Site Visit

In comparison to the rest of my volunteer counterparts I was given a placement meant only for someone living in a dream. I will be serving in the Province of Rayong, in a small town called Banchang; Thai’s call this eastern Thailand, because it is east of Bangkok, but really it is south-east. Rayong is on the coast and my Tambone is only ten kilometers away from the sea – it is an easy bike ride and great way to spend my days off. The particular area in which I will be staying is one which has been quite successful in terms of industrialization and is closely neighbored by some of Thailands hot-spots for tourism.

I was not only given a placement which is rich in beauty and entertainment, but one which offered a fitting outlet for my burning passion – education. My Thai Counterpart speaks really good English, loves teaching, and is eager to work with someone who enjoys creativity in the classroom. I found myself struggling at first with the idea that I was not going to live the peace corps experience of my hopes – being placed with a highly qualified instructor, in a area meant for a tropical get away did not meet my criteria for a place in need of my services. And then I sat down with myself and realized, like with all things, there is always a way in which to be productive and always a need to strive for betterment. So I started looking for ways in which I could be utilized effectively in my soon to be home and found that my counterpart really wanted to put on life skills camps, start a conversation partner organization, and work with getting the community more involved in the school’s activities – it was just the jump start I needed to get my mind churning . . . things in Banchang are about to get messy people, stay tuned for the latest and greatest.

Peace Corps sent us to Bangkok for two nights so we would become acquainted with big city life in Thailand and to familiarize the volunteers with the location of the Peace Corps Head-quarters. After leaving Bangkok we were expected to use our newly acquired Thai to get ourselves to the site of a current volunteer, where we would spend a night, and then to our sites. After two nights at site we were to get ourselves back to Chaibadan. Being dumped in the middle of Thailands biggest and busiest city is an experience which is quite unsettling; however, it is quickly concurred when the realization hits that 95% of the Thai people surrounding you are more than eager to get you were you need to go if you promise to spend the time it takes to get there helping them become completely fluent in the English Language. Needless to say I got there and back without a hitch.

While Rayong is soon to be my stomping ground, I was struck by the profound homesickness I felt tugging at me from to entirely opposite directions. I always miss home; the home of my childhood; the home of family and friends; the home of American food and good movies; the home of studying for tests and laughing with roommates; the home of hugs and kisses; the home I’ve always known. And then like the snake, which silently stalks its prey, I was seized by a longing for this new part of my life, this new place that suddenly also feels so much like home.

Chaibadan is lacking all the essential amenities which would qualify it as a vacation destination; try as you might you won’t find it in any travel guides, it will be missing from all the magazines full of flashy resort spots, and nothing spectacular will appear if you type its letters in the search bar of Google. Chaibadan is not particularly lush, it’s more brown than green, and it feels as though is rests within the palm of the sun’s hand, but it is home. I spent five nights away from my host family, away from the hub, away from the familiar alleys which make up the market here – and I could not wait to get back. Rayong is fully equipped with all the necessities of a travel guide worthy location, but it is without sweet pastries made on Sunday mornings, without the laughter of a 14 year old sister, without the silent protection of an anything but typical Thai man; it was lacking the faces that no longer stare at the small, blond farang, language lessons, and cold coconuts waiting when I get home. Chaibadan is seemingly plain, but it has carved an impression into my heart which will flourish forever – it will always feel like home.

Rayong is soon to feel the same; I have learned that where one resides eventually becomes home regardless of the glamour and glitz it has, or does not have to offer. There will be new people I learn to love and new routines to be built – today and for days, weeks, maybe months to come, my home is here with these people, in this place. Someday the world will be my home and traces of me will be found in every grain of sandy beach, on every snowy mountain; Banchang is merely the next stop of many.

Didn't I have this Conversation Last Night?????

My host family sat in a circle on the floor just behind me and watched intently as I packed my bag for a week away from home. As the last of my goods found its way into the abyss of Isabella’s belly (my backpack) I was informed that I was to call home each morning when I woke up and each night before I went to bed – I haggled that expectation down to once before I greeted my dreams.

Thai is the third hardest language in the world to master and takes a tremendous amount of gesturing to communicate even the smallest message. I go to bed each night feeling like I ran a marathon, my throat is horse, my head throbbing, and my muscles aching from the gymnastics exhibition I am required to perform each day. Needless to say, a telephone conversation is a daunting prospect.

Each night I would work up the never to dial Pi Ying’s number and each night I would participate in the exact same conversation.

Night One -
Family: “Hello?” (because Thai people answer like Americans on the phone)
Abby: “Hello”
Family: “Have you eaten yet?” (because food is the center of Thai culture and you know everything you need to know about a person if you know what they are eating)
Abby: “Yes”
Family: “What did you eat?”
Abby: “Fried Rice” (because they don’t understand when I tell them anything else)
Family: “What did you do today?”
Abby: “Talked with a teacher and studied Thai” (because that is all I can say)
Family: “What are you doing now?”
Abby: “Talking to you” (because it’s the only other thing I can say)
Family: “Have you showered yet?”
Abby: “No” (because it is a good excuse to hang up)
Family: “We are worried about you, go shower and go to bed”
Abby: “Ok, I miss you, goodbye” (score points because being able to say I miss you seems advanced)
Family: “We miss you too, now go shower” (because they are obsessed with me showering ALL the time, and because they are just as ready as I am to hang up)

For a script of nights three through five please see above conversation . . . there was no deviation from the exchange previously printed.

A Message of Simplicity

There were very few things that made me second guess my decision to pursue the dream in which I am now living – the biggest of which was my Grandma. I was well aware that the last time I hugged her goodbye would likely be the final time I was ever graced with her presence. I struggled with whether or not I could live with myself, if I could cope with an immense grief without my loved ones, if she would forgive me for choosing my happiness over hers, until my plane lifted its wheels from the cement of the Denver run-way . . . in my bed tonight, I continue to grapple with these same issues.
It was early Saturday morning when I got the call. Usually I don’t get the honor of hearing the familiar voices of my family until Sunday – so I knew that things were not right in the world, and yet the news still rained over me like an angry storm of longing, loneliness, and sorrow. There was a letter somewhere in the world meant for her mailbox, a brand new phone card in my purse specifically purchased with her in mind. I left to chase my dreams, but she was never far from my thoughts, never out of reach in the most sacred places of my heart – I wish I would have had the chance to share that with her one last time.
Having to hurdle my sadness without the support of those feeling the same sense of loss was such a daunting task I felt dizzy (funny) and sick to my stomach . . . couple that with the fact that I am in Thailand where death is not an occasion for tears and I was a recipe for true disaster. I crawled out of the tent I call a bedroom attempting something, anything near composure and ran to the shower. Thai people are: one, primarily Buddhist and two, uncomfortable with any emotion which does not result in a smile. My shower is usually a rushed splash of ice cold water, more of a show than a true opportunity to bathe – on this day, however, I took my time, went through the day in my head, walked myself through a conversation with my host family (keep in mind I don’t know how to say grandma, die, sad, lonely, funeral, old, sick . . . nothing), and then took a deep breath and urged myself to keep breathing because that is what she would want.
It is important to understand that Thai people are not unkind, or insensitive, they just truly don’t feel sad about death because their system of belief is one which says we live in this life with the sole purpose of becoming the best version of ourselves in order to receive a better life next time around, if not complete enlightenment. So death here is something of a celebration because it is an opportunity for loved ones to break free of the cycle of being born and reborn (enlightenment), or to be born into a more comfortable and happy life. There are no tears, no prayers, no eulogies, no black clothing; there is dancing, singing, eating, laughing, and lots and lots of getting drunk – people truly celebrate.
The last thing on earth I felt like being faced with was a party and I knew if I did not tread lightly this already impossible time would become one which I could not surpass. I got out of the shower, grabbed a box of tissue, found my dictionary, swallowed my heart which had crept into my throat, and headed for breakfast. They immediately became tense at the sight of my swollen face, but their apprehension melted away as I began using the completely insufficient Thai vocabulary I possess and my little dictionary to explain my sadness. Initially they responded exactly like I suspected and then it was like an American light warmed their souls and they were able to completely be the people I needed in that moment. With that being said, the moment was brief, the hugs not quite tight or familiar enough, the language barrier too large a mote to seize, and my being crumbled in too many pieces for anyone to really put back together.
I went about the day like it was any other; I had language lessons, meetings, and a lunch date with friends. I wanted to believe that keeping myself busy, acting as though my phone had simply neglected to ring this morning would make everything make more sense – or at least ease the burning that was consuming every atom in my person. That was a bad idea. I went home early in hopes that I could crawl back into my tent and just be alone – again, not the best thought. My family met me on the road and informed me that we would be going to a temple the following day to do tambone (merit making) in honor of my Grandma. I was honored and touched that they would have attempted to do something so out of their element to help ease the strife that was so clearly written in the lines of my face.
The temple was uninspiring and only made me long to be surrounded by family and friends – people who knew her, who could laugh about the silly things she would say, who could talk about her stubborn nature, who could remember the way she could grow a garden, who could still taste her food if they tried hard enough, who knew what it felt like to just agree with her because that was what she wanted most – regardless of how absurd her assertions were. I wanted to be held by someone who knew what it was like to lean over her chair for a hug, to sit in a room an smell nothing but stale cigarette, to see her smile and hear her laugh, to swim while she proudly watched from a lawn chair in the back yard. I wanted to sit and eat chili in my Halloween costume and then count candy; I wanted to light a rose candle; I wanted to watch a soap opera. I wanted so much to be home, to be with people who understood all of these things; people who were not just sympathizing, but who were empathizing.
So, what do you do when none of that is within your reach? You go to a temple and pretend to have some sort of outer body experience, you suck up the tears, your smile for your family, and you go home and remember all alone. I still cry for her almost every day – I missed her before, but now it is like this tugging feeling, like someone is knocking on my door and no matter how badly I want to get up and see who it is I can’t because I k now when the door opens there will be no one standing there. So I don’t answer it, I don’t respond – I simply remember her and think about what it was that she wanted from life. I think she wanted something pretty simple and sweet; she understood something few do and we all should. She understood that it was ok to expect something from your family, she knew that she was so full of love that she had to be careful about how she shared it – she loved us all, she loved us all more than most people have the capacity to love, but she did it in a special way because she had the acute ability to give in out in equal portions so no one ever felt less loved than anyone else. In hopes of coping, of never forgetting, of letting her live on through her loved ones I am going to try and absorb this lesson – when something makes you happy you should do it, simple pleasures are the best to hold on to, and family should be your number one ally. I am going to eat what makes me happy, rejoice in the simple things, give of myself in even amounts, and lean on the people who know me best – I think living in this vein would make her proud.
I want to remember every day the things that made me laugh, like when she would get flustered and say “good night!” I want to hold on to the times we spent watching movies in her basement, playing in the pools with cool-aid and snacks waiting for us. I want to hear her say “swim and eat, swim and eat.” I want to taste BBQ ribs on Mother’s Day, and I want to feel the strength of her hands when she was at her best for the rest of my life. I miss home every time I let myself think about her and sincerely hope she is at peace with my decision to be here right now. We were all so lucky to have had her in our lives, now we are lucky to have her in our hearts – I hope I can live the kind of life that would make her feel the same when I take my last breath. Lean on each other, love each other, appreciate each other . . . that’s ALL she would really want.

My Thai Dad Taught Me a Thing or Two

Since moving in with my host family my Thai Father has been somewhat of a mystery. He is rarely home and when he is he is extremely quiet – it’s like living with a shadow, you know it’s there but you don’t address it, you simply live within its shade. I have been grappling with the feeling that he was unhappy to have an American taking over half of his house, eating his food, and consuming the attention of not only his family, but the whole street.
He taught me a powerful lesson this week – silence and observation are not to be mistaken for distaste. There are people in the world who take their time, warm up to things, and study in order to create a relationship that skips the steps of having to muddle through the surface level dialogue. My host father knows me better than anyone around me right now, and it is simply because he took the time to sit and observe before he approached me – he knows when I am tired, when I am hungry, when I am overwhelmed by my lack of ability to communicate, when I am homesick, and when I feel especially lucky to be swinging in his hammock, loving his family.
I have had a lot of trouble with the street dogs here as of late. They like the smell of my sweet foreign blood and chase me in the mornings when I ride to my language classes. This is a particularly unpleasant way to begin and end a day. Lou Young discovered this struggle one morning and since has taken to giving me slingshot lessons when I return home from my day of training, and accompanies me in the mornings. He bought me my very own, brand new sling shot on Wednesday and we run around shooting them together for hours now. There is a feeling of safety here that has nothing to do with actually being safe from the elements, but from being deeply loved.
I was also lucky enough to have been taken on another weekend excursion. On Sunday my family took me on a train to see a huge dam, sunflower field, and Waat. Lou Young NEVER goes anywhere with us, and this time he did. It was so nice to have him there – I never knew how devoutly Buddhist he was until this trip, it pealed yet another layer from the package I am so enjoying unwrapping. We walked around, fed these huge fish, and then looked at the dam. It was hot and humid so it was a quick trip, but Satang came and she makes everything fun; I was proud to have been reason enough for an otherwise absent man to get involved in the life of his family. There are very few days here when I don’t go to bed feeling some form of success.

English Camp

This week was consumed with the usual language lessons, but my time spent practice teaching was replaced by planning an English Camp for one of the local schools. On Monday I had no idea what an English Camp consisted of, and today (Friday) I have successfully contributed to putting one on. Essentially the teaching volunteers in my unit came together to prepare a one day opportunity to learn and speak English. The day began with a short opening ceremony, large group songs, activities, and dancing. It doesn’t take long to realize that Thai students are driven by five things: singing songs, dancing, playing games, drawing, and stickers. After the volunteers got the students all wound up and ready for a day of language acquisition, they were divided into six groups; each group was lead to a classroom where two Peace Corps Trainees were eagerly awaiting them. We had each group of students for 45 minutes – in that time we had a specific set of words, concepts, or skills we were required to teach. My partner and I taught about the various modes of transportation. We began by showing them flashcards with pictures of the words; they would repeat the word several times and then we added actions to the words – so they ran around the classroom acting like cars, trains, planes, and bikes. It was adorable, hot, and a lot of work. This took place for three hours and then there was a much needed lunch break. After lunch we went for three more rounds and ended in the large group, singing songs and dancing again. This was a one day camp, which was held during the school day, so we were limited in terms of time and preparation; however, we are expected to participate and facilitate such activities when we are at site and they generally are overnight experiences with themes and a great deal of focus. It is a lot to learn in one day, but they seem to really enjoy the time they spend learning. It doesn’t matter what you have them do – as long as there is some sort of singing and dancing involved, Thai students consider the day a success.

Sick of Rice!!!!

Thai’s love their rice – they eat it with everything and for every meal, which means I do the same. I eat fried rice, steamed rice, boiled rice, sticky rice, sweet rice, rice soup, rice with veggies, rice with fruit, rice with pork, chicken, or fish. I eat rice sitting on the floor, at the table, at my house, at restaurants, schools, and market shops. I eat rice in my lap, from a bowl, with a spoon; I eat rice out of bamboo leaves, from sugarcane stocks, in globs with my fingers. I eat rice out of bags, boxes, buckets, bowls, and various to go containers. Running from rice simply does me no good – I went to the market in search of a riceless lunch, found a succulent looking pineapple all sliced and ready to go; I go out my 20 bhat ordered up the slice of heaven . . . and the merchant unwrapped it and plopped it on a bed of . . . you guessed it – RICE!!!! My dreams are fluffy and white (you’re thinking cottony clouds – I’m thinking bowls of rice). My days are one helping after another and my lessons all revolve around being able to discuss the latest and greatest with yours truly, rice. I am so sick of the stuff I could spit, but people here simply do not eat without a helping of rice. Try as I might, creating a meal devoid of rice, for a Thai, is equivalent to not having cooked at all. Rice, Rice, and more Rice – I am sick of stinking RICE.