Today I finished painting the house of my adopted Thai family. A big, ice-cold beer was waiting for me. As I drank it I looked down at the state of these shorts that had been with me through the heavy heat of Thailand, the ruff n' tumble of India, the mountains of Nepal, the arid lands of northern Australia, the endless sandy beaches of Bali, the cold concrete of Montreal and the moist mornings of British Columbia, and I knew it was time to hang 'em up for good.
My half-ass sewing efforts kept them going strong for a healthy duration of travel and received quite a lot of compliments over time and place. The chords are completely flat, the color is grey like E.T. when he got really sick and there is a huge hole in the left knee. But the main reason is that it's just time. The pattern I've noticed with the dawning of every new chapter of my life is that something of nostalgic importance always seems to wear out or simply disappear. And this is sad, but it allows room for more in my already minimalistic lifestyle. It leads me to new things- new nostalgia.
In 2 days I fly to Singapore. Then New Zealand. My backpack will be slightly lighter, but having written this tonight I feel content and ready for a new pair of hand-me-downs.
Respect.
