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.