They won't talk, but they could remind you of something
My mother asked me if I would be able to vote (on November 8). I was unable to give her an answer, as I was thinking of picking up fruits in case I ran out of funds. Perhaps I was taking democracy for granted. Then again, I believed I've been living in a bubble. Two months later, I had my first glimpse of the desert. It was glistening along with the turquoise sea in the distance. This was an unwelcoming terrain, but there was no doubt about the beauty. I figured out that I was fortunate to travel halfway around the world. I was glad to meet similar people. (We were afflicted with wanderlust.) I was lucky to have a loving, if not supportive, family, but the warmth of fellow travelers and the occasional generosity of locals humbled me.
My tutor gave me a copy of "The Return of the Young Prince" before I left the place I've known too well. I didn't know that Antoine de Saint-Exupéry penned a sequel, but she reminded me that A.G. Roemmers wrote it. The author, who hailed from Argentina, was a huge fan of "The Little Prince." And this sequel (of a sort) was set in Patagonia. Dad had been to this part of the world, and he loved it. He was hoping that I would join him on his next trip. He was told that Patagonia was named after an indigenous tribe, whose members have disproportionately huge feet. It could be an urban legend concocted by the Spanish navigators (during the 16th century), but what he saw was a sky washed in a glorious array of pinkish, lilac and purple hues. He didn't take any pictures, as he had a vivid memory of the beautiful sky. There were snow-capped peaks, which were part of the Andes mountain range, but it was the desert that he recalled next. The arid landscape would stretch to the horizon, and the cracks would reveal something. My old man figured it out after sunrise.
How the image of the river delighted me
"Sometimes people are like oysters: the only thing we need to do is to wait for them to release the pearl that they've been harboring inside."
I read "The Return of the Young Prince" while aboard the slow boat. My fellow travelers were gazing at the verdant mountains hugging Mekong River while I stared at the murky brown waters now and then. If this exotic place could talk, then it would advise me (and the rest of the passengers) to enjoy the ride. The leaves might encourage us to appreciate the rustic features, as the concrete buildings (of the metropolis) would never be a good substitute for it. And then I tried to learn to be patient. We would get to our next destination.
The narrator met the Young Prince, who was searching for his lost sheep. It was a long journey from his planet, where the poplars and bushes won't tell a word. But he sensed the desolate region opening up to him. He would be reminded of tenderness and innocence, even if it happened in the unlikeliest place. Saint-Exupéry wrote "The Little Prince" during the Second World War, which he would consider as his recluse from the horrors of war. The deceptively simple story might be a companion book to "Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up," but it's really not the case. The French author would encourage his readers not to lose the child-like qualities, and Roemmers recalled those moral lessons.
The third millennium might not be much different from the tumultuous decades defining the first half of the 20th century. Technology would numb millions of people. Isolation had never been more apparent than before. As for the Middle East, time would tell if it could pose a greater threat. The mysterious eyes of the Little Prince would become visible (or so I thought). It was hard to tell if the world hardly changed at all, as the Four Thousand Islands became visible to everyone. There might be an extinct volcano in Si Phan Don.
