Being Thankful 2023

A holiday cleanup reveals a book under the sofa--
the worn out pages curvy and dusty,
presenting a story half read, long forgotten. 

The movable tents called "ger", 
the exotic boots called "gutal",
in the frozen world of  northwestern Mongolia, 
where Tuvans, who are Mongolians, and Kazaks lived side by side.

The riverbed is a nature-made road for winter travel by jeep;
The weather is so harsh that the very young 
and the very old would get sick and die. 
The wind, the temperature, the remote locale, the bleakness of all
only makes their fur hats look more magnificent. 

I remember the steppe life I lived as a child growing up--
thankfully I escaped by studying very hard 
and scoring as high as I could in tests and exams. 
That was my only way out. 
Stereotypical stories like this are recited by 
many Asian immigrants with thousands of  minor variations. 

Now I am only plagued by accent, grammar, English language in general. 
Now I feel like a third world body striving in a first world economy. 
After a big Thanksgiving meal, I am going to have a long sleep tonight, 
during which I know I am going to dream of Mongolian Steppe, 
leather boots, fur hats, horses and camels, 
a romance story, with a bit of Kung Fu thrown in. 
My dreams always belong to the steppe--
that is inescapable. 

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Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay