But I am in a sad, mad, bad temper. I was not there for Myshkin’s tenth birthday for the first time in his life. How I used to wait for the 30th of June every year, to see his starry eyes when I held a wrapped present towards him in the morning. Instead, this time I went to a temple to pray for him. I had not stepped inside a temple except into the courtyards for the dances. But I felt the need to do something, so I woke early and when I walked down the street there were women putting out leaf cups filled with flowers and incense on their doorsteps. I never pray & I felt an impostor, I looked for a place to leave my slippers, but a man standing around there gestured to say I need not be barefoot. I suppose he could see right away I didn’t know the first thing about praying at a temple in Bali (or elsewhere) but he didn’t stop me. I was tongue-tied & I fumbled with the offerings, but maybe God, if he or she exists, understood what I was trying to say.
