TO THE WOMAN WHO LED US INTO THE MOUTH OF THE JAGUAR
I heard your voice before I saw you. You didn’t ask me if I was OK. You just began a conversation, as if we had been talking for a long time. You took my daughter’s hand, and you told me the entrance to Ek Balam’s temple was just a few steps away.
TO THE WAITER IN BEYOGLU WHO LEFT ME A TIP
Pamuk, to his credit, understood the rarity of his good fortune and set out to do something purposeful with it. After collecting his loot, he conceived of a fictional project that actually, for once, merited the designation of “novel,” in the adjectival sense of the word, as something had never been tried before.
TO THE GUY IN GUATEMALA WHO NEARLY UNTIED MY TONGUE
If I’d been wearing one of those adorable mini chalkboards around my neck like people in movies wear when they take a vow of silence, perhaps I would scribble hello, handsome stranger along with a brief explanation. It’s not you, it’s my silent retreat.
TO THE BONG WHO TOOK US TO THE ZOO
Phnom Penh is built on people. Relationships, memory, loyalty—these are the currencies of Cambodia. Most visitors to the Kingdom will come home and tell of “the people.” Living in Phnom Penh, especially as a barang, or expat/foreigner, became a daily maze of friendships, obligations, and favors.