Paradise (or The mind is its own place)

I keep thinking about the word "paradise." What does that word mean, anyway? I looked up the definition and the first three given are religious. But is "heaven" the same thing as "paradise?" I'm sure that heaven is paradise for some people, but is the opposite true? Maybe it is for the people who don't subscribe to the former sentiment. I don't know.

For me, paradise makes me think of John Milton and Joni Mitchell (or The Counting Crows if you don't know what I'm talking about). Is that odd?

The word also makes me think of money--big, flashy, excessive splashes of money. The kind I'll never have. So, another word attaches itself behind it, bright like neon lights, glaring and ushering "paradise" out of my mouth without so much as a lingering taste, heavenly or otherwise. That word is "unaffordable." This gives rise to another word, one I think most people associate with paradise and that is "vacation," which, in turn, is loaded with a mind-map of words and images.

It's "green" or low season in Thailand though because of the monsoons and I've found myself on vacation and able to afford a little slice of somebody's so-called paradise.

I am on an island off the coast of Thailand. I'm staying in a resort. I have a comfortable room with air-con, a king-sized bed, a hammock and an enclosed outdoor bathroom all to myself. The weather is gorgeous. It's monsoon season and I haven't seen a drop of rain since I got here on Saturday. My door is seconds from the beach. The wind and the heat are strong, but it feels really nice down by the water. Today I had a free, hour-long massage compliments of booking during green season. For dinner I had a fruit plate, french fries and a coconut shake (this last also free as part of my resort package) just because I could. Tomorrow, I'm getting a scalp massage and hot oil hair treatment (this I'm paying for, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be worth it).

Is this paradise? I don't think so. And not just because I've always been more of a fall and winter person than a hot, sticky, sweaty heat person. (You're probably thinking, "Why did you choose Vietnam then?" I have no answer to this question despite the fact that everyone I know and everyone I've met since arriving has asked it of me.)

One look at the beach and you'd understand why. There's more plastic than you could possibly imagine: cups, shoes, bags, toothbrushes, bottles, yogurt containers, ropes, food wrappers and random bits of things I can't identify. It makes me cringe.

Having grown up in Western Washington, which has a reputation for being ultra-green and recycling is promoted everywhere even in commercials ostensibly advertising the state, I inherently rebel against littering. I once snapped at a group of teenagers tossing rocks at a can on the beach because I thought they'd thrown the can there. I was horribly embarrassed at my outburst, particularly because I was only a few years older than them and they were innocent of the crime. That didn't stop me from picking up the can and recycling it on my walk home. 

To say the pollution in Vietnam eats away at me would be an understatement. There's more waste on the ground than there is ground and people regularly burn piles of plastic in an attempt to "clean up." On my last bus ride from Cambodia to Vietnam a water bottle, one of the big, 1.5 liter ones, was rolling around between the seats. An old woman in the aisle across from me picked it up and promptly dropped it out her window. It was two-thirds of the way full and it wasn't hers. Occurrences like this happen all the time in Vietnam. I'm reasonably sure that the old woman thought she was keeping the bus clean. Though, I suppose she might have just been annoyed with it as it kept knocking into her feet.

In order to live in Vietnam I have to ignore these occurrences. I am not proud of this but it is something I absolutely have to do in order to retain my sanity. The most insane, utterly unbelievable part of Vietnam's ignorance about saving the planet is that recycling is actually a business there. People push carts up and down all the alleys, side streets and main thoroughfares paying people for their recycling only to then turn it over to a recycling center for a profit. In a country where the divide between rich and poor is staggering, why don't more people sell their recycling? This makes absolutely no sense to me.

I've only been in Thailand for a week and I don't know how recycling works here, but there were recycling bins everywhere in Bangkok which is awesome. Also, for two days I watched the resort staff rake the beach of garbage. At first, the sight comforted me, filled me with hope. At least these people cared, right? What brings me up short, however, is that why doesn't everybody care? Resorts, restaurants and bars line the beach. The only spot with no trash is the one in front of the the resort I'm staying at. So, maybe, I unknowingly chose the best place to stay here, but there's nothing right about it. It horrifies me.

On my first walk along the beach I was giddy about trailing my bare feet through the sand but the incredible, ridiculous amounts of garbage made me reevaluate the intelligence of removing my sandals. Then the sight of syringes stopped me dead in my tracks. I'm in a country that has a serious reputation concerning illegal drugs. (I swear to God The Beach and Brokedown Palace scarred me for life.) Those syringes freaked me out. I didn't get close enough to see if there were needles. I turned around and headed back to my hotel, all thoughts of swimming and curling my toes in the sand abandoned along with all the trash littering the beach.
  
This island has all the makings of a tourism brochure to be paradise but I can't get past the heaps of refuse on the otherwise soft, sparkling stretch of sand. It overwhelms me with sadness, which is the exact opposite of paradise according to the other two definitions: a place (or state) of extreme beauty or happiness; bliss. 

So, I keep thinking about the word "paradise." While it always seems to evoke images of a blinding sun, dazzling white beaches, deep blue water, palm trees and pina coladas, none of those things appear in any definition of the word. Advertisers and marketing teams have cleverly cultivated the word to become synonymous with their vacation destinations. But if paradise is really bliss, then it must be subjective. It also doesn't have to be a place; it can be a feeling.

Now I keep thinking about the words "extreme" and "happiness" and I think I'm still working on "paradise." But all is not lost. I know that I get to decide what paradise is for me and the coolest, most comforting part is that I have the ability to create it, too.