Why, it's all so meaningless, you can't help but ask yourself what life is all about

I’ve heard thunder rumbling in the distance all day, and it sounds like an empty threat. Most of the houses in the barrio are mud brick, and – judging by how much water seeps through the small, exposed patch of mud brick on one of my exterior walls – they flood like the Zambezia River during rains. They’ve promised to bring concrete to fill in said patch, and other places that more desperately need the work. There has been a pile of sand in front of my house since yesterday, and I take that as a sign of progress. Things are slow to get done in the Land of the Smiles, but I think I may hail from one of the promptest countries in the world, so I’ll have to get used to a slower pace if I want to continue to live as a venturera.

I am listening to Chris’s music, and it is making me feel like I swallowed the pit of a mango. I’m not going to lie and say that sometimes I don’t wish I were in the States, sitting next to my mother and sister on the couch watching the Pride and Prejudice mini-series while drinking merlot and eating French cheese. I could go into more detail, but I’ll spare you. I’ve thought about this many times before.
Chris is a fan of Buddha Bar, and on the song Path of Love there’s a voice over given by an older-sounding British man. Here is how it goes:

He’s not famous. It may be that when his life at last comes to an end, he will leave no more trace of his soldier on this earth than a stone thrown in a river leaves on the surface of the water. Yet, the way of life he’s chosen for himself may have an ever-growing influence over his fellow men so that, long after his death, perhaps, we will realize that there lived in this age a very remarkable creature.