the art of doing nothing

Yesterday, after day seven of a daily two-hour art workshop Topher and I are running at the library I work at here, I came home, showered, grabbed some cold water, and just sat.

I just sat down in front of the fan, and watched my host sister from the window.  We chatted a bit, all the while she was in the process of making mango jerky (even more delicious and natural fruit roll-ups).  I watched her stir and stir and stir a big, boiling pot of mango meat.  The literal name for these fruit strips is "stir mango" because of the process.  There's also hours of drying it in the sun, but that doesn't make it into the name.

And as I sat, my knees tucked under my chin, fan pushing wisps of my hair around, I realized I was immensely happy.  

The other day, a K6 (the group that came after us) was at our house for a few hours and I asked him if he'd like anything, as he was just contentedly lounging (as much as one can lounge on a slatted wooden bench) and looking.  And he said no, he was enjoying doing nothing.  He'd recently realized how truly enjoyable the Khmer way of sitting, and doing nothing, absolutely nothing at all, is.

How truly enjoyable doing absolutely nothing is.