After the Waves: Preface
A final decision about what the hell I am doing.
I’m not writing this because I want to.
I’m writing this because I have to.
Not “have to”’ as in the “I have to write this because it is pouring out of me onto the page” sort of way that many writers I suspect embrace – or dare I say want others to believe that they embrace, because that is the romanticized way of the writers. Or, is it really readers who do the embracing? To be drinking whiskey and toiling away at their vintage Corona, alternately cradling head in hands and pounding fists at the sky as they wait for the muse that comes from somewhere mystical to guide their fingers and their thoughts and their emotions so their words flow like a waterfall of inspiration and fills page after page after page with transcendent description and showing not telling meant to inspire the masses, alter perception and change lives.
Yeah, that’s not why I’m writing this.
This is more of a “if I don’t write it now, after years of telling myself I will, I will begin to forget and then it will be gone forever and I will never forgive myself” situation.
And I am starting to forget.
So, I’ve finally decided to confront this seemingly arduous, long-delayed and oft-procrastinated writing process and put the story down. Or, more accurately, sift through the thousands of words I’ve already written on this topic over the years, finds the ones that make sense, the ones that lead somewhere and perhaps even entertain, and put them all together in one place. One collection of memories of that time and that place and that experience.
But I’m doing it out of fear, not out of desire.
There was a time when I wanted to write this story. Had to write this story. I have cradled my head in my hands. I have pounded my fists at the sky. I have waited for the muse to come through me and shoot words through my fingers. Letter by letter landing on the page like a literary Edward Scissorhands slicing through pages instead of hair. And if I had written it in full years ago, it would have been a much different story than the one I am attempting to tell today. My guess is that it would have been much angrier because part of its purpose would have been to help me process suppressed grief and loss as much as it was to talk about the story itself – even though I didn’t know it at the time.
Now, as time has passed, and my emotions have softened and cured, it has become a story about … About what, really? Really, what is this story about? Do I start from the beginning? Should I start by mining themes or identifying motifs? Should I work from start to finish, or mix and match timelines, hopefully by the end creating a thoughtful and readable account of this adventure?
I’ve sat down many times in the past to capture this account that might at some point end up as something someone somewhere might end up reading. I’ve approached it differently at different times over the years:
As a travel memoir focusing on heartbreak, escape, friendship, survival and resilience
As a fictionalized account of an intense relationship and disastrous breakup that sent our heroine to the other side of the world seeking escape and healing
As a story of two friends who set off on an adventure and get more than they bargained for in more ways than one
I’m sure there were more. I started writing this story nearly fifteen years ago as a blog, and I am thankful that I did. I have a good amount of memories captured there that I have been able to draw from, along with emails from family and friends, a letter from the Department of State welcoming me home (more on that later), photos, and newspaper articles* that were written about Usheen and me.
So, where I have landed is this: A series of vignettes, not quite short stories and not quite essays, mini-memoirs if you will, meant to help preserve the memories I have of the trip, of Thailand itself, of the good, the bad, the really bad, the surreal, and the unbelievable. Perhaps by stringing all of these snapshots together they may combine in such a way to allow the bigger story to emerge. And if not, then at least I have found a way to preserve the memories, which is ultimately what I set out to do.
* You can read the newspaper articles here and here.
© 2023 Kim Selby All rights reserved.
All photography © Kim Selby unless otherwise credited.
Photo credit: Unsplash, SOCIAL.CUT