Christmas in Khokphet

‘Twas the day of Christmas, and all through Khokphet,

Not a student was sure of just what they would get.

They heard Ms. Jessie chatting with teachers, so jolly,

But knew not a thing of gingerbread or holly. 

So into four groups they were parted and placed.

They learned about Santa and as elves they raced

To save Christmas day for all girls and boys

By running St. Nick his hat for the delivery of toys. 

In the canteen they sat ‘round to hear a short tale

Of chasing and tricks by a gingerbread male.

After each boy and girl with sweets did decorate

A cookie that after lunch they hurriedly ate.

Off in the distance, children learned a short song

Of Rudolph the reindeer, whose nose made a long

Foggy night of Christmas a doable feat.

After which reindeer headbands were made. What a treat! 

With Mrs. Praneet the kids learned the reason

People celebrate differently during the winter season.

Whether lighting of candles, or birth of their king,

The songs and traditions are all worthy the sharing.

Then, off each little one went with a skip

Cookies in tummies, headbands for the trip.

Homeward they travelled with smiles so bright,

Singing “Wish you a merry Christmas!” well into the night.

*Many thanks to all those who sent care packages to make 250 gingerbread cookies and reindeer headbands possible for my sweet students. You know who you are, and you rock!

Today, I did this...

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here from "Annie" PCV Thailand Style

Host: Now, farang, what would you like to do first?

PCV: The English, then the social inequities, that way if my Thai is sub-par...

Host: No, no, no, you don't understand! You don't have to work while you're here with us! 

PCV: I won't?!? But isn't that sort of the point?

Host: Why, you're our guest!

Host: You wear the color of the day

Yai: Today is yellow, why are you wearing green?

Host: The bucket shower has some frogs 

PCV: I get to have pets in the bathroom? Oh, boy!

Host: We hung the mosquito net already

Nong: If you're afraid of ghosts, I can sleep with you

PCV: I think I'm gonna like it here!

(Dance sequence where PCV is squeezed and prodded by every member of the host family, then force fed a ridiculous amount of food)

Host: The rice fields are all around 

PCV: I get to eat rice? Oh, boy!

Host: The kanom wan is always here 

PCV: You mean I can eat all I want?

Host: We have a million more for you (These Americans are so fat!)

PCV: I think I'm gonna like it here!

(More food and mosquito attacks commence)

Pii: When you wake, take a shower, you have to take a shower!

Nong: When you come home, take a shower, you have to take another shower!

(PCV spins around in wonder as the host family shouts...)

Host family: Did you take a shower yet? Did you eat rice yet? Go to bed!

Host: And geckos chirp upon your walls 

PCV: They'll sing me to sleep at night!

Host: Mosquitos come out around 6 

Host family: We have but one request, please eat some more kanomes!

PCV: I know I'm gonna like it here!

(Montage of freezing bucket showers and overeating)

PCV: Used to live in a state where I'd eat some cheese

        Get me now, holy cow! Could someone pass a kanom please!

(Thousands of kanoms are handed to PCV at once)

Host: Gin yert yert!

PCV: I didn't mean it!

(Still more eating of kanoms)

Host: We've never had an American 

Host family: Farang, farang, farang, farang, farang, farang, farang, farang, farang!

PCV: I'll be you first volunteer!

Host family: We have but one request, please eat some more kanomes!

PCV & Host family: I/We know I'm/your gonna like it here!

Happy Birthday Nong Pern!

Today, my hosts' daughter turned 15 years old. In Thailand, the birthday girl or boy traditionally makes merit in the morning when the monks come to collect alms, then it's business as usual.  It's a lovely tradition, but it doesn't quite meld with my American sensibilities, and since a third of my work here is about helping the people of Thailand understand American culture better, what nicer way to keep that goal alive than by making a heart-shaped chocolate cake and cream cheese frosting from scratch, and decorating it with M&Ms as a surprise after dinner? Did I mention I also got her some presents? Yeah, it was a pretty wonderful night. Here are some highlights...

The cake complete with 15 candles

A team effort

My beautiful host family

Cutting her first birthday cake

Sharing in the love

Tough Conversations

Sometimes conversations here aren't just difficult because the language is not easy to master. It's not always the words that get in the way, but the entire way in which I view the world which can sometimes be so very different from those of my friends, students, and co-workers here. At times, it feels heartbreaking. At times, I don't know if I can handle the frustration of it any longer. At times...I am amazed at the transformation that takes place through these tough conversations that I have to brave, though thankfully not always alone. Here is one such example...

At the Encourage Choice, Empower Gender camp that I attended with three eighth grade students and my co-teacher, we played a simple game that spoke volumes. Questions dealing with everything from substance abuse to public displays of affection, and sexual choices to personal preferences were covered. At one point the scenario, "eating dinner with someone who has AIDS," was posed. I found myself in the 100% comfortable realm at the center of the circle along with various students, volunteers, and counterparts, some stood in the 50/50 range, and way on the outside of the circle stood my teacher, eyes wide at the thought that such a thing would be comfortable for me. I almost got mad. I definitely got shaken. I wondered how this sweet woman who not only teaches English, but health as well, could be so close-minded. I admit it. Internally, I was being quite judgmental.

As the camp continued, my fellow PCVs and their counterparts did a phenomenal job at touching on such taboo subjects with a lighthearted but straight-forward approach. My co-teacher took copious notes in every session. She asked for copies of all of the lesson plans, teaching materials, and any other guides that covered these topics in order for her to supplement her health curriculum. When I asked her how she talked about such issues as sexual health with the students, she said, "It's very difficult," a nice way of saying, "I basically don't."

On the last day of camp, the same scenarios were posed. I witnessed the change in responses from question to question, but was floored when my co-teacher proudly joined me in the center of the circle and shook my arm to have me notice that she would sit down to dinner with a person who had AIDS with a grin and loud, "Of course I would!" I saw my joy mirrored in her proud eyes looking up to me for support, for approval, for acknowledgement that she had learned and stood up for something new, now. What a powerfully transformative weekend the GAD committee provided for us!

Some time later, Peace Corps Director of Programing and Training here in Thailand sent me an email that she was impressed by the willingness of my co-teacher to participate so eagerly in discussions at the camp, and extended an invitation for us to attend an event at the U.S. Ambassador's residence in honor of World AIDS Day.  I was excited by the news, but still uncertain about how my co-teacher would respond. I mean, a camp setting is far different from submitting for approval from our principal and attending an event in Bangkok to raise awareness about AIDS. As we talked about it, she was nothing but honored by the idea and rushed to speak to the principal about it within the hour.

The event was a mixer, with many people from all walks of life within Thailand, various NGO representatives, and embassy personnel. As we mingled, speaking to nurses, educators, aid workers, and business-types, I witnessed a dramatic shift in my co-teacher. She wasn't afraid to let her guard down and ask questions if she didn't understand. She listened as I did, searching for ways to teach our students more valuable and accurate information in a community that is impacted on a palpable level by HIV/AIDS. Our students made it onto the poster that Peace Corps submitted for the event, and was hung at the entrance to the event, which was a very pleasant surprise. We spoke with pride about our sweet kids to the ambassador, and as my co-teacher spoke about the lessons they learned, I saw the value of education. I saw the sustainability of this program that focuses on teachers and students alike.

“Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”  

~Robert Louis Stevenson

Restless Reflection

As others turn blind eyes
To the pain that lives
I see

As others forget the whispers
Once shared in fear
I remember

As others use the cane
To prove a point
I leave

As others use cruel names
To feel superior
I hear

As others take advantage
Of all they can
I give

As others struggle with
A system against them
I watch

As others break their backs
To provide for all
I thank

As others go through motions
To get a handout
I work

As others laugh at all
They don't understand
I learn

As others stay the same
For years and years
I change

Giving Offerings & Giving Thanks

Worlds Mirror - Worlds Apart

As I began to build my floating crown for Loi Krathong, I thought about what it all meant. Beyond the reason the tradition began here in Thailand, which I've heard many different stories behind from honoring the Buddha, letting go of anger or negative thoughts, all the way to thanking the Goddess of Water, Phra Mae Khongkha (พระแม่คงคา), on to what this might mean to me. I love symbolic acts, rituals that resonate with me, as much as I love being artistic and honoring nature. This yearly celebration, held on the 12th month of the traditional Thai lunar calendar, was shaping up to be a special one for me.

I spent the early afternoon with my host family shaping the banana tree trunk base cut from our own banana trees, cleaning, oiling and folding the banana leaves, and picking flowers from the garden in order to make my krathong (floating crown/decoration/boat). My host and her daughter took time to teach me (and my host's son) how to tear and fold the leaves into different shapes in order to make a variety of decorations, then allowed me the space to create my own as they worked on theirs. The family's boats all had personalities of their own, but as they were made from the same leaves and flowers, they all tied together nicely. When the last of the leaves and flowers were attached, one candle and three incense sticks were added to the arrangements. The bright golds of marigolds, sunflowers, and candles against the bold green of leaves paired beautifully together.

As dusk set in, we loaded our crowns into the back of the truck and headed into the larger town about 25km away to join in the celebration. As we arrived, we found very few people lined up to release their boats into the water thanks to good timing, so we lit our candles (meant to symbolize the Buddha's enlightenment), and incense (to burn away negativity and make room for good to flow), raised our crowns to our heads in a moment of reflection, and offering, then placed them in the water to float downstream together. I breathed in the moment, let the symbolism settle into my awareness, and watched as the candles faded into the distance.

On the field behind us, a woman was setting up floating lanterns to release. Anyone who has done their research on Thailand has seen beautiful photos of these, but to see them in person was another thing entirely. The sheer size of the paper lanterns as they filled with warm air after the disc was lit below was amazing to behold and as it filled enough to release, it was gorgeous to watch it fade into the darkening sky. Much like a child might watch in wonder the first time she let go of a balloon, I was mesmerized. None of the members of my host family had ever released a Khom Loi before either, so we purchased one for 60 baht (just shy of 2 dollars) and stood together holding the lantern as it expanded and released it after a few minutes. Another beautiful symbol of letting go.

Just a few days later, it was my turn to share an American tradition with my Thai host family, counterparts, and students as Thanksgiving approached. I began with a brief history of the American tradition and then dug into the spirit of giving thanks with my English lessons, guiding students through thinking about what gratitude was, and who or what they give thanks for in their lives. With circle map filled, and sentence frames posted, students let their artistic side shine as they made hand turkeys and filled them with things they gave thanks for. The thoughtful responses and gorgeous artwork gave me a boost that kept me going throughout the holiday weekend.

On a side note, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I was helping to cook and a pan of boiling oil tipped over on the stove. Without thinking, I rushed to catch it and spent the rest of the evening in the urgent care facility a few villages over being treated for the intense burn that covered my whole right hand. When I arrived at school, hand wrapped like a mummy, my co-teacher thought I was wearing gloves and relieved that I was finally feeling chilly during Thai cold season. I had to explain to her, on the contrary, about my kitchen mishap, and spent the rest of the day teaching about Thanksgiving and explaining how to make hand turkeys, with my deep-fried turkey of a hand. Thankfully, the humor wasn't lost on me, and the pain killers worked their magic as the creams and antibiotics kept me healing.

Lots to be thankful for...

PB&J

The winds of change arrived with the change of the seasons...

You all remember the week my life stood still from what I shared here, as well as my close friendship with Barbara over my time here in Thailand. From the last two weeks of training where I moved in with her, on through our move to site less than 45 kilometers away, our friendship blossomed through the trials and tribulations that Thailand had to offer.

From a broken hand, dog attacks, teaching English camps, commiserating, inspiring, crying, laughing, cooking, traveling, and being there for one another every step along the way, when I received a phone call from Barbara one day, I somehow already knew what she had to say.

I learned the saying "รู้ใจ" from my host during our many tutoring sessions. It literally translates to "know heart" and is used like we might say "she/he knows me so well." My host introduced it by using it for her husband who loves to bring watermelon home to her, knowing how much she'll enjoy it. When Barbara called, I knew what was on her heart and in her mind. The time had come for her to say goodbye. It broke my heart to know I'd be losing my closest friend here (in distance and depth) but her happiness was far more important than my selfish reasons for her to say.

In the days leading up to her leaving, when I spoke to my host family about her returning home, they asked if I would go with her. They understood my desire to follow my friend, my love of the time we shared, and our closeness. They feared that I would be on that plane with Barbara, and encouraged me to change Barbara's mind. As inviting people to do things that will not make them happy isn't high on my list, I didn't try to change her mind, only told her of what a great friend she was/is every step along the way. Still, every day my host family would ask if Barbara "เปลี่ยนใจ," literally "change heart" the way most would ask "did she change her mind." Of course, my answer remained "no" day after day until I was dropped my off for my final goodbye.

I took the last day with Barbara in Thailand in baby steps. Helping in whatever small ways I could, but mainly just trying to drink in my last few hours with this dear friend so close by. She passed things onto me, we shared wishea for one another, and when morning came, my host family picked me up, loaded the truck with her hand me downs, and shared hugs I had taught them to give. I can't remember if I cried or waited until I got in the car, I can't remember what she wore, or what day it was, even. The only thing I could remember was the hole the left that I wasn't sure would ever fill.

As I think back on my time with Barbara today, I am filled with joy. I know I'll miss her more than words can truly say, but what true friendship couldn't I say that about? Time is precious, and I've learned to cherish the good times here even more thanks to this lesson. People are gifts, and I've learned to focus on what I love as opposed to dwelling on the things that are less enjoyable thanks to this lesson. I've learned two new Thai sayings that speak volumes about the people here. Where we normally would say "he/she knows me" and "I changed my mind" Thais speak with the heart at the forefront.

How sweet it is!

Full Moon Ruminations

The muted pastels darken to bold jewel tones

Sun sets as moon rises and the sky shifts

Cotton candy stripes transform to 

Streaks of bloodstained clouds 

Boldness of a white orb pulling faces

As the background fades to reflect the depth

Of a soul wandering

Eyes searching for stars

A constellation that looks like home

With none to be found

Flood lights hide the messages

Read by generations before

Leaving behind an emptiness

All red, all blue, all white

Shifting in the darkness

Conveying nothing but longing

A deep breath as eyes close to hear

Straining for a message carried by the wind

Water rushes and retreats

Leaves brush one another

Telephoning a message

Left unheard by billions

In this disconnected world

The value of this rich soil beneath these hardened soles

The scent of a thousand blossoms opening to a new crop of life

The whisper of a new history to come

As life shifts from what ifs to what has beens

Will no one listen?

We build up our own mole-hills to impressive mountains

That have only served to strand us when the tides come in

Marooning us on islands of our own making

Unable to read the stars

Hear the wind

Taste the wealth

Of the world we have been blessed with

Of the world we have taken

For granted

Come with me

Build your rafts, your life boats

Weave it from the trees you've taken too early from this

All to precious orb we call earth

Devise a sail woven by the yarns you've created

To make yourself so important

So far removed from the you I see

You stand alone, as I do

Wind at your back, begging you to hear

Tide at your feet, calling you forth

Sail to me

Be free

The Week My Life Stood Still

I return to Bangkok a month and a half after my previous visit. The first was a necessity, the second feels like an obligation. I check into my appointment and talk about how far I've come since the incident, how the world didn't crumble around me when I expressed myself, how it was okay to be angry when things happened that were unacceptable. I talk about my frustration with certain aspects of working within this society, with living with so many limitations, with my feelings that I've legitimately lost those that I love so deeply by coming so far away for so long.
In the end, she looks at me and says, "I can't help you. You need to make this decision yourself." The two options she gives me don't sit well. They make me madder than anything I have been coping with for the past nine months, and they really scare me. I talk to the people I know will understand, I cry, and I wait for an answer. Instead of being allowed to wait, however, I am taken on a journey. I know a lot of this is vague. That's just the way it must be shared. Deal. Read.
My friend goes into the doctor on Monday for a backache and comes back to the hotel with two beers. She shoves one into my hand and tells me that the doctor who looked at the MRI is 99% sure she has cancer. This beautiful woman has been my closest friend here (in distance and depth) and my heart is breaking for her. She beat this monster 8 years ago, and now it's back? In her bones? It can't be. I listen to the dreams she knows are shattering around her, listen to the joys she thinks are being stolen from her, and have little to offer but my love, my ears, the beer she tried to give me, and that 1%.
Tuesday I go in with her for the biopsy. The specialist says it will be too difficult to get into her spine successfully without a CAT scan, so we wait even longer. When she finally goes in for the procedure, I read. I read so quickly that I have to reread all 5 chapters because I can't remember a word I've read. I read so hard I don't notice the man staring at me for nearly an hour. They bring her out and take her into a room that I can wait in with her while her back stops bleeding. Biopsy? No go. The needle slipped twice. That back of hers is strong, at least. Tomorrow we'll meet with the oncologist.
Wednesday morning, the medical crew arrives to face the meeting with the oncologist alongside my friend. I come in as well. Options are laid on the table. What kind of cancer it might be, what sort of tests might be successful, what will happen and when. The PET scan is ordered for tomorrow, she's told she can't move around much today, and we move into a new hotel with a better bed and TV so that the coming day of being cooped up will be bearable. The hotel is beautiful. The emotions are a roller coaster. Anger, sorrow, denial, fear, anger, frustration, sorrow, anger, denial...I feel like a pin-cushion, a punching bag, a pillow, a friend who is there for a friend in the shittiest of situations. There's no way I would be anywhere else. I'm not being a martyr, and I'm not asking for praise. I love her. That's that.
Thursday comes. Tuk tuk ride. Sky train ride. Walk. Eat. Talk with a friend and pretend nothing is the matter. Wait, wait, wait. She changes, and lies in a bed while the injection makes its way through her body. I leave her to hopefully sleep in the room they've asked her to rest in. I pace. I pace some more. I cry. Stop that. That's not what you're here for. The nurse comes with medicine. We talk. I act as strong as I can. I go into an appointment for this stupid rash Thailand continues to bestow on me. More steroids. Thanks, but no thanks. Wait, wait, wait. A man approaches and asks to sit with me. He has salt and pepper hair that's heavy on the salt and is wearing a kummah and thobe. He says he was watching me wait yesterday but I didn't look like I wanted to talk. He would be right. He tells me I'm beautiful (ha, thanks). He wants to take me to eat, to spend time with me while he's here helping his brother. While I'm here helping my friend. He wants to talk further. He tells me I am lucky. I tell him I'm not feeling too lucky at the moment but that I appreciate his kindness. I decline his offer politely as the nurse calls me to help my friend out of the PET scan.
She and I wait together while another scan takes place. I tell her about the strange exchange and the nurse calls her back in for a few more scans. While I wait, a Lebanese woman who has just been diagnosed with Lymphoma, sits down next to me and speaks of life, love, and asks about my volunteering. Time seems to trickle by as she smiles through her sadness and shares about her fulfilling life that has just offered her a new challenge. She doesn't seem scared. I want to be like her. As I leave with my friend, I hold this stranger's hand one last time and wish her luck. She says it means a lot coming from me. I don't feel lucky, but I smile at her through sad eyes.
We go down for coffee (chai tea for me) and as we are waiting another man, also from Oman, speaks to me about my beauty (ha, thanks) and luck. We leave. We walk to get food elsewhere and things start stirring up in me. Am I mad? Am I sad? Am I just tired? We eat, we walk, we walk, we walk. We look for something. Something to buy. Something to wear. Something to pass the time. As we walk out of the first set of shops, a man approaches in a turban. He has kind eyes and I smile. He stops dead in his tracks and begins telling my fortune. I'll try to remember some of it: You are not here like the rest of these people. You are not here for travel. You have not found happiness. You have known love but you have been hurt. You do not trust. You know there is something greater. You are very troubled right now, but do not worry, you are very lucky. You will find your answer...
He goes on for awhile and then asks if I want to sit down to pay him for a full read. I tell him that I'm not interested but thank him for his time. We walk away. Five minutes later, we run into him again. He insists on reading me again and offers his phone number. Again, I decline, this time with an apology. We walk on, my friend and I. As we enter a new set of shops another man in a turban makes eye contact with me and says one word, "Lucky." The night continues with some successful shopping finds, a meal that hits the spot, and a crowded trip back to the hotel. As I fall asleep that night, I wish nothing more than to pass my so-called luck onto the person who needs it the most.
Friday morning comes. The day of the results. So much is brewing that the air is thick with a thousand thoughts unspoken. Plans are being made, unmade, and made again. I only lose my patience with it once to remind my dear friend of the 1% that isn't being thought of. The idea is dismissed. Who wouldn't do such a thing? I understand, it's time to be realistic. But I'm not a big fan of that. The taxi ride, luggage in tow, the elevator ride, the awkward conversation to fill the time, and we are called in. Four in a row we sit as the doctor looks at the results. Shallow breathing. Hurried pulse. "It's not cancer."
Everyone catches their breath at once. A sigh here, a cry there, a hand squeeze, a hug. Shock. Relief. That week my life stood still seems to pass before my eyes for what it truly was. I give thanks for the grace in that very moment. The grace that has brought us through a sort of living hell in the land of what ifs to the land of serenity. The land of appreciation for all that I have, we have, truly.
This story is not my story, I am merely a supporting character in this episode in this precious life of my friend. It did teach me things though. It taught me that life is for living, not second guessing. It taught me that you can't do things that you don't like, just because you suppose you're supposed to. It taught me to love more deeply. To take even better care of myself. That it's okay for life to suck sometimes because we can get through it, especially with help from our friends.
So, here's the deal. I miss people. I'm frustrated here sometimes, and I feel really alone, even with a great host family and super students. But, I also know that this is the right time for this journey and that I can choose to stay on this path as long as I want to. Please, don't be strangers while I'm away. You're far too precious to me for that. My life stood still for a week, but I'm back in action now, and everything means just that much more to me.

Nine Months Ago

I got on a plane....

the rushing of my pulse as the plane took off, knowing i would return a different woman

the excitement of meeting people who were biting off the same chunk of life

the fear of meeting family that would take me in while language was still in its infancy

the annoyance of bites, rashes, burns, allergies, parasites, and the like

the ballooning of my body due to the drugs used to treat the above

the celebrations of small successes such as ordering the correct thing at a coffee stand

the first encounter with a mangy dog in the middle of the night while going to the bathroom

the tears shed when independence felt stolen and safety felt at risk

the frustration with a trust that turned to abuse

the joy of moving on and taking the next big step

the depression of thinking i'm not far enough along to do all i want to do

the realization that i'm not here for what i thought i came for

the embracing of the unchangeable as the new norm

the self-hatred that followed embracing the norms that would be sub par elsewhere

the opening of a guarded heart to a world of possibilities

the countless millipedes and vinegaroons and that one night with the centipede

the mice that seem to like my workout and bedtime

the proposal over the interwebs...wow, that really did happen, right?

the facing of facts that lead to a newfound commitment to myself in this journey

the Thai-nappings that lead to beautiful sights and ridiculous experiences

the deepening of my resolve to understand

the looking back on all that i've accomplished

the gazing forward to all that i still might do

the hope that i will be what is needed to help my beautiful new friends and children to grow

the smiles as i press a sticker to a shirt

the laughter as i encourage acting out vocab to make it stick by making a fool of myself

the blank stares and "อะไรวะ"s that make me strive to be a better teacher

the commitment that presses me forward when i want to fall back

the love that reminds me that there is more to life than being right

the smells and sounds of waking up on a farm in remote Thailand every morning

the knowledge that growth can be awesome and painful all at the same time

the appreciation for everyone who has gotten me through it (even myself)

...a pregnancy might have been easier.

Celebrate

Because You Can

My birthday came and went this year with far more fuss than I had ever imagined there would have been in a country that isn't well known for celebrating such occasions. It started two days early with a surprise party (I waited outside and watched as the food and tables and chairs were brought in, set up, and people kept telling me not to help). My co-workers and principal loaded the table with food, showered me with flowers and cake, and spent an evening making speeches and singing songs in my honor. It was special.

Being honored with a sweet speech
from my principal.

Come Thursday, my students had caught wind of the party and I was greeted at school by about twenty students excited to each give me a stuffed animal and wish, "Happy birthday, Ms. Jessie!" My classes worked hard for me, and I rewarded their hard work with some time at the end for singing Happy Birthday the American way (in Thailand, the name isn't sung...like in restaurants). My students hugged me more in one day than they had in the collective six months at site. It was incredible.

My 6th Graders blocking the desk full of
stuffed animals they gave me!

As judges came to assess our school, students who weren't busy preparing took time to make me cards. I have such talented artists in my classes! Most of the cards had sweet mis-spellings, long messages in Thai, and fantastic artwork. The perfectionist in me wishes I could have taught them how to make a better card. Write more appropriate messages and what not. The teacher, realist, and lover in me recognizes that these students were motivated enough to figure these things out on their own and work so hard to surprise me with these precious tokens of their love and appreciation for me. I've looked through them every night since with tears of appreciation and love in my heart. It was remarkable.

The morning of my birthday, I rose extra early to prepare my offerings for the monks. In Thailand, it is customary to give a special offering and be blessed by the monks on your birthday. Some people go to the temple, others wait for the daily alms walk the monks make to collect food and offerings every morning around the village. I loaded bags with noodles, water, and soy milk, put money into envelopes, prepared rice, and wrapped up two bouquets of flowers. When the monks arrived, I performed my first birthday tamboon with the help of my host family. It was very special.

Receiving blessings after giving offerings

After I gave my offerings, I packed up and was taken to my dear friend Barbara's house nearly an hour away and had a perfect weekend celebrating with the rest of the volunteers in my province (Laura & Zack) by visiting the mall, making delicious food, buying a ukulele for myself, creating artwork, and speaking in English all weekend. It was spectacular.

The Chaiyaphum Crew

The night I returned home, I brought some baking supplies I had bought on my latest trip to the mall and set out to teach my host family how to bake cookies. My niece helped mix, my nephew helped lick the spoon, and they watched the oven like two little hawks. There were some mistakes in measurements and the temperature isn't exactly accurate, but after some problem solving, three dozen cookies were edible. As I took a batch out of the oven, my host family surrounded me from behind singing "Happy Birthday" and holding a cake with 3 candles in it. As tears filled my eyes, my mind raced for a wish that hadn't already been granted in my very blessed life. I felt so loved.

I am so grateful for such a unique birthday filled with celebrations of all sorts.

Humbling Moments

Because the greatest change happening, is the change within...

My host lost one of her older brothers to cancer last Friday. She decided not to tell me until she realized they wouldn't be able to pick me up from my trip into the big city for an eye check-up and some escape from rural life. We were all surprised at how long he held on, having not eaten food in two months, shrinking away to nothing but a smile shielding his family from the pain beneath. He stopped taking morphine two weeks before his passing, as well. He was a sweet man, from the little I knew of him, and the precious little I spoke with him, but very loved by his large family, and incredibly strong.

As with most passings in Thailand that I have witnessed, tears were not openly shed (except in the case of my student, Baitoey). What was different, is that I was invited to help serve and prepare more, since the family accepts me as an honorary member, now. Even more wonderful, my host's son (I refer to him as my nephew/lil bro/student interchangeably) had his first opportunity to don monk robes.

Nong Plum (pronounced more like Bplume) is a sweetheart of a kid who loves to laugh, loves to eat, and loves cars! I gave him a remote control race car for his 9th birthday, and I'm pretty sure he's still sleeping with it, he loves it so much. As far as his eating habits go, he most closely resembles a hobbit. What he is not well known for is his thoughtfulness, eagerness to learn, or willingness to help with chores. Mainly because he's the baby of the family, and a boy to boot, not much is expected of him in this respect.

On the last day of funeral proceedings, the day I helped prepare and serve food and water for the monks and guests, I saw Plum from across the temple, and was flabbergasted. He was sweeping in simple peace and quiet, with absolute focus on the task at hand. When he came up to greet me later, his smile as I told him how impressed I was spanned from ear to ear and his chest filled with pride. His sweet eyes shone, under the sensitive skin red from the shaving his eyebrows and head received. He handed his mother an envelope that the temple had given him for his service thus far, and returned back to the elder monks for further preparation, before the ceremony took place. 

With a new friend from the temple

Nong Plum grinning away

My hosts and very proud parents of Plum

During the ceremony, he sat still, said the prayers he knew when the time was right, and grinned in his indelible way as he helped lead the casket around the temple three times before it was sent up the stairs to be blessed before cremation. Plum ended up receiving another envelope of money before leaving the temple on his last day, and was so eager to open the envelopes I thought he might crawl out of his own skin as his mom looked for the envelope he had handed her earlier. Three hundred baht (nearly $10) was burning a hole in his pocket and he kept asking the whole way home if we could stop at Tesco Express so he could buy a comic book.

But somehow, by the time we got near Tesco, his mind had changed. Maybe it was my giving him a snack when we stopped at the quickie mart, or his mom buying him his favorite tea. Maybe it was a lesson that sunk in from his days at the temple. Maybe he grew up in that hour-long car-ride home. For whatever reason, he handed his mom and me 100 baht each, and when we tried to return it to him, he refused. He refused again, today, when I saw the money still sitting on my desk and heard the ice-cream seller coming down the street.

For whatever it's worth, I'll hold onto it for him. Maybe start a piggy bank in my room for him and throw in my change every day, put in a 20 or 50 when he does something nice...buy him a tool kit next year for his birthday. I don't know what I'll do with it or whether it really matters that I do anything special at all, but I do know how proud I am of my little bro, and what a joy it was to see him take a huge step towards maturity.

I can only imagine what the next 20 months has in store!

Getting Back on Track

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Having been gone from site for Reconnect, Counterpart Conference, and a short trip to Koh Tao with friends, getting back into the groove at home has been a bit clunky. The kids missed me, my family missed me, my fellow teachers missed me, but riding the wave of how this culture expresses such feelings in person has left me wondering who I am in all this. Hugs seem so foreign here and as much as those who know how much I value them try, I know it's for me. I look for the signs, as if my value is in their reaction to my return, only to realize the folly in that. I am here for signs no more than I am here for surprise parties and giant cakes with sparklers for candles.

So, let's review the month, because I've been away from this blog far too long...

I left my village and visited a volunteer friend not too far away who had just moved into her new rental house. It's a beautiful place that she has outfitted with gorgeous curtains, a washer, and...wait for it...an oven. This is no Thai oven, this thing was probably better than the oven in my first place after college in Lomita, or at least larger! After seeing an oven for the first time in 6 months, there was really nothing else to be done but bake. Bake we did! Cookies, brownies, and eggplant parmesan for dessert (strike that, reverse it). It was heavenly, and Barbara better be prepared for more visits from this country mouse!

Our delicious spread!

After a night of food, laughs, and comfy snoozing it was off to Chainat for Reconnect. Seeing friendly faces, hearing stories, sharing successes and challenges, and taking some time to check in with myself away from site went better than I had expected, though I missed my students, host family, and community dearly. I even headed back to Suphan Buri on the weekend to revisit my training site and take it all in with new eyes. Si Prichan was as welcoming as ever, and the women in the market were flattering as they spoke of how much my language had improved and joked with me on how I should really look into getting a Thai boyfriend, now (not going to happen). It was a nice visit, made even more wonderful by a trip to Wat Muang to see the tallest sitting Buddha statue.

Pretty spectacular, eh?

Returning to Chainat meant the start of Counterpart Conference as well as a boat festival nearby. I walked down to view some of the festivities and watch the longboats on the river, which was lovely. Even more enjoyable was seeing my co-teacher again, watching her take copious notes, and share so eagerly in our group sessions about the projects we had started at our school. It meant a lot to hear her being so willing to share, in large part because one of our goals is to grow the communication skills of our counterparts. There was lots to learn, great ideas were hatched, and a list of honey-do's was agreed upon for when I was to return to site, since I was off for yet another adventure before returning home.

As the longboats float by...

After saying farewell to counterparts and volunteers alike, the next leg of the journey was just beginning. A few friends and I took the night train south (comfortable except for the super cool AC and loud game of Fruit Ninja that the monk sitting next to me was playing), then boarded the high speed catamaran for Koh Tao (Turtle Island). What a culture shock! Western food and faces outnumbered those that were Thai, and even some I expected might want to converse in Thai with me turned out to be from Malaysia, Myanmar, or Cambodia. Still, fun times, a significant rise in the intake of cheese and bread-filled dishes, a few tasty drinks, and some awesome strolls along the beach filled the next few days. To top it all off, I took lessons at a great diving school in order to be open water certified. It was a really special experience seeing the world in such a new way, and I look forward to more exploring of the underwater world again soon.

Saying goodbye to Koh Tao

After a long day of traveling from boat to bus to taxi, it was a night at a hostel in Bangkok for the weary travelers before heading back to site. The excitement and enjoyment of all that was new had made room for a deep appreciation for the home I'd left behind in Chaiyaphum and I was very happy to arrive home and spend my first night back in my own bed being lulled to sleep by the croaking bullfrogs outside my windows and geckos chirping on my walls.

Back to reality.

Stalling

I'm leaving tomorrow, and I haven't packed.

I woke up this morning and though I know I need a break, leaving site for two weeks will be a gift, and I've been to four funerals in two weeks, I didn't want to pack. I still haven't, in fact.

I washed my clothes.
I washed my sheets and covers.
I swept my room.
I swept the house.
I mopped.
I made breakfast.
I made tea.
I hung my clothes on the line to dry.
I made lunch.
I made coffee.
I read 5 chapters of a book.
I talked to my neighbors.
I talked to the dog.
I took my laundry off the clothes line.
I am writing this blog.

So, I'm wondering. What's keeping me? Why is my bag still not packed?

Perhaps it's knowing that my host family is going through tough times (my host's brother seems to be losing his battle with cancer and has stopped eating). I have seen and heard of enough death in the past two weeks, to be sure. To not be there for my family at this time, though, seems wrong. I can hope that he'll last two weeks until I get home, but it's less about prolonging his life at this point. I care about being here for them. Talking with and hugging them when times are rough. Making them laugh, making them think, making them iced coffee. Whatever it might be.

Perhaps it's knowing that my students are improving so much right now. We've finally reached a moment where we have momentum. They're remembering far more than they were before and have become so excited about class that even when I'm trying to work on future lessons in my "office" they're in trying their best to talk to me, or asking me to sing them another English song, or showing off the songs and dances I've taught them to help their memory. I don't want to lose that momentum.

Perhaps it's knowing that I'm not like the other volunteers. There are a small handful of people who truly "get" me here and though I don't need or expect anyone to be my best friend after 6 short months, I have a hard time feeling "home" with my new friends, for the most part. Maybe it's that this home in Chaiyaphum has started to feel more real, and I don't want to belittle it when it comes to our time at Reconnect where I know some things might start to spiral into "my site is worse/better/harder/more awesome than yours." It's an unfounded fear. I love all of these volunteers, truly. I'm just trying to understand why I'm still stalling.

The truth is, I've found an identity, or the beginnings of one, in my community. From my walks around the village, the banter with the merchants, the conversations with my family, I know they're going to miss me. They've told me, as I said I'd be gone for awhile. Some of them are even concerned that I'm going so far away (I assure them it's not far for me...I'm from America) or that I won't come back, probably (I promise them I am).

A garden may be planted without me. Rice may be harvested without me. The world will continue to turn. The sun will continue to rise and set.

The real truth of the matter is, I love this place, 

and it took having to pack my bags to truly realize exactly how much I do.

How Life Has Changed

Because It Has

I looked outside yesterday afternoon and noticed the huge drums collecting rainwater. They were larger than I'd realized, and the size of them surprised me. They're so big.

I walked through the banana grove yesterday evening and noticed the leaves as they brushed against my shoulders. They were waxier than I'd realized, and the feel of them surprised me. They're so smooth.

I woke up this morning and noticed the sound of roosters crowing and hens scratching for insects outside my bedroom window. They were louder than I'd realized, and the sound of them surprised me. They're so noisy.

I couldn't possibly share everything that is different from my life in America, because, perhaps in some feeble attempt to make things seem more normal here, I try to forget a lot of it, or at least don't compare it as much as I used to.

I do remember how easy laundry was back home. I do remember how easy traveling was back home. I do remember how easy shopping, cooking, and talking was back home. I remember what it felt like to take a dip in a warm bath, hop in the jacuzzi, take a swim in a saline pool. I remember putting garbage out on the curb, next to the recyclables, next to the compostables. I remember dish washers, DVR, high-speed internet.

I remind myself that I despised traffic, and gas prices were atrocious. I laugh at the fact that I had a gym membership even though there was always somewhere to go, or something to do in nature that would have given me an even better workout.

I miss things, too. I miss my dad's kind words in my ear as we hugged. I miss holding my mom's hand as we talked about life. I miss laughing with my sister. I miss learning from my brother. I miss taking cat naps with Hero curled up beside me. I miss playing with my niece. I miss making music with those I love. I miss my friends. I miss acting. I miss Mexican food. 

Here, I sweep every day, but there is always gecko poop on the floor.

Here, I shower multiple times a day with a bucket and never feel clean.

Here, I sleep with a blanket over my head and a fan on to try to ward off all the bugs.

Here, I eat rice more in some days that I did in most weeks.

Here, I use toilet paper if I'm lucky (and store it in a bag to throw away later).

Here, I count myself lucky if I get through a day with less than two new mosquito bites.

Here, I put powder on nearly every inch of skin before getting dressed.

It's different. It has changed.

I get to help out and live on an organic farm here. I get to help people realize their potential. I get to help people understand a language and culture that is so foreign to them. I get to make Thai food and eat it. I get to read a lot. I get to write a lot. I get to laugh with a family that counts me as one of their own. I get to work with people who are genuinely interested in what I have to say. I get to learn a language and live in a culture in a deep and meaningful way.

How lucky I was, before.

How lucky I am, now.

A time to heal

Ready or Not!

The first month of teaching was a relatively smooth and productive one for me. Where other volunteers were faced with many difficult conversations with their co-teachers, or situations that made work nearly impossible, I was met, for the most part, with enthusiasm and support. I teach 4th-9th graders (Bprathom 4 to Matayom 3) for three hours each every week. The only thing I lack, besides enough lesson planning time, is a classroom to call my own. My co-teachers and I travel to the classrooms, so there isn't much I can do in the way of bulletin boards, though I have created reward programs that are portable enough. A language lab for English would definitely be on my wish list, but for now, it's just a challenge that is out of my hands.

Fast forwarding through my three months at site, I have been involved in 9 camps (for District Office Employees, Principals, Teachers, English Teachers, and Students). The success of each camp varied by the individuals that attended them as well as the planning time allotted for each. Those that we had time to plan and decide subject matter seemed to be far more profitable to the attendees. On the other hand, the ones that were winged, felt winged and though they may have still been fun, I'm sure people took far less away from them, unfortunately. All in all, I've learned a lot about both how things are expected to go, how they actually go, what has worked, and what has not.

Also, within these months, I've made friends in my village, improved my Thai, gotten the lay of the land (in our tiny village), and been inundated with bugs and weather challenges of all sorts, not to mention a few health hiccups as well. It's the Peace Corps. It's Thailand. It's going to happen, but I feel I'm through the worst of it on that front.

Deep Breath

And now, the past week. As you may have gathered from my last post/poem. Our community lost a very special little girl a week ago today. Nachaporn Sanpuan (or Baitoey, as everyone called her) was a smart and loving 5th grader with a real talent for English and an adorable fascination of me. She was very eager to volunteer in class, which is decidedly against the norm, and had an awkward charm about her that most teachers I know would have fallen in love with, as I did. She went for a swim after school last Wednesday with her best friend, and drowned. I find little solace in knowing she died doing something she loved. She was far too young, far too smart, far to loving, I say to myself. But all of my arguments won't bring her back to life and with the community in mourning, I joined as well, hoping to find peace within the madness.

The Thursday after her passing felt like a haze. I walked to school a little earlier than normal with my host nephew. On the way, we crossed paths with Baitoey's best friend who had gone swimming with her the day before. Her sorrow was deep and when I hugged her, she shook with grief and cried more openly. I told her what comforts I could in Thai as well as a few in English and asked where she was going. She said they wanted her to go home and eat something, so I urged her to try to do the same. As I continued on my way, I met with the mayor of our village and we spoke of the tragedy briefly. I passed by her house, blasting music, but was on my way to school, so didn't stop in yet. 

As I entered the school grounds I was brought to tears almost immediately by the hundreds of students cleaning and greeting as normal routine required. I spied a group of kids sitting under the tree talking, and crying, and joined to console as I could. The principal arrived as the students gathered on the field, and when he got out of the car he approached me saying, "Today, I am very sad. My child. My daughter." I shared my sorrow as well, and praised him on his English, knowing it was difficult to get words of any language out. The flag was raised and lowered in Baitoey's honor, and then the morning activities continued as normal, until the principal went up to address the school. His voice broke as he relayed the news, and he had to step off the stage to gather himself and his thoughts, as most of the students wept silent tears as well. 

As the day progressed, students and teachers visited Baitoey's grandmother's house in groups (her mom and dad live and work in Bangkok, but she and her younger sister go to them on their longer breaks). Whether walking or riding in the back of a pick-up, most of the school visited throughout the school day and very few, if any, classes were held. That evening, the community joined together to pray at the house. I met her parents, mom in deep grief, and dad in denial, then paid my respects to her grandma with an envelope of money, a deep bow, and some shared tears. Then, the monks that had joined led us through about an hour's worth of chanting/prayers. I returned home as others ate together (being vegetarian and having the stomach flu on top of it all, made eating with everyone nearly impossible last week).

The 5th graders on the way to Nong Baitoey's house on 
Thursday morning.

Friday came, bringing similar happenings as the day before. Less community members came by that night, but more family from Bangkok came up, so there were as many people as ever in prayer spilling out onto the street in their black and white clothing. Come Saturday, it was time for the official funeral, so we headed to the temple in the early afternoon to the loudspeaker blasting music and announcing the time had come. Most attendees dressed all in black, but those in the immediate family, as well as her best friend, Tai (Pronounced more like "Dtie"), wore white and black. To go into all of the details of the funeral in precise order would be a bit too long of a post but I'll sum it up. The boys of the village who had already done training as monks shaved their heads and wore their robes (three from the 5th grade class, and a few others). Monks from all the neighboring temples as well as the parents' temple in Bangkok that could come, did. In all, I counted 21 monks, if memory serves. 

Prayers were led and kind words were said by the two elder monks. Different family members and leaders from the community (including yours truly) were called up to present/offer gifts to the monks and receive private blessings. Everyone was given a paper flower and filed up to see the picture of Baitoey in her most beautiful Thai outfit in front of a golden box carrying her remains. The flowers (some people had incense instead) were placed on the box and on the way down, the family offered each of the guests a small gift. As people poured through, there were very few dry eyes to be found, and I offered my love and hugs where they were needed the most.

That evening, more prayers were said, at grandma's house. And the following morning, the last of the funeral proceedings were finished up in the early morning and people gathered at grandma's house to clean up, pack up, and return her home back to the new "normal." Baitoey's mom and dad have stayed an extra week to mourn, spend time with their surviving daughter, and take it all in. On my walk to school, they drove by and asked if I would ride with them. They must have seen me walk past their house because five people were crammed into the backseat and the front seat was just waiting for me. They told me, on our short trip up the street about how Baitoey shared about English class and her new teacher a lot in the past month or so. I choked back tears, said my thanks for the ride and memories, and went in to work. Every class still reminds me of her, but I can't say that's a bad thing.

In the past few days, I have had some time to think, since my stomach bug was hassling me and I needed time to rest. I thought about how precious life is, which I always knew. I thought about how precious my students are, which I can sometimes forget. I thought about how much I love my family, which I'll never forget. But mainly, I thought about how important relationships are. What love means. Where it grows from and returns to. There is such a fear of saying the word in some circles. As if it makes us weak. Perhaps it does show a vulnerability. A vulnerability that we, as humans, share however, and we should be happy and free to show. To make sense of death is a task I choose to let someone else take on. What I will do, is honor my sweet student's presence in my life, and be grateful to have been touched by all of the unique qualities that I loved about her.

The last clear picture I have of Nong Baitoey smiling 
during a march against smoking a couple weeks ago.

Accepting that love has helped me to begin to heal.