I have a persistent headache. It?s nearly 11 pm on my last night in Vinh and I feel as if I?m already suffering from jet lag. Oh boy.
So I should go to bed. But I have a mysterious long-held belief in the importance of writing during transitions, even if one has nothing profound to say. I have nothing profound to say.
I have this thing for high places (and, to quell any christian humorists, I?m not talking about ancient Israel and idol worship -- oh, see what growing up in Sunday school does to a person? or do I blame Erlo?).
When I was a little girl, I used to climb on top of my chest of drawers and just sit there for a while. Years later, in Italy, I did it again, and when people came into the room and saw me sitting there with an empty wine bottle in hand, they thought I was drunk. Actually, I was getting a new perspective on life - thank you very much.
Summer after 10th grade. Our last morning in Haiti, Mollie and I somehow woke ourselves up before daybreak and climbed out the hotel window onto a low roof. There, eating dry cereal, we watched a very unspectacular sunrise. But, the beauty of the sunrise wasn?t really the point, not exactly; we had escaped ?conventionality and the plague of the mundane?, which is a very important thing in the summer after 10th grade, even if pixie dust and feathers are no match for gravity and carpets and elephants will never be able to fly.
In college I liked to climb on top of Francis Hall. I?m pretty sure it was illegal, but, in my defense, I never saw any signs posted. Francis was an old building; my French classes were held there, and the parks and rec department was located there. At night, you could climb up the fire escape and a short iron ladder and sit on top of the building. From there you had a pretty good view of college station, as well as a view straight through the well-lit library windows next door. I would clamber up with a bag of m&m?s after a couple of hours at the library and be pensive and alone.
I live on the fifth and highest floor of an on-campus building at Vinh University. On the landing by the last set of stairs, there are some iron rungs stuck in the wall leading up to a small square hole in the roof, used by workmen for access. All year, I?ve been meaning to climb through the hole on the roof to see what can be seen. I haven?t, chiefly because there are usually students around during the hours when I?m awake, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the university would not look really favorably on me hanging out on the roof. ?Unconventional? doesn?t really work here.
This afternoon I realized that the campus is completely dead during ?nap time? and no one was going to see me. So I gave it a try - climbed up, flung the tin trap door open, and pulled myself up through the hole onto a small cement square of roof. I could see out, but no one could see me, because of the construction style of the roof. A perfect spot for sunbathing.
I returned to the roof tonight, after the last of my evening guests cleared out, to look at the stars. The moon was full this week, and is just barely waning now. Tonight it was big and yellow. Circling around from the moon, I can see the student hostel across the way; the lights of ben thuy bridge; the single light at the top of Quyet Mountain; the Phuong Dong hotel; the statue of Ho Chi Minh and the lights of Ho Chi Minh park; and darkness. There is summer lightning far in the distance, but the sky is mostly clear, and I can easily find the big dipper.
Stargazing is, contrary to what it might seem to be, an incredibly grounding activity. You can?t hold on to delusions of grandeur or self-importance when you?re laying flat on your back staring into the infinite distance above. You shrink down to your proper size. You remember who is in heaven and who is on earth and why your words should be few.
I haven?t taken enough time this year to look at the stars. I haven?t climbed on roofs often enough. Tonight I wanted to stretch out the moment, to expand time, so that I could just lay there in the cool wind and moonlight a little longer without it meaning that I was missing important hours of sleep.
And speaking of sleep?