Step by step this day has moved tantalisingly closer.  I received the electronic version a few weeks back but still I have had such a longing to hold the paper version in my hands.  That day has finally come.

I knew the book had arrived last week, and was waiting for me in Bangkok.  I knew that I would only be able to collect it during office hours so have waited patiently over the weekend knowing that it was also patiently waiting for me to arrive and claim it.  I just missed a sky train and when I did finally reach the building, the lift unusually stopped at almost every floor, stretching that time impossibly. I tried to tell myself that it might not be there, that the package waiting for me could be something else.  But I stubbornly refused to listen!

When I finally reached the right door and was handed my package, the Hong Kong postage banished any concerns I had that this was not my wished-for copy.

Dragonfruit arrival

This is a day I have dreamed of for decades.  The day I would hold a book with my own writing in it.

A dragonfruit in the hand...

A dragonfruit in the hand…

 

dragonfruit arrival 2

I have learned a great deal as I have been gently accompanied the process to prepare and publish this book, and more than ever I am compelled to strive to realise the writing projects I am currently incubating.

 

dragonfruit in hand

But for today, I am bathing in the satisfaction of leafing through the pages of this beautiful book and I am beyond delighted to see it come to life.

Swings and roundabouts

Do you remember those old-fashioned roundabouts which were in swing parks and playgrounds?  I remember that they were wooden usually, and set on a concrete patch in the middle of the grass.  We used to run round, pushing the roundabout, jumping on at the last minute when we could no longer keep up as it gathered speed.  It would fly around so fast we had no option to stay on it until it slowed down, amidst squeals of fear and exhilaration. I feel dizzy just remembering those playground days.

CHILDREN PLAYING IN PLAYGROUND - 1950SLife these days often feels like that speeding roundabout.  It tears round and round and we hold on, knuckles white, the momentum keeping it spinning. We cling on, knowing that it is going too fast for us to be able to get off. As the roundabout whizzes round, we catch sight of patches of life around us.  Tasks we need to do, people we want to speak to and spend time with, fun things we want to do………… Then they are gone, out of sight and too often out of mind as new matters catch our attention.

These past months, I feel as if I have been living on this speeding roundabout, dizzy and unable to focus on one spot as everything flies round around me.  No sooner do I catch sight of one important element than it disappears replaced by others, many others. Round and round it goes. Too fast to step off. Far too fast to clamber back on if I were to manage to disengage. Frightening and exhausting.

This is why I have been somewhat silent.  My mind is both empty and full.  Or perhaps rather it has just been simply that, I have been mentally, emotionally and physically overwhelmed.  How hard it is to find focus and clarity when I feel as if I am living in a moving abstract canvas.

Abstract - Mark Chadwick

Abstract – Mark Chadwick

But I have somehow stepped off the roundabout, while it continues to whirl around. I do not have either the energy or inclination to go anywhere near it right now.  I have also moved physically away so that it is not in my field of vision for the time being.  That helps enormously. There are still a few things reaching me, but with the merry-go-round at a distance, I feel a lessening of the nauseating dizziness.

Abstract - Andre Eleazer

Abstract – Andre Eleazer

I have spent the past days in Bangkok, in a beautiful, quiet space, even though there is turmoil not so far over the threshold.  Firstly I am just trying to still my mind and rest physically.

I have felt such a resistance to doing anything, even to planning the next days of my break when I will head out of Bangkok. I have been unable to write even a seasonal message to those who I have horribly neglected these past months.  I have not yet managed to get down those thoughts and reflections on the past year, one which has been one of the most difficult for many of us, that has taken people cruelly and relentlessly.  Those who we knew had limited precious time, and those who should have had a great deal longer.  These thoughts are still in my mind but not yet articulated nor shared with those who matter.

And then there is the writing backlog.  The blog space has been unusually quiet.  Not a shortage of ideas, but some inertia and muddle which needs calming time and gradual refocus.  Our Wednesday Writing Group writings have been neglected.  Work on my bigger writing projects has been put to the side. Having moved away from the speeding roundabout, I can pick up these remnants, strewn around and start to make sense of them again.

Soon I will physically remove myself even further, for a week or so. I also trust that the roundabout is actually going to slow a little over the next couple of weeks.  It won’t come to a complete standstill, but the more it slows down while I am on terra firma, the easier it will be when that time comes to try and leap back on.

While it is out of sight, I MUST try and erase it from my mind.  I must distance myself from its terrifying dizziness even though I know it is unavoidable, that I climb back on after my break.

But that is for later.  Right now, all that I need and want is that to provide a space for my body and soul to revitalise, refresh and attain optimum healing rest.

Pausing in an alley in Bangkok's Chinatown

Pausing in an alley in Bangkok’s Chinatown

Roundabouts can fun and exciting, but we cannot live on them all the time. In this fast modern world we live in, sometimes we just need to step aside and take the time to breathe.

Aiming for boring, avoiding interesting and ending up complicated!

What a strange 72 hours or so it has been. I have travelled internationally, felt fraught and anxious, been unusually outraged, been carried along a conveyor belt of tests, scans, blood draws and appointments and finally emerged through other side. I feel as if I have been passed through one of those old washing mangles!

mangleAs has been the norm for the past however many checks I have been through now, the process began with a fast from midnight of Monday. On Tuesday morning I presented myself at Counter 2 (of my hospital) with my usual smile and received the usual warm greetings from the staff.Behind my smile there is the usual nervousness as I know I will be guided towards the first step of the day. Appointments, and especially the Big Check feels like a conveyor belt.  I turn up at Counter 2 and from there am set in a process which will spit me out later once I have passed the variety of stops on the way.

And indeed, in no time I was on the conveyor belt and heading towards the first stop – the lab and the blood letting. After that brief stop, I was back on the conveyor belt and being ushered towards the imaging department for the next step – mammogram. Within fifteen minutes I was off again and heading to the X-ray rooms, each time passing one of the places I hate most – the CT scan room.  Bleurgh.

Within 45 minutes of arriving at the hospital, X-ray was also done and I was being led to the ultrasound room, currently in a temporary space due to the installation of a new MRi machine.  Every year, the ultrasound brings a chill to my soul.  I am instantly transported to October 2nd 2009 when I was watching the technician find ghostly spaceship shapes and pegging contours of more than one mass. This year was no different in terms of the sensation of dread and fear, but in the temporary room there was no screen above my head for me to see the images on the screen.  If I turned my head and craned my neck I could see what was going on, but it was preferable just to lie still and let the process take place.

In contrast to the mammogram and x-ray, the ultrasound took for ever.  Occasionally I peered over my shoulder but knowing I understand nothing of the shapes on the screen I quickly gave that up and tried to zone out.  But that was not so easy.  She was paying particular attention to one part of my upper abdomen around and below my right armpit.  More and more cold jelly appeared on my skin and the pinging and pegging started as she worked her way around whatever she was working her way around.  I think that some “priing” noises were the sound of saving an image, another “beep” noise signified pegging a shape. Or perhaps it was the other way round.  At any rate, I could not work out which was which and just listened to the sounds as my stomach tightened the more this continued.  Eventually, she stood up, told me she was finished and walked out of the room.  And that really rang alarm bells – usually I get a little informal feedback, confirmation that there are a couple of small cysts and liver wibbles but nothing to worry about. I hate hearing nothing.  It freaks me out, even more than the undue attention which had been paid to that one particular area which had started out the freaking out.

It is sobering getting cleaned up and changed after these tests and scans.  It all becomes immediately real again.  And I cannot describe the torturing fear in that space of time between scans and review/results. I am extremely fortunate that having my checks in Bangkok , that time is far shorter that elsewhere. I was told to go and eat breakfast, but have no idea what that was or whether I even finished it. My head was focused solely on the repeated scanning of one area and the abrupt departure of the doctor.

Waiting in the area near Dr W2’s consulting room passed in a daze.  I did not even attempt to read my KIndle and could make no sense of the obvius images on the TV with reports of flooding in other parts of the city. I was in another, dimension, suspended and unable to move in any direction.

Eventually, my appointment with Dr W2 came round and I moved into his office. As I sat down, he was reading the scan reports.  There was a great deal of text on one of the pages and I could feel my heart rate increasing as he read over the results with a dead pan face.  Finally he looked up.  “It’s OK” he said.  Your mammogram is normal.  Your X-ray is unremarkable.  And the Ultrasound is mostly fine.”  I could feel my eyes welling as he spoke those words.

I of course asked about the alarming attention of the scan and he told me that there are some “wibbles” (that is my medical term not Dr W2’s – I can’t remember what he called them) on my liver.  My liver is not young – in fact it is the same age as I am and showing what is likely to be signs of aging. He will continue to monitor these marks.  Previously, CT scans have shown up liver wibbles, but (thankfully) I had not CT scan this time.  (I hate them SO much). There are more wibbles but “favoured benign” on the ultrasound.

He told me that my tumour markers were not worrisome – one had risen a little but has been consistently higher wince the embolism so he is not worried.  And the other one has gone down from the slightly upper range of normal to low!  Which is very welcome.  He asked me if I am taking my medication.  He asked me about three times, when of course alarmed me. Despite the heavy side effects I am taking my meds meticulously and told him so.  We went on to talk about the side effects. He has suggested another med which should help with the joint pain and stiffness.  Let’s see how it works. He examined me and noted that my right leg was slightly larger than the left which drew his attention.  In fact it drew his attention so much that he did not even notice my funky toenail art!  That is not comforting at all!  He is also requesting another bone scan on my next round of checks in 6 months which is also a tad disquieting.

Finally I got his verdict.  “Fine but complicated.” With the original Stage 3 diagnosis, the pulmonary embolism, side effects and the need to take a number of heavy meds that makes me “complicated”.  Which is ok, in that it is far better than being “interesting”. I was “interesting” when undergoing the chemo and he would have to calculate how many drips of toxins to give me to maximise the effect of the chemo without over toxifying me! I was “interesting” when I had spaceship lumps and unusual pathology.  No, it is not fun being “interesting to an oncologist”. It is not, however, as good as being “boring”.  That is what I really want to be.  So boring that my oncologist would have to comment on my funky toenails as there is nothing else of interest to talk about!  One day perhaps?

I also saw my lovely surgeon Dr W and he was also reasonably happy with the results.  He asked me how long now since diagnosis, and when I told him it was 4 years and 8 days he expressed surprise.  “That’s incredible” he said.  I am not sure why it is incredible – I prefer to think it is because time passes quickly and not that when I originally presented he did not expect to see me in 4 years time.  I did not ask him why in case I did not like the answer.

So, finally I reached the point where I could get off the conveyor belt, once I had picked up another six months of medication and the paperwork and walk out into the sultry Bangkok evening air two days after I had embarked on this round of checks.  Able to breathe out, at least for the next six months. Which I know is exactly what I wished for.

exhaleI guess that NED (No Evidence of Disease)and I are not exactly walking arm in arm along a sunny path, but we are kind of in the same town.  Maybe we can get a bit closer in 6 months time?  That sure would be good.

Bangkok – reflections and apologies

I have an apology to make.

In my defence, it has been an intense, stressful and exhausting week.  Physically, emotionally and everythingly.  But still, that is no excuse.  Just a smidgen more of care and attention, and I would have realised. And not made a few other bloopers too.

Monday was a long day.  The evening saw our writing group come together to wish our good friend Becky in Burma well as she moves on.  While burying at least my own head in the denial which accompanies the departures of dear friends.  There was little sleep, as I had a very early start on Tuesday and a 4.30 am departure to the airport for a short visit to Bangkok, crammed with meetings, discussions and tasks to do.  Plus it was the 49th day since my father’s death, which weighed heavily on my mind and heart.  The first flight of the day into Bangkok was on a smaller plane than the usual commuters, so took a little longer and flew at a lower altitude.  We landed pretty much on time, but not long before my first meeting.  With only carry on luggage, I swept through arrivals, zipped through immigration, stopped fleetingly at the ATM and belted down to the airport train link into town.  I arrived, late of course, and aching after dragging the bags across the city.  Even an mobile little carry on bag is wearisome when it has to be carted up and down stairs in such a warm and humid climate.  Never mind, meetings and discussions ensued, as did lunch and more discussions into the afternoon.  At some point I reached into my card wallet to pay for something, and immediately noticed something missing.  My bank card.  Now using bank cards is still a novelty and something I have not yet done in Myanmar, so my poor little card always suffers in Bangkok and is pleased to retire again when it returns home.  And here it was.  Or rather, wasn’t. It was missing.  My palms were sweating, hands shaking and mind racking back to the ATM transaction.  Yes, I had been in such a rush and so set on getting to my destination as soon as possible, that I had blindly left the card in the machine.  Any free minutes there might have been were spent on the phone to the bank, cancelling the card and trying to absorb the fact that a replacement can not be sent yet for security reasons.

The next day, Wednesday started with another early morning, and saw me departing on the Sky Train again to the next meetings.  Again with the carry on bag.  Again dragging it up and down the stairs and along the streets in the heat.  Immediately after the meeting, I was again back on the Sky Train and airport link and checking in for my return flight.  As I sank into the seats in the lounge waiting for my flight, I worked my way through emails and bits and pieces of work.  And in a rash moment, put up a quick Facebook update saying that  I seemed to be “back at the airport, after a crazy 17 hours in Bangkok, bracing for more of the same……….“.  Well, first of all I can’t count and in my exhausted state did not realise that I had been in Bangkok for much longer.  For a whole 30 hours in fact.  And the “more of the same” referred to a gruelling schedule awaiting me on my return.  I was soon boarding, travelling back and finally back home I collapsed into my chair with a very much needed mug of tea later that evening.

When I later flitted online, before sleeping, I realised that my rash update had brought a swathe of panic and concern.  Unexpected, rushed visits to Bangkok are indelibly associated with one thing.  The cancery thing. And family and friends were seeking urgent clarification.

Happily I was able to reassure this time.  But it brought home abruptly to me yet again, that once that line in the sand has been crossed, there has been a shift.  That shift is very much in our own perspective, but also ripples out not so gently to those close to us.  A simple fly-in fly-out visit to Bangkok had turned into a major panic.  All about cancer.Bangkok reflections

So I have an apology to make. I am sorry that a lack of thought on my part, brought worry and distress to people who care.  I am sorry that they had to go through that unnecessarily. But do you know what?  I am not going to take all the responsibility for that on my own shoulders .  No, because there is one nasty element which is at the root of it all.  And that is cancer.  Trying to raise its ugly head and revive fear and distress.

And I have yet to hear any apology forthcoming from cancer in any form whatsoever.

Re-entry. Accomplished? Kind of……….

Re-entry back into the spheres of life and work has been accomplished.  I guess. At least physically.

re-entry

Re-entry into Asia, Myanmar and Yangon took place on Sunday.  I travelled on the overnight flight from Amsterdam to Bangkok and for once the flight was smooth with minimal turbulence. Towards the end of the flight, and as we were flying over Myanmar (ironically) the pilot advised us that we would be starting our descent into Bangkok shortly.  Almost as an aside he mentioned that there were thunderstorms in the vicinity of Suvarnibhumi Airport so there could be some turbulence. Now thunderstorms and flying as a combination freak me out a little, so I decided to instantly file the information in the large “denial” folder in my mind.

lightning and plane
That worked initially as we started the descent, and I even managed to stay detached when we had a few pretty bumpy encounters with soupy clouds.  Then – BANG! There was a huge ”THWOOOOMP” kind of noise at the window and the cabin lit up as we air-kissed a bolt of lightning.  Inside the cabin there a lot of squeals and exclamations (although I didn’t understand the words as they were mostly in Dutch, I clearly understood what they meant), and great gripping of the arm rests.  The stewardess did not seem as alarmed as we were, and told us that we were safer in the sky than on the ground.  To say that this seemed counter-intuitive is an understatement, as we all know that lightning seeks out the highest point.  Plane.  Sky.  High…………  (I have since consulted Prof Google about this and it seems correct, would you believe?) The following fifteen minutes as we approached the runway lasted at least three hours, but finally we landed safely to an audible and collective exhale of breath. Re-entry into Asia?  Accomplished.

lightning and planes theory

I had over three hours in the airport before my onward flight to Yangon, so collapsed into the secret comfy armchairs near the departure gates for a bit and concentrated on staying awake and not thinking about the stormy sky outside. Finally we departed, the skies had cleared and our short flight was uneventful and pleasant. In no time, I was through arrivals and heading homewards to a waiting cup of tea!  Sunday afternoon was heading into Sunday evening. Re-entry into Myanmar and Yangon?  Accomplished.

The time difference between Yangon and the UK is 5.5 hours at the moment, thanks to British Summer Time. Returning to Asia, I usually find more difficult to adjust to than the travel to Europe as you lose several hours and morning in my corner of the world is late night in the place I have just left.  Thanks to the overnight flight and the intensity of the overall visit, I was physically and emotionally exhausted, so managed to sleep fairly early on the Sunday evening.  Which was fortunate as most folks in the UK would just have gone to bed when it was time for me to get up for work on the Monday morning!  Which I did manage to do.  Although it did require a very deep breath to face my desk which had been abandoned so hurriedly when I left for Scotland a lifetime earlier. Re-entry into work?  Accomplished.  Pretty much.

Overnight on Sunday and Monday, my sleep was broken however, by a sound which I did not recognise.  It was certainly some kind of animal, emitting a noise a bit like a throaty bray of a donkey crossed with a deep quack of a duck.  It was so strange and I was so disoriented that I disturbed hubby to ask what it was!  He was naturally not so amused to be quizzed on wildlife in the small hours but was able to tell me that it was a kind of bullfrog.  This is not the usual “happy party” frog noises I hear during monsoon, and I learned the following day that this is the noise which the Big Frogs make to call for the rains because they have had enough of the oppressive heat and want their monsoon parties to begin.

bullfrog

This seemed to work.  I was not long home on Tuesday evening and had realised that the frogs were silent.  However, in the distance I could hear thunder rattling around and before long it was clear it was heading towards us.  I could feel the air cool and thicken and a wind picked up, agitating the trees as the thunder became louder and the flashes of lightning more persistent.  The rain started abruptly, pounding through the trees and beating against the windows as the storm passed overhead, thunder and lightning simultaneously crashing around.  And then, with no surprise at all, the lights all went out.  The power was gone and I was in the midst of a quadrophonic water symphony, orchestrated by a group of actors including the rain, wind, thunder and of course the lightning conductor.  (ouch!)

Now sometimes power comes back quickly, and other times it doesn’t.  It is just a case of get hold of the torches, blackout bits and pieces and wait and see.  After about an hour the lights flickered back on.  You could hear the collective sigh of relief and blowing out of candles across the neighbourhood, followed by another collective “oh no” as they flickered off again less than a minute later.  Usually that is a good sign.  It means that the power is almost fixed and should come on again soon. All the while, the mugginess and humidity seemed to intensify and the lights stayed off.  And, all the while, the power stayed stubbornly off.  In fact it stayed off all night.  Which meant very little sleep.  Hardly great when combined with jetlag.  Especially unhelpful for productivity or energy throughout a demanding working day.  The power was still off when I headed out to work and was still off late in the afternoon when I phoned home.

Wednesday evening saw writing group, so I was later home than usual that evening. And to be honest, the thought of another night in that discomfort was not pulling me home.  When I did arrive home the lights were on and I could hear music playing!  What a great welcome!  Short-lived unfortunately. Hubby gently broke the news to me that the lock mechanism in the bedroom door had broken and the bedroom (and small attached bathroom were inaccessible)!  My first thought was that my swimming stuff was in there and the morning swim now sabotaged.  Next thought was for my toothbrush!  Then for everything I needed for the next morning to be able to turn up at work.  Isn’t it just typical that the day you can’t access your everything, is the day you have an Important Meeting and need to be looking the part! There was no way that door could be opened though, at that time in the evening and the only choice was to sleep in the spare room, wearing random pieces of laundry and breaking into the spare toothbrush supply from our last visit to Bangkok.  Another sticky and uncomfortable night, though slightly more sleep than the eve. The lack of morning swim though, really did make an impact – it is always amazing just how much more energy it gives getting up an hour and a half earlier for the swim and cycle.

Happily the locksmith arrived early and had removed the whole mechanism and opened the door within minutes.  With a whoop of happiness, I was able to access my appropriate attire for the day and make a start not too much later than usual.  Re-entry into sleep patterns and acclimatisation?  In progress.

So now, thank goodness it is the weekend and the chance to regroup a little.  Saturday morning saw me draw up a very quick five sticky plan to guide the weekend, the first one in a while as this has not been relevant the past few weeks.

IMG_0645

So re-entry has at least physically been accomplished, though it is remarkable how different the landscape looks following our bereavement.  I guess it just takes time for our senses and emotions to readjust.

All over the place

I am not sure where to start with this.  I am all over the place, and I have been all over the place.  And tomorrow I am going more all over the place.

My physical and mental beings are in limbo and transit all at once.  My mind feels as if it is the spin cycle of a washing machine.  Everything churning and spinning with no time to stop and reflect. No moment or opening to move forward.

I have just returned from a very short, intense and emotional visit to Scotland, with highs and lows.  Precious time with family, especially my father who continues to display incredible strength despite his frailty and years.  The sudden, cruel loss of my brother in law, stolen by a hiding cancer, believed to have been eradicated by the best of treatment completed only a few weeks ago. A long haul flight nursing a dramatically coloured and swollen leg, damaged thanks to pavement aerobics caused by an unfortunate combination of numb and clumsy Taxotere toes and a sneaky paving stone peeking up over its allocated territory. The rare gathering of close family over steaming mugs of tea and coffee and delicious comfort food. Hushed conversations. Rushed purchases. Heavy skies. Welcome laughter. Heart-wrenching smiles patchworked over wounds.

And as an unseasonal challenge Scotland organised blankets of snow over brave crocuses and daffodils as a  picturesque backdrop.

My return travel deposited me back in hot and sultry Yangon some 28 hours or so after I had left family in Scotland before sunrise in sub zero temperatures and into a sky full of snow waiting to fall.

Now, only a few days later, I am still not quite able to rest.  My half unpacked bag is now being re-packed ready for the short flight to Bangkok.  And the main reason for this unrest is the prospect of yet more checks. More blood draws from an arm so bruised I cannot see my own vein, scans to seek out anything which might be hiding and the usual investigation into anything which might hint at something sinister. I am exhausted with it all, yet I know it is what I need.  I know that without these checks, my mind darts into those dark, frightening places.  My Doctors and I are on the same page.  By the end of the week, I hope that I will be n the other side of this heaviness and limbo and able to move on in whatever direction that might be.  I know that my physical and emotional fatigue is colouring my spirit and mood.  I understand it. It just is what it is.

In all this turmoil and shift, this feels like the right time to change my background image.  While everything is so thrown up in the air, taking its own time for the different elements to drift back down and settle.

The sun sets on another workingn day at Yangon Central Railway station

This image speaks to me right now.  The sun is setting on a heavy day’s work in Yangon outside the Central Railway Station.  This woman is carrying her burden on her head, keeping her hands free and her posture proud. Her silhouette speaks of determination and strength, as it absorbs the soft rays of the sinking sun.

And of inspiration and clear direction.               In direct contrast to being all over the place.