"Clock don't mark the hours because I'm going nuts." There is a song in Spanish that translates to this slightly absurd sentence. It's also how I felt upon leaving Siem Reap, Cambodia on December 30 at seven in the morning.
My watch of five plus years lies on the window seal of a room in a guesthouse twelve bus-ride hours away from Ho Chi Minh, where I currently await my flight to Hong Kong. Time should just stop now that the relationship between my watch and I--one full of trust and forgiveness--is over. But I know time and my watch too well. Time my watch continues to keep, time it still takes to do anything of value in this world, yet there is no such thing as time. This is the one point of disagreement my watch and I battled frequently. Now that it keeps the time for no one (until it is found presumably) I wonder if I've ultimately won.
Even as I revel in my victory, however, I'm curious to know what time it is. Temptation to ask a fellow traveler to let me consult her watch tickles my fancy. To what end? It will only mark my actions in a measurable capacity. What is the use when I am in the midst of unfamiliar country? I have interesting company, food, sunshine, and pleasant experiences ahead. No, I will be content to sit back and ignore time this time.
