KARMAR. IS LIFE'S WHIPLASH

 

KARMA IS LIFE’S WHIPLASH.                                                                       Murder is a debt karma collects without mercy

 

The theory of KARMA entered my life at an age when children rarely challenge what they inherit. Born into a Buddhist household, in a nation of more than sixty million believers, karma was never presented as a possibility — it was presented as truth. 

I did not question its strength or weakness; I accepted its authority instinctively. Misfortune, suffering, reward, success — all were believed to be consequences of previous actions, a reckoning delivered by a higher power to which humanity must eventually bow with humility.

Then life widened.

My international travels introduced rival ideologies, opposing faiths, and intellectual arrogance disguised as enlightenment. With each new country came another explanation of morality, divinity, fate, and human suffering. In my endless thirst for knowledge, Karma was slowly pushed into a quiet corner of my mind, only revisited when life presented questions too disturbing or too complex to answer logically.

I began to view religion with scepticism. Divine intervention and mystical forces seemed, at times, the refuge of the weak-minded — a convenient weapon wielded by the fortunate to justify their superiority over those born with fewer opportunities. I rarely voiced these thoughts aloud, but privately they hardened into a kind of intellectual rebellion.

Yet despite all my cynicism, I cannot escape the unsettling belief that, in this life, we occasionally brush against evil. Sometimes we stand close enough to feel its breath. Sometimes we touch it — and afterwards instinctively seek goodness again, as though trying to scrub away an invisible contamination. Buddhism taught me that karma does not always wait patiently for another lifetime. 

Karma arrives with breathtaking speed, exposing wrongdoing with terrifying immediacy.  Perhaps it travels silently through bloodlines, settling its debts across generations long after the original sins have been forgotten.

My innocent matchmaker carried a burden that was never hers. Three times she came close to marriage, and three times the relationship collapsed when prospective suitors discovered that her father had been executed by firing squad.  His crime had shocked the nation. Even now, I choose my words carefully. Some stories carry consequences long after the participants are dead.

His daughter inherited a sentence of her own.

His sins became her inheritance. Though blameless, she paid the price for a history she neither created nor controlled. When her fourth relationship broke-down, her revenge to humanity was brutal.    She violently committed suicide with anger in such a macabre scene, imprinted for everyone concerned, nothing was left to the imagination.

Karma has a theatrical streak.

Yet karma is not always a brutal debt collector.

Is there a positive side to karma? Most definitely.

The older I become, the more I wonder whether the ancient thinkers who created these beliefs understood human nature far better than we give them credit for. They lived in a world without psychologists, sociologists, prisons, television, or social media, yet somehow recognised a simple truth left unchecked, human beings can be remarkably destructive creatures.

Greed becomes corruption.

Jealousy becomes hatred.

Hatred becomes violence.

Violence becomes war.

Perhaps karma was never intended merely as a religious doctrine. Perhaps it was society's earliest behavioural guidebook — a warning that every action, however small, leaves a footprint.

The positive side of karma is far less dramatic than its punishments. It rarely arrives with thunder and lightning. Instead, it accumulates quietly.

A kindness shown today may return years later from an unexpected direction.

A favour freely given often finds its way home.

Integrity earns trust. Loyalty earns loyalty.

For fifty years I was fortunate enough to experience this side of karma through the unwavering love of my husband. Looking back, I see countless examples of goodness returning when least expected, often through complete strangers whose paths briefly crossed mine.

Perhaps karma is not mystical at all.

Perhaps it is simply the mathematics of human behaviour.

Whatever its true nature, I remain convinced of one thing: betrayal eventually presents its invoice, and kindness eventually earns its dividend.

The seeds we plant, whether noble or destructive, always seem to find a way of growing.

Today with 73 years on this earth, it is long enough for naughty and rebellious me to possibly return  in my next life as “Gallum” the bedroom gecko that I killed violently and  with great satisfaction, when it slid to hide into my gym shoes.

THE ART. OF MANIPULATION

The art of Persuasion     -      The art of Manipulation

Enticement temptation Scheming exploitation

 

The definition of the Psychology of Manipulation is quoted from Psych Central: “Coercive or unethical behavior driven by the goal of exploiting or controlling another person for your own personal gain”.

 

I see it as a normal day to day living in a world of 2024 of deliberate competition for the best job, monetary gain, and the perception of winning.  Unethical behavior has many interpretations:  Cheat, Lie or Corrupt just to name a few.  Life in the fast lane does not justify this behavior and conveniently blaming the competition from 2025 onwards of new ideas is too easy to condone.

 

I was conveniently told off recently that I use the term ‘manipulation’  too often, in describing  my behavior indicating that I might be using the  terminology incorrectly, or if it was calculating, then it was disturbing, too scary to be in my presence; or on the other hand, his linguistic ability escaped him momentarily.

There’s another side.

Women are so much better at it than men.   It comes from cajoling children, without harsh words, to finish their food before play.  Little girls absorb this effective trait from their mother, as early on, when sweets were in exchange for toilet training. Little boys just took the sweets, reflecting on nothing other than, he did what he was told.   As they grow into adulthood, girls absorb the subtle persuasion on how mother seduces father.

 

Men don’t realize until done.  Game set and match.

 

Caught in my choice of wording, I was considered too scary to conduct a friendship.  It just boils down to  the “know-how” of seduction and the intent.

 

Picture this scenario:    The delay of Sunday roast, as LIVE soccer on TV  goes into extra time;  the wife’s repeated request that lunch is ready NOW, went on deaf ears.  So instead of frustration, she uses her manipulative skills by turning-up the oven heat on high, adding water for effective high-steam, producing strong aroma by leaving the  oven-door open, and the living-room door ajar, a sensory manipulation between  choice of Beckham’s goalie, or the  whiff of roast  beef stirring the hunger valve at its peak; plus the effective sound  of Beaujolais poured slowly into the crystal wine glass, be persuasive enough.

Who wins?

Beckham didn’t manage the goal, by then the first two sips of Beaujolais awakened more than just the hunger for the roast, but the suggestion of afterwards.   Now I ask you, the reader – too scheming, too scary  for succumbing to manipulation of the highest order ?

There are other forms of the darker side of manipulation that most hold the interpretation of falling into a trap, a lured ‘gain’ for the manipulator. There is another way to define manipulation, that is seduction.

 

There is an art to seduction. The art is in the understanding, being in harmony, empathic and sympathetic with the person’s journey and  how its’ interpreted depending on the inferiority/superiority  complex of the personality of the seduced.  Once defined, then go for the jugular.  That is if you are coming from the dark side.

 

In taking Psychology on human behavior,  there were many courses from Micro-expression, body language, and this example is of how to find out what  the person in front of you really thinks without a mask:

 

Introduced to a British expat and to gain knowledge of where he stands on his view on the troubling British monarchy, political views,  future goals, and what he liked most about Thailand having visited five times:  the questions should be none of  the above.  Because the stock questions will give him the ability to answer quickly,  thus gaining no knowledge.   The question should be an acknowledgement of empathy, yet exposing his carefully kept views:

 

Questionnaire:   Having not been to London in almost 20 years, from the moment I landed, the shock was not seeing any ‘white’ humans, they were all varying degrees of brown to black, with the right accent, but wrong skin colour.  I know ‘woke’ is what I should be speaking but what’s happened to England?

His frustrations held hidden  for a long time came tumbling down:  Labour Party a disappointment, Conservatives are to blame for handling boat refugees hence the changing colours,  The Royals have not helped:  Harry and Andrew’s  despicable behavior, pulling the monarchy down, it probably aggravated  Charle’s cancer, and Kate’s hidden undiagnosed cancer leaves William alone.   British women hell bent on the ladder of corporate success,  leads to comparison to  Oriental women .

 

Now it was easy to figure who he was, how he felt, and what to expect.  Would this be called manipulation?  

 

Calculating yes, seductive yes, not quite manipulation but there’s always the misinterpretation of actions.

 

Please convey any thoughts, I leave “comments” door open for only a short while as I normally hold back viewer counts,  and comments, so as not to entice readers on a choice by what humans evaluate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ANCIENT VIAGRA

Pomegranate Elixir
 

Tuptim in Thai translates

as “pomegranates” a symbol of fertility

 

 

Pomegranates are the sacred fruit presented to the Gods of ancient times.

 

 

 

Those in the secret fought for growing the best Pomegranates.  

Found originally from Mesopotamia; its beginnings

 ran the route of Turkey across Persia and along 

The Himalayan Valley. 

The debate continues today of which variety has the reddest, luscious 

and packed with the largest seeds.

 

Presented to Egyptian Gods, Pomegranates are known for fertility, abundance and life after death.

 

Enough history. 

 

My preferred choice would be of the Himalayan Valley variety, for its sand and soil is of equal depth which never disappoints, hard to find in S.E. Asia.

 

A longing to drink some Pomegranate Elixir I decided to phone my Persian school friend Fila, who travels the world, and resides in Mumbai.  Her father at 92, her only family member left, serves as a Mullah in Bagdad, provides this Elixir at his Mosque.

 

Fila denounced me for being ancient, and old fashioned; said she doesn’t know anyone who drinks it anymore, except her father, who still supplies this to the local Mosques in his area.

 

“What’s a Buddhist like you interested in make-believe that its God’s wine? you guys philosophize in Karma, much more sustainable” her remark jolted me, but still longing for the taste, she sent me the recipe.

 

Remembered times of gulping the exquisite Elixir after forcing down Lamb’s eye at a dinner in Baghdad, helping my father, the honored guest, from not regurgitating in full view.   For King and Country and father’s honor, it was an eye-to-eye combat, helping me to win, was the Elixir.   

Thailand grows its own version, seedy and pink with little juice.  The terrain is not suitable to compete with Persian soil.  Available are second-best  Indian variety grown in China, so I sat down and patiently started to peel away.  It was the most appealing sensation that required focus, combined with 80’s and 90’s music blaring through ear pods, the afternoon was mine to behold.

 

Dates, Figs and Walnuts usually packed plus bottles of Elixir, was all the food needed, if lost in the desert.  As the cooking commenced, the aroma permeated my condo and escaped through door-gaps into the narrow corridor of  10^th floor.  Mixed with aromatic saffron, cinnamon, with intermittent wafts of rosemary,  fellow neighbors heard commenting as they walked passed.  

The five bottles of 300ml had a cool temporary home in the top shelf of my Mitsubishi fridge.

 

The first sip determined my disciplinarian or easygoing nature. Friend or enemy, it is their advantage of knowing where my border-line choices  resided – it just takes a tiny pers   uasive excuse from the right person and I’m in. The Elixir is usually taken in the form of  “shots”  

                                              

Should I sip it, or should I down it?

Why the hesitation?  There was no one, only the fridge and me, but evading truth is a human weakness.

 

Experience, Guilt and Maturity, are learning experiences in which not to repeat, despite wanting a replay, it is often a baffling dilemma of self-contradiction.  The correct terminology in psychology is Cognitive Dissonance.

 

With those thoughts hanging and adventurous me dangling, you guessed correctly, I downed the 300ml.

 

Heavenly on the tongue, the velvety texture of Saffron, highly expensive, mixed together with spicy pungent grounded Cinnamon,  is known in the Persian and Hindustani world  for its properties in increasing sexual arousal. 

 

Pyramid building caused many men to die; the Egyptian variety served its purpose, and we have the enjoyment and wonderment of a historical structure to admire.  India’s vast land mass of 3.95 million km2  with no borders stretching from Pakistan to Bangladesh by discovering lush land.  

Karma-sutra encouraged for variety, made sexual positions more enjoyable. The Hindu Gods never stopped inspiring and enticing, made sure their food depended on spices, resulting  now over 1 billion heartbeats fighting for food and space.

 

Not deviating, no excuse, the Elixir gave tremendous energy, I looked and felt glowing and as the day progressed, I consumed yet another 300ml. to validate the belief of  Pommegranate Elixir being natures Viagra.

The sun is now setting, promising night time, where all humans and animals hide to play naughty. I will leave you with the imagination to search for this wonderous and delicious drink and join in this rivalry.  I leave you with this quote:

“You can only come to the morning through the shadows.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONDUCT OF A CONDUCTOR

Have you ever attended a concert hall with a full orchestra either in London, New York or Bangkok, after anticipating what seemingly felt like thirty minutes, but in reality only ten,  the conductor finally walks on stage, everybody acknowledges him with loud astounding applause, but he has yet to show his expertise, of  what?  Dare I show my ignorance  and expose my weak knowledge, defining me as a music lover, yet ignorance pervades my understanding of the simple law of synchronizing movements to make beautiful classics.

Dressed in the prescribed exquisitely tailored dinner jacket,  he assumes the role to start music, he turns his back to the audience and his skill as a musician begins in full force.  Hundreds of past concerts in my lifetime, the waving arms, the body movement was not unusual, however old or young, there was a sexuality attached to the arm and swaying hips.

 

The chance is rare, to catch an unprepared conductor, for back-and-forth intense conversation.  Captivating his weak moments, even as our discussion progresses, the creativity that runs through his veins lights up and showed his ability was in-born.  Character intensity leaves energy on to everything he brushes against.  Dopamine is in full flow with every concert  and along with it comes trouble.  Dopamine is a pleasure-seeking neurotransmitter.  It’s addictive.

 

Dopamine impacts many neurological and behaviour functions within the body.  It produces arousal, necessary to conduct classical music, movement in tune with conducting re-enforces production of dopamine in huge quantities.  I have the unique ability to smell dopamine  since my health declining requires dopamine in huge quantity that flows with sweat in large quantities. It has a captivating musk mixed with a uric acid whiff which is unmistakable.   I know of no-one else possessing such olfactory uniqueness to dopamine.

 

The complexities of knowing the music notes by heart, and everyone else’s on every note bar, exhilarates the tempo of dopamine.  The precise execution he directs on to the Orchestra is in watching the conductor’s excellence in mastering every single note of every musician. His leadership judged first by the orchestra; his personal body movement and hands, creates his unique conducting so all will follow him with just a quick look.  Judged by the audience, unless you are a musician, the conductor just moves his arms elegantly signifying total control.  That’s all the indication the audience is allowed privy.  

 

I was fortunate to have a sharp and witty incitive conversation that left me overwhelmed with inside knowledge that was privy to what this particular conductor and his group of musician friends, and family musician members who know of his magic component.

 

I tried a psychological approach to find the true emotions of the man, the violinist, the teacher and the conductor, all in one person.  The conversation showed me that large  quantities of dopamine is released, a neurotransmitter that  encourages pleasure; required to make such a presentation.  Whether he is on stage, or not, his daily production encapsulates the whole person and is in large quantities.   That extra component translates into a sexual ingredient that overflows in colossal amounts.   That signifies that out of concert halls, there lies a story of conducting the body to let go of those pleasurable feelings the dopamine produces.

 

His physical stature is not of a large alpha male, yet the grey/white hair over a darker skin tone, with bulging biceps from conducting and body training, pushes sensuality and sexuality like squeezing pomegranates made into an elixir,  There is such an elixir mixed with spices, from the depth of Babylonian times, originating from Iraq, that is taken in shots to provide testosterone much like  Viagra, as any Iraqi would swear on its merits.

 

 It holds a fathom of secrets that should be explored on what happens before and after a concert.  He agreed that after the concert, he is completely shattered by the energy used.   Giving me nothing to go on, but I pushed the limit, he was not angry but amused at my  level of intrusive questioning, back and forth with quick repertoire    I suggested that the arms and fingers that relate to musical instructions , some on hold, were like holding back orgasm for the lady to be fully depleted, before he could produce the lasting chorus.

 

His eyes twinkled this acknowledged unashamed knowing look, was all that I needed to title this blog “Conduct of a Conductor.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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FACING FEARS

CONQUERING  MY  PHOBIAS

Longevity Hub by Clinique La Prairie

Allow me to take you through the doors of fear to the doors of freedom.

 

Immediately when Hyperbolic Oxygen Therapy  (HBOT) was

 mentioned, the small twinge of panic attack arises, as a sufferer of

 claustrophobia, pretending enthusiasm was one of 

my many 

Oscar performances. 

 

Packed lifts, small cars, stalled traffic, the London tube, or Bangkok’s Skytrain at peak hours, have been places to avoid as much as possible.  Sometimes unavoidable service repair days at the condo has only 2 lifts out of 4 in working order.  I use the service lift together with astonished window cleaners.  The end of their days precariously held by a belt attached to a rope vs the end of my days holding my breath under stress, compliments of today's IT life.

 

Apparently Oxygen cures a lot ails caused by stress. So how am I going to even try HBOT.  My only option was to use the psychology tricks that I teach my clients, to teach myself.  Now truth will tell if I’m as good as I think I am.  It’s very leveling and humbling to self-evaluate. 

Living life to its max  - no regret.

 

Health goals are challenged, like everyone else, by age.   As each birthday repeats, we are at the front of new innovations to repair and keep the illusion of youth and strength.  How the human mind can mislead the reality of the life-span process is incredibly self-deceiving.

 

My theory is while my body ages, I challenge my mind to learn anything from neuro-psychology  (which I fulfilled this difficult course a few weeks's ago) to achieving a chef’s faultless poached  eggs (took years to perfect) Testing my abilities; ask any chef or neuro-scientist how difficult those two far-fetching tasks were to accomplish.  The most demanding is keeping-up with the changes of time.  I judge that by my ability to use the phone apps that upgrade their technology every two weeks. If I can match their speed, then all’s well. 

Simple, the body ages but the mind should be intellectually sharp, savvy with retort, and hilariously funny.  Never go the easy route, always the most difficult and that is why I feel engaged with reality – no pretenses, in writing or anything that is critically judged.

 

The trick to defusing fear requires 100 percent self-discipline.  The hardest to achieve.

 

When faced with fear,  breathing exercises alleviates symptoms of short breaths, that does not  bring enough oxygen, so that the flight or fight response becomes rigid, then with less and less oxygen, comes panic attacks, anxiety and eventually losing control.

 

Face your Fears and embrace your failings

 

As I stepped into the metallic steel chamber, intently listening to instructions, my breathing was short and shallow.  Claustrophobia coming out of its hiding in full force as the chamber reminded me of Titan submersible that imploded touring the Titanic in June 2023, killing all five passengers.  How the mind recalls such a frightening thought process as the fear takes a higher gear  at each step .

 

Inside the chamber, on the left was a phone I could use to call if I needed assistance. It was reassuring but it was, also considered by me, a failing, if I had to use it.

 

The moment the latch automatically closed; oxygen pressurization started. Anxiety leapt from 7/10 instantly became 10/10.  The famous iceman,Wim Hoff’s 11 minute breathing exercise came to the rescue.  The chamber was filling with oxygen  at the same time.  My ears started to pop as   when in  a pressurized  aircraft .  I was able to look at my disabilities squarely in the eyes and accept them as part of the makeup of me.

 

The shock of the level of calmness was electrifying because my brain was intellectually sharpened and  gave answers to many problems that was hanging.  I was amazed by the brainpower imploding, whatever else the oxygen was doing within the body, I wasn't so interested, because the brain was just an exceptional machine that moved at great speed absorbing new ideas as fast as ten minutes in the chamber.  It was obvious my whole body was lacking the required amount of oxygen through neurological deficiency, and this was food for the starving brain.

 

Epiphany after epiphany I was beginning to think, did they inject magic mushrooms to enhance this ride, but of course not.  I was just picking up as I left off when my dopamine deficiency was diagnosed.  Not to make a discovery that HBOT cures all neurological disorders, it just dramatically helped alleviate the lack of oxygen that should have been there, had my substantia nigra worked as it should have done.

 

The peace that came with the oxygen was equal to an end of life. The peace achieved is a acceptance of a life-force that is strong and decisive, and there is an end that is equally forceful that should be celebrated. Not to be given prayers to deities, that cannot prove the existence of the almighty to take you to heaven or hell.

 

Oxygen - the most beautiful essence of life/death taken for granted and should be learned and practiced, however early the end comes, or in any circumstances, peacefully or not. 

 

So I urge my readers to try it with an open mindset.

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However this comes across, it’s the most genuine account  of what the amount of oxygen did for my brain.  For that I am with gratitude to the people that had the vision and implemented this concept, including the owner, who brought Clinique La Praire to Bangkok, the world's most respected wellness clinic, a science-backed holistic solutions since 1931.

The reason that my blog is never used for monetary requirements, or have advertisements is clear. Neither do I glorify nor criticize others.  This is not a review but but an account of real, unadulterated description   of where my mind intellectualized with the extended oxygen. 

The claustophobic fears  that have haunted my whole life has since left me, wirh subsequent HBOT therapies, I have had the priviledge  of the calmness of the mind and spirit.  Challenging myself on all crowded areas within the city, I attribute the cure  of Claustophobia to the worst possible confined space, the HBOT steel chamber, with oxygen being the silver lining.

The value it added to my life if only for a short period, on the flip side, how it showed that my body had disintegrated to a certain level through the failings of certain organs, a normal process of living the life.

 

But what a life I’ve led.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE BALCONY LADY

The Balcony Lady

 

 The dark strands of hair intentionally fell forward hiding her face, she was at her last thread of survival.  The tone of voice audible through the balcony door left ajar suggested relief. This was her first Covid quarantine of 14 days, our fourth of 56 days .

 

Sharing jokes with my British husband was the first brush of interaction, glimpsed between two strangers comforting each other in their national bonding, facing the utter unknown.  Comforting the uncomfortable situation developed into a gift only given, when the vulnerable is desperately reaching out.

  

A trust so incomprehensible to anyone, even family members, guarding her blind spot, accompanied her to be mentally healed at The Dawn in Chiangmai.  Catching the memory of those  intense moments in quarantine at the Nai Lert Hotel is the story of self-faith.

 

 Our quarantine sanction was once the ‘in’ place for ladies’ who lunch, or Embassy receptions.   The marbled floor lobby, plush carpets, staff greeting us, always as we alighted from the car.  My silk outfit, perquisite crocodile clutch and matching 5” high-heels with my powerful-business husband, hand-in-hand in his custom-made black-tie.  We were strutting our stuff.  One of the few bi-racial couples, to have lasted, condoned by advanced society yet, some believed, ingrained from biblical times, stay within your tribe.

 

The bi-polar effect :

 

Covid at its highest peak, we flew in from Singapore. This time, we were driven from the airport in what prisoners are driven to jail.  The window separating the driver was glass-divided. Entering the same hotel, we were warmly greeted, both hands clasped together like a prayer, called  a ‘wai’ by an unidentifiable masked staff in green plastic overalls.  Their job was to cover our shoes with look-alike shower caps.   Like a jail sentence, we were accompanied by two plastic enclosed humans or an alien,  (my vivid imagination) by the arm, as if we were taken to their waiting UFO’s.   Up the lift and rushed to our room, the darkened hallway, reminded me of  a nasty event here in 2009 .   A famous American Kung Foo / Hollywood film-star hanged himself in Room 352 on the same floor.  A result of  AEA  (auto-erotic-asphyxiation)   His room overlooked the pool, reported by the widely read local newspaper, with no journalistic integrity.   Our room was in the opposite direction, overlooking the carpark. The change of adding another figure to room numbers was meant to confuse any curious guests; instead failed with the likes of me.

 

The bi-polar effect was one of life’s gift, the greatest humbling turnaround.  It  brings out the inner soul that sanctions the body it lives in.  Maybe I shouldn’t chastise the Chinese outrageously for Covid.  Instead with gratitude, through this quarantine I met the Balcony Lady.

 

Quarantine, soft words to define a pandemic solitary confinement in once a 5 star hotel was no less than a prison. Choice meals delivered with a door knock, wait until the steps are distant, then possible to open the door.   At the beginning whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner, voracious appetite saw us gobbling down as if this was our last meal.  A behavior of solitary confinement emerged; any left-over carefully packed for hunger before the next meal.  We collected stacks of butter for if   ?  when   ?  rather sad, anything to save normal remnants of before. This time I got to see, engage in and found faith towards humanity, its lowest ebb and its highest. 

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Every morning, without fail, coffee time became the focus, the pull of genuine care was growing without even trying.  The respect of her needs and problems was left to dignity.  The deep friendship had only one ingredient: trust.  The relief when she told us her son was two floors above with only a wave, and a quiet shout to re-assure each other’s heartbeats were still beating.  My quiet thoughts:

 

Was this a deliberate ‘ineptitude workings’ of the hotel staff hired during Covid?

 

Sharing the connection between balconies, the unusual  kind of setting allowed free flow of subjects. The Lady’s destination was Chiengmai’s The Dawn.  Considered one of the best medical wellness and rehab center in Asia, well known as one of the top centers to help drug and alcohol addictions, and mental issues. Only just aware of its existence, pride of my tribe had money, foresight and the care to address a problem with the correct methods. 

 

That moment an enormous respect for her and family and the empathy overflowed.  Just under 6,000 miles travelling all the way to the unknown, in the middle of Covid, in the trust of the Dawn’s capabilities, in the trust of Thailand as a country, was an immense risk.   On top of which an endurance of 14 days in quarantine, before she could get the help she needed.

 

The power she possessed, the courage she never lost.  A fighter in everything.   At the time I had little faith in my own country, little knowledge of The Dawn, little faith in Covid…..to deliver what could be an oversell.   To my astonishment, they did deliver and after a few months returned home.  Throughout the three plus years, we continue to text, video chats.  The friendship has grown and under the love of her family, her strength is to be admired.  My Balcony Lady.