Sunday, June 30, 2013

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.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

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.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

To Nong Baitoey with Love

A smile so eager to meet the world
Teeth jutted forth ahead of the rest
Dimples dotted the tops of cheeks
As if to exclaim the joy of living

Would that I could have seen

A fearless spirit in a room full of uncertainty
Eyes searched for meaning where words failed
Brain processed, thoughts formed
New words passed through those lips

Would that I could have understood

A laugh so lilting songs could be written
To capture the magic of such bubbling joy
At life's surprises, teacher's clowning
Happiness and uncertainty alike made way to tittering

Would that I could have heard

He walked me to school again this morning
Your puppy who shared your same eagerness to know me
Stayed longer than I would have liked
What was he trying to say

Would that I could have known

Class wasn't to meet because of our visitors
But I missed my students so I came up
Wondering eyes watched as I entered but
Whose was the first smile to greet me

Would that I could have stayed

A lesson lying in wait
A story waiting to be told
A work in progress
A day at a time

Would that I could have had more with you

Now every eye drinks in the reality of your passing
Every tear shed sings in sorrow for the loss of your laugh
Action makes use of would haves
Realizing the preciousness of it all

Oh, to have you here again
Nachaporn "Baitoey" Sanpuan

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

A Balancing Act

...of EPIC proportions!

While my time in America was spent playing catch up to my own ambitions, the pace in Thailand has necessitated a nearly complete about face from my previous lifestyle. This thirty year old woman must go back in time, to an age without transportation that's easily available, an age where most people can't understand where she's coming from, an age where basic communication can become a difficult task. It's like one of those body swap movies, but with more lessons...and it lasts two years!

Balance is something I'm used to doing. Family, teaching, acting, dancing, directing, friends, yoga...whatever I'm involved in, I'm involved wholeheartedly. Here in the Land of Smiles, passion seems to be a trend less readily apparent. It's there, but hiding under the surface. Part of it comes from the collectivist mentality that I definitely appreciate, but it does make people hard to read and conversations hard to start.

"What do you want to do?" is a question I ask as a volunteer who is here to serve the needs and wants of a community I have barely entered into. "Up to you, " is the answer more often than not. Okay, I want to work hard every day, build a theatre to give these kids a place to focus their talents, start a garbage collecting program so that I don't breathe in the trash that is burned in front of every house, pass a law requires wearing helmets, and...okay, step back Jessie. 

I balance what I've seen and know with the fact that those around me have lived their lives only seeing these things, and therefore know or desire nothing different. When I see a teacher so excited about his new bamboo beating stick that has a sword-looking hilt to it, I take a breath and remind my co-teacher that this is something that is both illegal in America, and laws have been passed in Thailand as well. The trend continues and I remind myself that it takes time for change to come to remote villages in Thailand.

The balancing act goes on as every dog in the community wants to be my best friend or worst enemy. Coke jumps on me with muddy paws on my way to work, so I go home, change, and walk with a stick I would never actually use on him, but he seems to fear all the same. My bike riding has come to an end while my gears get fixed and my confidence restores from the chase and crash still etched in my memory.

Redefining what I am working for and who I am within my work becomes a daily shift in consciousness as I marry all I thought I came here to learn to all I am truly here learning. I am humbled. I am stretched. I am challenged. I am criticized (by myself for the most part). I am inspired. I am schooled. I am loved (by people I near and far).

My capacity for acceptance has grown beyond my wildest dreams, but I still struggle to find it for myself. I am mainly faced with that fact, and so the journey continues. I continue to work on myself when I find others unavailable. I continue to work on myself when I find others cruel (this is my perception, not their intention, after all). I continue to work on myself when I find a perceived road-block, a wounded soul, a person in need of love (not a beating), another question at the end of my newest answer.

There are many who came before me who have had these same experiences, I'm sure. People who struggled as I do. People who revelled in the joys as I do. People who dream in much the same way I do. I do not claim to be anything more than a person on a journey. I am filled with wonder and humility that you care enough to share in it. And so, I thank you. My friends. My family. My peers. My inspirations. My strangers. My fellow journeyers.

Let us all find the joy in the balancing dance of today.

Monday, June 10, 2013

What a volunteer in Thailand does...

Thomas Edison once said,
"Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration." 

If this be true, I belong in Mensa for certain. We all know Thailand is hot by now, right? Like, really hot? Okay, good. Now, comes the "good" news. Apparently because you're already sweating so much, the thought of a hard day's work pales in comparison to my "norm" back home. When I work for more than an hour straight, I'm told to take a break. When I walk home, less than a kilometer from school, I'm told to take a shower and a nap. It's the Thai way.

So, what do I do?

I wait for everyone else to be ready to work again, anxiously awaiting my next "fix." I can't get enough of this thing called work (if you know my parents, you'll understand why), and sometimes I'm expected by my supervisors to work with others. Heck, I played well with others as a child, it would make sense that I'd work well as an adult, right? Right! (-ish)

There's a lot going on in Thailand. Many jobs that teachers do that we didn't have to take care of in the States, from handling scholarship money for students, to paying the bills, running the nurses office, etc. There's one secretary, but she does...other things. She's busy, too. So, Jessie, who really wants to work on this one thing, doesn't always get to work on it at all, or if she does, it's not normally in the way people would prefer.

There are three goals in Peace Corps. You learn about them early in training, and you never really grasp the notion until...now, I guess. The first is why you think you're coming (to help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women). The second is why we need to be at our best 24/7 (to help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the people served). The third is what you spend most of your time working with (to help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans) because in order to fulfill this goal, you actually have to understand them yourself. It's a biggie.

So what I do here in Thailand is not so simple to answer, but I think a bullet-point stream of consciousness session will help elaborate a bit:
* I sweat. 
* I laugh.
* I cry.
* I speak beginner's Thai to people who have never talked to foreigners.
* I teach beginner's English to people who have been learning "English" since pre-school.
* I plan things that never happen.
* I am asked to do things without any planning time whatsoever.
* I read (a lot).
* I shower multiple times a day.
* I say I'm full.
* I decline to eat the fruit that is offered after saying I'm full.
* I decline the dessert that is offered after the fruit after saying I'm full.
* I decline the coffee that is offered after the dessert that is offered after the fruit that is offered after saying I'm full.
* I encourage my students to speak English using stickers, straws, and puzzle pieces.
* I inspire my fellow teachers to try to speak English by simply being there.
* I learn how lucky I was to be teaching where I was before.
* I learn how lucky I am to be learning the lessons I'm learning now.
* I crash my bike after a two kilometer dog chase (okay that only happened once, but I'm still scarred by it).
* I miss home.
* I miss my family.
* I miss my friends.
* I miss the people I never thought I'd miss.
* I meditate more often.
* I try not to scratch mosquito bites.
* I write in my journal on tough days.
* I write in my blog when time (and internet) is on my side.
* I hope things get better.
* I hope things don't get worse.
* I hope I'm enough.
* I take pictures in my mind.
* I breathe in moments like a sweet cake.
* I miss baking.
* I get bored.
* I make lists.
* I get bored of making lists.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. Transition is difficult and in time the list will change, along with me. For now, I'm still learning. 

I'm sure that will always be.


Saturday, June 1, 2013

Then, the the rains came...

And boy did they ever!

I've always been fascinated by storms. I can't say I've always liked them. I'm sure there was a time when I was fearful. A certain car ride or a particularly flashy storm, but in the past ten years or so, I have grown to love thunder storms, lightning storms, hail storms, and the like.

Thailand is hot. No surprise. How unrelenting the heat can feel thanks to an abundance of windows that don't close, doors that won't shut properly, or lack of a room that reaches all the way to the ceiling made for a transition the likes of which I've never experienced before. Heat rashes are the new norm for this girl with sensitive skin, and where it doesn't burn from the heat, there's more than likely a bug bite to itch. It's Thailand. Oh, well.

At site, things have been getting more productive, more exciting, more comfortable, and cooler now as well thanks to the coming of the rains. On a recent work trip, I was taking a walk with a Thai co-worker and thunder rumbled as lightning lit up the darkening sky. She cowered into me and said she was afraid. Now, I know I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a culture where grown women wear Minnie Mouse ears, carry purses with cartoon characters on them, and dress like dolls on many occasions. However, they also live in Thailand, where it is known to rain, a lot. Needless to say, she was surprised when I said it was beautiful. The rest of the walk was pretty humorous. "Don't look," I'd say, "It's beautiful, again."

Along with the rains come slightly cooler temperatures. Not every day, and not all the time, but boy is it nice to sleep in a room instead of a convection oven. I love my fan, but she just doesn't cut through heat the way my good ol' AC back in CA does! I'm going to enjoy this while I have it, smile politely when the Thais say it's "cold" at 80ºF and watch this heat rash of mine fade into oblivion (at least for awhile, I hope!).

Sitting down to dinner with my host family a couple of nights ago, the lights went out right as we began to eat. Power can be a persnickety thing in remote Thailand, and that night was no exception. The rain was pounding on the tin roof, I couldn't hear the solution being conversed about, but was grinning ear to ear at the joy of cool air, earth dampening for the next batch of crops, and the general dismay of my family, as they were positive this might scare me out of my wits. Then, from the kitchen, my dear host emerges with candles burning brightly from the bottom of two tea cups. I wish I had gotten a picture of his look of relief. I wish I had a way to share that snapshot of sounds and sights, smells and emotions more vividly. Let me just say, it was one to hold close to my heart.

There is one unfortunate side effect to the rains. You guessed it, BUGS! Bolder, bigger, and hungrier than ever. Some just fly around without purpose until they land on their backs and spin around until they die. Some like to eat blood, and can't get enough of this particular dish. Some hatch in the rain, fly around annoyingly, then drown in the same rain they came from. I really don't get them. Oh, well. It's Thailand.

Long story short, the rains have come. The temperature has begun to drop. Life is good.

Thanks, rain.