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.