Cultural Explorer
Last night there was an Eisa drum celebration somewhere in my neighborhood, and although I could not spot the event from my sixth floor balcony, the sounds rang out loud and clear for over an hour. It was a beautiful island soundtrack leading to the realization that I truly am residing in a foreign culture. If life is about movement and a struggle against complacency, I can take comfort in the fact that picking-up and moving to a foreign country in my sixties at least proves that I am still living.
Retirement looms large on the horizon, but I fancy that I would rather keep moving and follow the sounds of the pounding drums.
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