and i can only pray

received mongolia gifts today.

they were each precious in their own way, from bayarmaa's news about the encroaching winter over there (although it would be spring by now) to photos that i am dealing very detachedly with at the moment; i can't afford to relieve memories still. i smiled especially at the newsletter, imagining shagai and barnabas working on the language. but realising one of the testimonies was written by chemee suddenly made the whole thing awfully personal.

many times i wish we kept in touch better, that language isn't a barrier. and by keeping in touch i mean that i wish there was some way to hear their voice, and see their selves; tall chemee and amaraa, bayarmaa and bujee, luunda- luunda and his mischiveous fellowship, dorka, dulu, iceman (enke?), uugna- to see them, hear their laughter, to run and play with them;

often its just jumbled voices and unexpressed longings in my head, pictures and still frames my mind still keeps and sometimes animates. and the memories are almost always green. such is the beauty of mongolia

how do we manage to wrap ourselves with dough layers between who we are and our memories, the soft barrier that keeps reality from cutting us too deeply. reality is the distance away from me and mongolia, fatality is how i don't miss new zealand anymore. we all learn to cope eventually, and die a little elsewhere. who i have been most immediately is emptied of mongolia.
and in so doing i have forsaken myself.