Time is skin, not a dress

3 am, I am lying in a tent on Adang Island in southern Thailand, listening to the water caress the shore just several feet outside of my tent, inhaling the smell of leaves freshly washed by the evening storm. My tent was one of the few that held out, knock on wood, through the violent wind gusts and moderate downpour that made up our evening entertainment. Oh tent, you've been through so much with me, and you are getting only moderate beat up after three years of faithful service. Everything sounds pretty darn perfect, right? Then why do I find myself dedicating hours to daydreaming about silly things that are America? Cravings for Guinness and avocados aside, I found myself missing commuting the other day-time spent alone in your car. I miss cooking for myself. I miss Windexing the bathroom mirror on Sunday morning. Due to the incredible personalities of everyone on our program, the self-imposed lack of 'me time' has made me nostalgic for the solo activities that keep you from being overwhelmed in a buzzing crowd of people. And I'm realizing that the thing about impermanence is not so much a tangible lack of settling, but more the inability to build layers upon layers of good memories since you know you'll be moving on soon, possibly forever. The draw to familiar places is the rich multitude of happiness you can re-experience and build on every time you revisit the place. For what is reality anyway but a collection of perceptions?