Summer seals

Summer 71 found me quarantined at home to nurse a broken arm. The injury happened right in my first month of practicing Hapkido. A lot of songs to pass the time. Summer breeze was hard to come about, in my small and S-shaped alley.

Summer 75? needless to say, I was going nowhere, except to the pristine beach and the mess hall of Wake Island. On the bus or on foot. But going nowhere.

Summer 76, I worked as a camp counselor in Mt Poconos.

A co-worker, teacher, from Philadelphia took me home on break. We watched the Bi-Centennial fireworks at the cradle of Democracy. Everyone seemed to be jubilant. The nation finally regained its footing, after Vietnam. Born on the Fourth nor not, we’re ready to kick the Vietnam syndrome.

A little bit of romance here, and there. But first, I must hit the book…from Speech class to TV production class, from PE to micro-economics…. just to check the list toward graduation.

Summer 79 was my graduation right after the Three-Misle-Island coverage. I struggled: to take the job or not take the job. Mom was waiting in D.C. without any children living with her. Jobs I could always find, but not another Mom.

Summer 80 in the backyard of a co-worker in Northern VA. The Children’s TV International crew outing. Guitar and singing in the outdoors.

Summer 81, I was setting up the sound system, test the mike in Hong Kong Jubilee camp, and while at it, might as well spark the set for the thousands of refugees there. My trapped audience, with no admission and no applause. Just curiosity and a break from their miserable quarantine.

Summer 82 graduation at Wheaton Graduate School. Feature writing with Glenn Arnold. Write, write and write. Make sure to close the loop with the same anecdote.

Summer 83, once again, in Hongkong scattered islands, with doors slammed behind after my UNHCR visits to the many camps. Thousands were in semi-permanent detention. I knew for a fact, many would make it once they were out into to the four winds. All those trapped talent and raw humanity. No summer breeze there in those make-shift centers where violence was the norm, a reenactment of the Vietnam War.

Summer 86 I traveled to West Africa. On a goodwill free book tour. Seeing my grad-school classmate again. In Ghana, Cote D’Ivoire and Liberia. People living their normal lives e.g. long outdoor religious gatherings (with the exception of Liberia upheavals).

Summer 88 I made a pact to myself to have the best summer of my single life: on a bike, Martha Vineyard, Vietnam Memorial with an overnight stay on Mrs. Lodge’s property, widow of Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge. She used “divine” a lot.

Then many summers since, including back and forth to Vietnam. To rediscover what’s been missing the first time around. The same alley, same round-about. But I have changed from the inside.

I have acquired a wider context, met many different types of people, rode the corporate elevator. These internal eyes helped me see what’s been missing, what’s been shortchanged and what could have been: rule of law, scale and sophistication.

People live with blind fold and blind spot. Just like here in the US of late. Gun laws and abortion laws. Incidentally, Seals and Crofts had an album called “Unborn child”…., an anti-abortion theme. which made radio stations even the ones with payola puzzled.

Seals died last week. Leaving Crofts all alone. Both were born in Texas.

One would think the song evoke memories of the sea like in California and written by Californian.

“Saw the curtains hanging in the window… in the evening on a Friday night, … a light shinning through the window, lets me know everything is all right”.

Summer breeze makes me feel fine….

All those traveling was just to get it out of the system. The restlessness of a permanent nomad. In search of love and the truth. To come home and know the place for the first time.

Settling for nothing less than significance and eternality. Blood sweat and tears. No respite and no rest for the weary. Baptism by fire and water. Till ash return to ash. Because one cannot go home again. “My soul was anchored in the heavenlies…hence my heart grows restless”.

What’s left is just a fragment of those summer breeze, on the Island or on the beach. Often times, just to play out a wish on a whim.

Turns out it’s not the hardware of the soul that matters. Infact, it’s just the opposite: the software like summer breeze and sudden love, without numbers crunching or calculation. The later belongs in domain of data, of certainty and predictability. Math more than matters of the heart.

“Feel the arms that reach out to hold me”. Someday we’ll see face to face and it will be then time to “seal” that deal.