I became a believer outside a traditional teak house in a rural northern Thai village that would be my home for the next five years. The longest I've lived anywhere. When I think of my childhood, this is the view that comes to mind. My first journal was written here. My little brother was adopted here. My parents' faith was demonstrated here. I remember the sounds: roosters crowing, chickens scratching, 6 a.m. motorcycles on their way to the tobacco fields, wooden bells clacking at the necks of wandering oxen, drunken karaoke from the party next door. I remember sensations: breeze breathing through my open bedroom windows during cool season, wind lifting my kite high in the sky, warm river water easing humid afternoons, the drowsy silence after a lingering rainstorm, riding my bike to the corner store (no hands!) for a 5 baht bag of ice. I knew my childhood wouldn't last forever, so I savored each moment, gathering memories with precision using the best words I knew how. Years later, I still miss this view.