Do as the Romans Do.

Today my dad mentioned a vomitorium, which he explained to be a room that was used by the Romans in order to vomit up all their food in the middle of a meal, so they could return to the table with and empty stomach in order to stuff themselves again. Though a vomitorium is actually part of a theatrical stage set up (this I learned from my second time taking Intro to Theatre, jam!), the idea that the Romans did actually take part in the act of deliberate puking up the hoards of food they enjoyed just to continue their elaborate meals.

I took a really long walk along a rocky coastal ridge, 50 feet of bright red rock and lava above the crashing waves. The sand toasted the bottom of my feet, but it felt surprisingly good in contrast to the salty breeze around me. This walk was long, and with my iPod singing Ladytron and Kings of Leon to me, I let my feet take me miles along the coast. On my way back, I tried a different path and ended up somehow on the 11th hole of a golf resort, then found another path which led me into the heart of a forest in a tunnel of pine trees . This walk got me thinking about my life, and how a little over a week ago, I was sitting in a dirt floored Samoan fale squeezing the cream out of coconut shavings next to a tattooed Samoan named Mose. And how in a week from now, I’ll be sitting in a carpeted, colorful bedroom making sock monsters and sharing pictures with friends.



So many wonderful things have happened to me in the past 4 months, things so sweet and sour and salty and memorable I can’t begin to find words to really describe them to you. Since I walked barefoot off the plane in my puletasi (a Samoan woman’s power suit) in Hawaii, greeted by my parents who immediately took me to the hospital to get all my tropical ailments checked out, I’ve been bitter about my turn to America. I get annoyed at people who are rude to waiters, people who ask me to put my shoes on in buildings, screaming babies. But really, I shouldn’t be so contemptuous.

After talking to two of my very best friends this morning for the first time in 4 months, I am reminded that things can be good here. We fell so easily back into talk, and made plans for reunions of epic proportions. Just hearing their voices did it for me. Wazzzaaaaab. Borgan. Road trips. Dinosaurs. Hood River. Love letters saying Nothing.

I think the life I lead in Samoa and the life I’ve returned to are both wonderful. I have to let go of this cynicism and celebrate both situations, and try and fuse what I love about each into my own character. I can be happy here. I can be happy there. Really, it’s that simple. So while I do miss the crowded bus rides to Leulumoega and the laughter of Tokelauans outside my door, I love the taste of broccoli and sitting on a comfy couch in a black hoodie listening to music and staring at the rain.

So I’m going to mentally visit my dad’s version of a vomitorium, and make room for all the good that is coming.