It has been more than a full year and a half since I have recorded some thought in this space. Coming home from abroad was then a monumentous occasion and warranted such a record, and since then there have been many new things in my life, many new developments, new thoughts.

I have reached the end of chartable territory. My plans have been laid, but at this point, they are laid in the ether.

At the beginning of this summer I will embark by bicycle heading south. The goal is to reach Buenos Aires, Argentina by the end of February 2009. I have lived in South America, and I have traveled on my own in places foreign to me, but this is absolutely unknowable. I cannot know what I will encounter along the way; what kind of people I will meet, what kind of places, weather, dangers.

It has been my plan for several years now to take such a trip, by bicycle for months and months. I think perhaps my motives have changed since the beginning. My first thoughts were born out of my reluctance to return to the United States in Spring 2006. I didn't know what to do with myself and it seemed that biking on the open road would be an acceptable escape from everything I feared back home.

I did return home, and I encountered all of my fears there, as written in the previous journal. I weathered a year of America, finding my niche in the meditative nature of technical and laborious work. Such things keep my mind centered and focused. In the end, I abandoned the idea of a bike trip immediately following graduation, and even the idea of attending school abroad. I went off to college in Ohio.

College changed my mind about a lot of things, but the intensity of this school of 200 students can be difficult to handle at times. With no real outlet outside of the campus community, all of my energy just kept reinvesting itself in my campus life. It built up steadily and by the end of the first term, after working full time, taking 22 credits, and being in the midst of a battle to save the college from death, I was as burned out as I ever have been.

This term, I am looking at things a little differently again. I am no longer that new college student learning what it is to be in college. I am no longer taking an overload of credits. I am no longer working full time. I am no longer very involved in saving the college, as it is out of our hands. Instead, I spend my time reading, thinking, playing harmonica, fixing bicycles, and trying to get a bead on life.

I have a lot of time to process everything around me. Clearly I've got a lot to think about regarding this trip. It is a big deal after all. But I am no longer really worried about what might befall me in the course of the trip. I can't know what will, so all I can do is prepare myself for everything and abandon my worries. What I have been thinking about a lot recently, has been what I'm leaving behind, and what I'm replacing it with.

I have lived in South America, so I can understand to a point what I will have when I'm there. I didn't think much about what I'd left behind when I left the first time, because I really just wanted to get away and know what life is like anywhere but home. I had no desire to stay in the States, and I couldn't appreciate life there. These days though, I'm really beginning to appreciate some of things I have here. I'm not talking about conveniences and freedom and all that bullshit that folks have ended up thinking life is all about. I like a simple life. I don't need anything I can't take with me, in the end.

But there are things that I will miss. Of course I will miss my friends and family, but I have spent a long time thinking about that, and I think I have moved past that particular point. I remember someone saying once that there is no such thing as "American Culture." Well, for sure there can't be any definitive American Culture. We are born of so many cultures, and our nation is so geographically vast that it is pointless to make that claim.

So as I prepare myself for life with little, I remember my time in Montana and New Mexico, and what life is like in the West. Not with all the city folks on the coast, but life that involves real work. We (those of us born to the cities and suburbs) have this ridiculous idea that the good life is the convenient life; the life filled with microwaves, and computers, and plastic. I don't hate these things. In fact, I appreciate them as well, but I have learned how they are not necessary for happiness.

I have learned to value a good pair of boots. When I put on my boots, I feel good. I like durable things. I like to be outside. I like to actually feel the cold in the winter. I like to wear long underwear. I like to heat water in a real kettle. I like to work with my hands. I like to be outside.

Now, what I worry about after all that, is what life will be like 16,000 miles down the road. The idea of living in Buenos Aires, while appealing and exciting 2 months ago, frightens the shit out of me. I can handle big cities no problem. I'm not afraid of being robbed or run over by crazy cabbies or what have you. I'm scared about reverting to that mindset that values living "well" over living purely. So I look for smaller places to move to in Argentina, but the universities are of course in the larger cities.

Some mountains at least? Cold? How am I going to deal with 6 years of school without cold? I guess I can only figure it out when I get there. Maybe it'll turn out to be all wrong and I'll take off for some new land again.

I still wrack my brain over just what my goals for all of this are. Why am I going to med school? What am I going to do with that? It's nice to dream about doing important work and helping the world through local medicine, but what? What an imprecise goal, what am I really after? Maybe I'll go to vet school.

I never thought I'd say it, but I am almost thinking of coming back to the states (somewhere far west of the Mississippi) after I've got my degree. Because there is American Culture, the kind that counts at least.

Alex

Home. What a strange word. It brings with it so many emotions, memories, ideas, and yet now, it's such a foreign word. Home? What is home now? Simply, of course, home is here, Cedarburg, WI, my hometown. But as I walked down those familiar streets today, it all seemed so strange, so out of place. It had stopped being the place I call my home.

Perhaps we can define home as simply the place in which we live, but I believe there is much more to it. It's the place where we feel comfortable, at ease, and at peace. This is not it.

But what is? This is a question I am now forced to ask myself. I've been uprooted from a place I felt a growing attachment to, and thrown back from whence I came. Here. I honestly feel this place, these surroundings are more foreign, stranger, less familiar, than when I first touched down in Paraguay.

Paraguay. What a country. I won't be foolish enough to say that Paraguay is my home now, but what I do feel is a certain sense of not belonging. I was a foreigner there, and though I did paraguayan things, and talked in the paraguayan speak, it's not something one shakes. Here, I feel just as much a foreigner. Though I know this place intimately, and it's people, the vast, vast majority are now placed at a certain distance from me. I can no longer be the suburban kid, the American that I was before. Why? Because I'm not him. We've grown apart. I left him behind, fretting over things to pack last August, and received word that he died some time ago. I sleep in his bed now, play with his dog, read his books, but I am not him.

It was not simply travelling abroad that changed me so, but rather a series of events which have culminated in the formation of the me that I am now. The normal exchange experience is always eye-opening, as is travel to any foreign country, but I had the great fortune to be given the opportunity to go beyond that, and really get know latin america on a much more personal level.

Friends, I've seen such things that I will never forget. There are so many things to be found in that continent, so many treasures, so many horrors. I can scarcely begin to recount the things I have seen and experienced, as not all of these things can be told in words, and in this language. And some of these things, I cannot even hope that you will understand if I could. There is something that can be seen in a man's eyes that cannot be transmitted by type or spoken word, by photograph or film. It's a moment in which your eyes lock upon his, and the souls mingle. There is so much there, and the burden these people carry within themselves is so great that in that gaze, it overpowers you, envelops you and crushes you. In some people, those eyes convey a deep saddness, or helplessness, or fear, but in some, for just a second, you touch something so powerful that it remains with you for a long time afterwards. I broke the gaze and managed to make my way back the truck, almost weeping, and he wandered back to his hut to get ready for the next 13 hour workshift, having given me all of his sorrow that I would take.

These things haunt me and inspire me, encourage me and send me to hell in every moment and every day.

I've stripped away what I was before, or what I had on the outside. Stripped away the suit of lies, egotism, worry, fear, and everything that powers this great machine I called home. When I left, I struggled to get a good grasp upon what exactly this country is. But finally I took a step back, and I've been stepping back since. I stopped defending my values and opinions of before, and let the world show me what it had. I saw. I saw the real consequences of what we have and do. It's a beast, a great machine that feeds upon our fears and worries and lies and deceit and greed, and takes us farther and farther away from who we truly are. We're caught in this irony, running away from the beast we feed.

I've found something better. It is something small, and I have not yet defined it, but I know it's there. It's a small flame, but if I keep it close, I can feel it's scant heat. And I must not mistake the bright plastic fire flickering in the fireplace for the one I know is real.

Thank you for reading, honestly. I'd like to speak to each person that manages to read this personally, and I mean that truly. As said, text is a horrible medium at times. This is one of them.

How things change. It irritates me how much my plans swing around.

When I wrote long ago of my plans to do humanitarian work, I had good reasons. I told myself I'd never be able to forgive myself if I did any other thing. I also told myself I'd end up changing my mind, but that I couldn't let myself. Well, guess what happened.

First I went off on my film school tangent, which, frankly, I would love to do...but I just can't. What I've decided is more important. Some day maybe.

Then most recently my bike trip. Which isn't exactly taking the place of the plans, but delays them a while, which isn't so good. 6 years of med school is a while, and I'd like to get it over with as fast as I can.

So, I'm back on track.

I was talking about crazy complex plans a while back- making this and that. Way to much work. It's a pretty simple plan. Go. Study medicine. Graduate. Work in the field. It's not hard, and there's a hell of a lot of work to do. Famine in Niger, Sudanese refugees going to Chad, refugees from Chad going to Sudan, Afghanistan, DRC, Georgia, still picking up the mess from the tsunami, and more come every year.

Every time I see this film or that film, I know I've got to do relief work. I have to. I can't even explain it.

Then when I talk to some people or read something, or ... anyway, I really really want to go study film and arrrrg. It hurts. But I just can't do it.

And that's not the only thing that hurts. I've got a year left in high school, right? And after that, I'm not just heading to UWM, or even to another school across the country, I'm leaving. Up and out. Overseas, faraway. I probably won't see most of these people again. I think I can deal with that for some of my friends, but it's the people that I don't know well that make me sad. I've spent the last two years not getting to know the people I wanted to get to know. And I feel like such an ass for it. Half of them are graduating this year, and I really won't see them ever again most likely, and the other half, well, a year isn't much time when you're looking at bailing out of the civilized world afterwards.

It'd be so easy to say, "fuck the world, I'm going to college like everyone else." And I'd probably be pretty happy. I'd worry about all the things other people worry about, and maybe live a life a bit more interesting that some. But now that I've considered just once, going to do humanitarian work, I would kill myself daily if I did anything else. How selfish would that be, I tell myself, to think to myself, "I should help these people" and then say "no, I'd rather do something else."

And I know I'd be happy with relief work, I really would. I'd love to live in the middle of nowhere making things a little better, but everytime I think of the people I left behind, and indeed the people I didn't even get a chance to leave behind, I know I'll doubt myself. That's something I must never do.

And now I'll be heading home (touchdown in Milwaukee July 6), and I dread living in the US, because I know I'll lose sight of my goal. The states do that, they make everything seem like it's not so bad after all. But it is, it is. And sitting here, I know this. How can I explain this? Damn.

So, I´ve had tons of time to think in class, because I do pretty much nothing there, and I´ve arrived at something of a conclusion.

First, I was already planning on going to a university overseas, but then I thought, how will I get there?
So I thought, why not go by bike?

So my new adjusted plan: High school ends, June 2007, and alex sticks around for a bit in the summer, tying everything up. Then, he takes off with one or two other people in a plane to Paris. From there, he unpacks his bike, and sets off on a two-year, 17-country trip to Bangkok, Thailand, including a stint over the himalayas.

I´ve been doing tons of work to figure this all out, because I´ve simply become entranced by the idea of just hitting the road in a bike for two years.

But it´s going to be expensive, which means hardcore fundraising...much more fundraising than I pulled for AFS. Gotta buy a new bike, and these babies run about $800, plus a tent, new sleeping bag (I managed to lose mine...at a hotel of all places), the panniers, smaller cookstove than the one I have, visas, all the bike repair gear.

But man, am I excited. Despite the fact that it might not even happen, and it´s more than a year a way...damn.

Does this interest you at all? You being anyone at all...from graduating seniors, to some kid my age from Lichtenstein. I need some fellow cyclers here.

The country list:

Passing from, Paris
Germany
Austria
Hugary
Romania
Moldova
Ukraine
Kazakhastan
Kyrgyzstan
Tajikistan
Pakistan
China (himalayas here)
India
Bangladesh
Myanman
Thailand

The "stan" area is a bit shaky, as they have strange visa requirements. So, I may take a detour through turkey and afghanastan.

Any interest?

Alex

It has been some time now that I have been looking for a way to define myself. This is a fairly common thing to do, I believe, as so few of us have any idea of both who we are and our purpose.

I believe there is a way to define ourselves, each and every one of us. Perhaps it is impossible to describe in english or any other language, but I believe that one thing exists nevertheless. It can be a single thing, an action, a place, but it is the one thing that truly allows you to know, for certain, that you are alive. Because in this moment, you live.

While things may come to mind, such as perhaps "I love a good game of tennis," tthings like that bring only base and animal satisfaction; they do not bring a sense of purpose - a uniquely human idea. I've little doubt that there are those who do find themselves defined by the game, the small green ball and it's flight, but most of us will find it no more than a pastime.

I walked this morning along a long and silent street, on my way to school. I stuck on this familiar theme of autodefinition and I made my realization. I have no choice but to define myself as a soldier. Many would look at this with suprise, as it may seem that this doesn't fit me at all. But it's true. It absolutely defines me, ow I think about things, and how I view myself.

"A soldier?! What are you going to do alex? Join the fucking army?"

I sigh.

It's not like that at all. Again, it's this thing that defines me, and really, I'm not sure any of us can truly explain this to any other man who defines himself in a different way. Looking back over the years of my life, I can see this underlying theme. I analyze tactical terrain advantages and just about everything else I see whithout thinking about it.

There's something unique and special about being defined as a soldier as opposed to being employed by an army. While these "soldiers" are indeed fighting men, they probably don't all regard it as their life's calling. America's army actively advertises to the effect of a "one man army." This disgusts me but embodies the very essence of American life today: selfishness.

A true soldier faces a horrible rtial of self. He longs for battle but longs for peace as well. He knows he can only truly live as long as he has a battlefield on which to fight, but is saddened by the destruction war, and he himself cause. There's an excellent quote to this effect in Gundam Wing, but I can't find it.

I can define myself as a soldier, yes, but now I may go further, to say that I am a soldier without a war. This is the curse of the soldeir, to wander, forever searching for a reason to fight.

"In the heat of battle it ceases to be an idea or a flag for which we fight. Rather we fight for the man on our right or left. When the years fall away all that remains are the memories of those precious moments we spent side by side." -The four feathers