I’ve just noticed that my red string bracelet has found it appropriate to leave my wrist. A Buddhist priestess put it there roughly two months ago when I climbed up the 8 steps of a temple hidden in the jungle, sparsely roamed by tourists in the maze of Angkor Wat and Angkor Thomh temples that litter the jungles of Cambodia.
In Buddhism, you must remove your shoes and bow below the head of Buddha when you come to worship. Incense is nearly always burning and sometimes people will rub Buddha’s feet for good luck.
My most prized possessions always seem to be the ones that cost very little (I gave this woman some change for the string and three incense sticks she shoved in my head, as nothing is ever really free).
It’s been something I’ve grown very fond of in these past weeks, just 3 or 4 red strings, tied with a simple knot.
But now it’s one more reminder that my time there is sleeping further past my fingertips, the smell is getting weaker, the pictures dimmer, it seems more like a facebook album than a reality.
That is memory. It’s temporary and a cruel mistress with time. The images fade, the bracelets fall off and I’m left with this half-hearted tempramemory, that fades and fades until.