Beginning . . . Again . . .

The last few months have been such a whirlwind of craziness and change that I haven't had the time to sit down and write about it all.  So much has happened that part of me thinks I should just throw the blog out the window and start a stinkin novel :)

Deciding to leave Thailand early and end my Peace Corps experience was a mixed bag of excitement and dread, hope and sadness, huge gains and significant loss.  Before leaving I made sure to go on one last trip with Bethany and it was the best thing I could have done for myself.  I went and spent a week at her site and helped with an environment camp.  We taught the kids about recycling, planting trees, the negative effects of pollution and littering, and things of that nature.  Bethany is truly an original character and went so far as to have kids go out into the woods and actually hug trees.  The students were blind folded and lead to a tree, which they were instructed to smell, touch, and then hug.  They were all so serious about it - it was hysterical!  But more than any environmentally friendly day camp ever could have, a week in Bethany's village changed my mind about Peace Corps Thailand . . . there are still places there that volunteers can be really productive and are needed.  She lives in a little slice of Asian heaven.  Her village is on this beautiful little hill with woods and fields in abundance; directly behind her house is a picturesque lake in which the kids love to swim and play.  Just down the street there is a noodle shop where she eats everyday and down the road in the opposite direction is the school.  It is small and personal and everyone there knows and loves her.  Her porch is the daily stomping ground of at least 20 little people and her neighbors make frequent visits to check in and see how she's doing.  I was only there a day and already the kids all knew my name and wanted to come over and play, the adults were thrilled to have another foreigner around and life for a week was what I thought it would be when I packed my bags and left home behind.

After a week of eating noodles, playing with kids, and meeting neighbors we headed out for a Son Kran vacation.  Son Kran is like our spring break and everyone goes nuts; it is in the heart of hot season and to break up the monotony of the heat and beg the gods for rain they have a week long water fight.  We left a couple of days before the actual holiday began - neither of us had been up north yet and most of the other volunteers were planning on spending their vacation in Chiang Mai (the biggest northern city) and we figured we would beat them there, visit Pai first and then meet up with everyone else at the end of the week.  Pai ended up being my very favorite place in Thailand.  We took a bus to Chiang Mai and got there around 3:00 a.m.; our van up to Pai didn't leave until 6:00 so we wandered around the abandoned bus station until our van arrived and then we were off.  Pai is way up in the jungley mountains of Northern Thailand and to get there is similar to driving the winding mountain roads of Colorado.  The difference is that our van driver got paid according to how many trips he could make in a day and so was reluctant to stop even though 6 of the 9 passengers on board were puking their guts out . . . Bethany included.  It was the WORST ride of my life.  The windows wouldn't open and the the aircon couldn't keep up with all the body heat, so it was like being stuck in a vomit scented heat box for two hours.  It was so bad we were actually afraid to make the trip back down.

After the never ending venture up, we made it to this adorable town, tucked into the side of a beautiful mountain.  We stayed in a great little hut, ate fabulous food, laid around, went and played in the water, Bethany got a tattoo, we met lots of expats and fun Thai people, rode elephants, and rented a two seater bike,which I sat on the back of and let Bethany ride me around.  It was so much fun and such a great little place that we just kept staying.  We were supposed to be there for three days and then we extended a day and then another and then another.  We ended up there a whole week, completely missed Son Kran with the rest of the volunteers, and by the time we got back down to Chiang Mai almost everyone else had already headed back to their respective sites . . . it was just too good to be true and way too good to cut short.

It wasn't long after that, that the political climate started to really get ugly.  There are two major factions in Thailand, the Red Shirts and the Yellow Shirts.  The Red Shirts are in favor of electing a new prime minister and do not support the King.  The Yellow Shirts are die hard fans of the King and because the current prime minister was the king's pick they want him to remain in office.  This is all complicated by the fact that the King is about 600 years old, has spent the last year in the hospital, and isn't going to live long.  While he is intended to be merely a figure head, he wields incredible political power and no one pretends otherwise - which brings us to one of two major issues: one being the fact that Thai people almost universally love the king's oldest daughter and want to see her put into power when the king passes away, but being an old fashioned man, he has refused the idea and continues to insist that his eldest son is the rightful heir to his throne . . . his son is a nightmare.  He has serious psychological issues, has been caught producing child porn, and is absolutely crooked - people are naturally uneasy about this and know that if the current prime minister were replaced by a red shirt the monarch would lose significant power, somewhat neutralizing this crazy son as becomes the new king.  The second issue being the fact that in the last 4 elections a red shirt has rightfully been elected only to be overthrown by a yellow shirt at the request of the king.  The red shirts are tired of being overrun and see an opportunity to come back into power now that the king isn't well, and so came together and started something similar to civil war.  This is where me and the Peace Corps come into play.

I spent my last three months in Thailand studying every single day for the G.R.E.  There is an international testing center in Bangkok and so I got myself all signed up to take the crazy thing.  The day i was supposed to take it, I headed for the big city and as I was pulling into the bus station I got a phone call informing me that the testing center was in the heart of the rallies going on and would need to be rescheduled as a grenade was thrown at the sky train, shutting it down - the sky train is the only access to the building.  I bought a second bus ticket and headed back home.  About three weeks later my reschedule date  arrived and again the test was canceled.

Through all of this Peace Corps put us on stand by, which meant that we were not allowed to leave our sites for any reason and we had to check in and give updates on our locations on a regular basis.  This lasted for weeks and things didn't seem to be getting anything but worse.  It was then that Peace Corps decided that volunteers needed the option to return to the states if they were too near the danger.  I lived only 2 hours from Bangkok and the worst of the fighting, but I would be lying if I said I felt in danger and was afraid for my safety at any point - I did, however, see this as an opportunity to come home and be back with the people I love and start my life with Alberto.  And that's what I did.  I called Peace Corps and let them know that I was going to take them up on that offer and would be packing my things that evening.  They got me a plane ticket, put me through a barrage of medical junk, and sent me on my way.

Saying goodbye to the people I taught with, lived near, and got to know and love was a bit less straight forward.  Thai people don't just deal with things head on and telling them exactly what was going on inside me heart wasn't going to work.  So, instead of telling them that I couldn't imagine myself spending another 6 months wishing there was more for me to do, hoping that another day of school didn't get canceled, and missing my life at home - I just told them that Peace Corps didn't feel like it was safe anymore and that my family needed me.  They didn't question it and were really helpful in getting me ready to go.  We exchanged tears, lots of I love yous and I will miss yous and you better come back and see mes, and then they drove me to Bangkok and waved goodbye.  It was heartbreaking, but at no point did I feel like I had made the wrong decision.  It tore me apart to say goodbye to these people that I have grown to love and respect and who did so much for me - it was devastating to know that it would be months and months before I got to see the people who became my volunteer family again.  But I did this; I came and I learned a new language; I lived on my own and got to know new people in a place where I knew no one and was a total stranger to the customs and culture; I learned more about myself than I ever thought I would; and I'm proud that I was not only brave enough to pick up and do this, but that I was reflective and aware enough to know when it was time to say I was done.  As heart breaking as it was, it was also the only decision I could have made and lived with.

Now I'm home and a whole new set of adventures have already been laid out before me and excitedly embarked upon.  After the longest trip home a person has ever had to take, my parents came and collected me at the air port - no more were the days of excruciating heat and torrential rains, and back were the days of  tornadoes, thunder and lightening on a summer night.  It was perfect.

I spent the summer in transition.  It took some time to get myself back on an American time table, not only because my internal clock was 12 hours off, but because the pace of life state side is something completely different than that of life in a little Asian country.  There is always somewhere to be, people to meet, errands to run, tasks to mark of the lists of things to do that never seem to end and get longer and longer as the day goes on.  It was exhausting and such a nice change of pace . . . I forgot how much I love the feeling of being productive.

The summer went by in a rush of surprise parties, welcome home dinners, movies and fun with friends, time spent with my family, and planning for what was to come.  Alberto was stationed in Jacksonville North Carolina and I wanted to be there with him.  So, I took a couple of days and flew out here to start looking for houses and attend a job fair.  I had never been to the east coast before and never even thought about having to work my way through a job fair.  North Carolina was an easy fit . . . it had houses, a grocery store, a walmart, a movie theater, and Alberto . . . I'm sold.  The job search was another thing entirely.  I walked into this gym and was faced with easily 800, 20 something people all milling around with resume in hand hoping beyond hope that they would some how be the one the stuck out above the other 6 million people shaking hands and begging for jobs that day.  I took a second and really studied my surroundings - that's when I realized that very few people were turning their information in at the table set aside for the alternative school.  Not only did an alternative school seem like something I would like and be good at it seemed like a good bet because my application would be on of a thousand instead of a million.  I got a call the very next day, extended my trip (or more accurately, called my mom in a panic and begged her to take care of her grown daughter's problems for her, and like the magician she is she got it figured out for me).  I had an interview two days later and it went really well.  By the end of the month I was offered the job and that's what I've been doing since.

But let's stick to the proper oder of this story and keep ourselves form jumping around as tempting as it might be.

When I got back from NC we had yet to find a place to live, but Alberto was on the hunt and I trusted that he would find us something perfect.  In the mean time we were planning our Vegas weekend wedding.  In preparation for the special day, my mom got out her wedding dress and had me try it on.  We couldn't believe it when I put it on and the only thing that didn't fit was the length . . . and the style.  We started talking, pulling things in, eliminating parts all together, adding color, cutting things up, and before we knew it we had painted a picture of the perfect Vegas party dress reconstructed from the dress in which my mom walked down the isle and into my dad's arms.  It was meant to be.  We took it to a seamstress in town and got to work.  Our first visit and fitting left us feeling really uneasy and worried.  I tried the dress on so she could see where it needed taken in and shortened and things and when we started to tell her all the ideas we had about what we wanted it to look like she just kind of shut us up and told me to take it off.  I came out of the bathroom with the dress in hand ready to try again and she took it and ushered us out of her house.  Dumbfounded on the way back home, both my  mom and I decided that we were sure she hadn't heard a word we said and we were going to go back and find the dress torn into shreds.  As the case usually is with me and my mom, she took matters into her own hands and got right on the phone the minute we got home and made sure that this dress was going to be just fine . . . and it was.  After about 4 more fittings, lost of creative ping pong, and final decisions the dress was finished and it was perfect . . . well, almost perfect.  Once we found the right tennis shoes it was exactly what we had in mind and it was just right for our simple ceremony at the Chapel of the Bells.

We got married on the 4th of July, but not before my cousin could throw me an impromptu shower.  We had dinner, decorated funky "dog bones," as we called them for Elizabeth, opened gifts, and played games.  It was exactly how I wanted to be sent off into married life.  With food, fun, and all my favorite women in this world.  The next morning we got up and headed for Vegas, and by we I mean me, my mom, and dad.  Alberto got there later that night and Cody came the next day.  On the day of the ceremony I got up and went to be pampered and spend the day with my mom and the boys went about entertaining themselves.  Aside from a minor hair melt down everything went smoothly and according to plan.  My mom and I met the guys at the chaple and we were off and to the races.  There was a line, so we had to wait our turn; there was a couple in full on wedding garb (we are talking a huge formal ball gown and tux) with no guests, a couple in sporty street clothes who decided to get married in celebration of their 21st birthdays, and us.  We were third in line and so knew the drill by the time we were up, only our turn ended up being a bit different.  We weren't allowed to take pictures in the chaple so that they could charge you enough to put a down payment on a brand new house for the ones they took.  So they took our picture about a million times and the guy was all irritated with Alberto and I because we were being silly and couldn't stop gilling and junk.  I mean really, what do you expect from a Vegas wedding - Elvis is waiting to jump out of the closet at any minute and most of the people that say I do are drunk, so excuse me for having a case of the chuckles.  When the picture man had had enough and it was time for the minister to do his thing, they sent us to the back of the room, to walk each other down the 4 foot isle - we hadn't taken half a step when the minister gets a hysterical case of the hiccups.  It was so perfect in the moment that I wanted him to just marry us hiccups and all, but these people take their job serious - entirely too serious if you ask me - and so he refused and sent the camera man back in to entertain us while he got a grip.  But the hiccups persevered and we were forced to wait for the back up minister to come and marry us.  After all the waiting we finally took our three full steps down the isle and it took about 1 minute after that to complete our vows, give a quick smooch, and make room for the next couple.  I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.  It was light hearted, fun, and full of all the people I love most. I walked in a daughter, sister, Peace Corp Volunteer, future teacher, friend, girlfriend, and Brunton.  I walked out all the same things and got to add the best title a person could have to the list . . . a wife.

The next morning Alberto got on a plane and went back to NC and me and mine went back to CO.  I had about three weeks before Alberto had time off and could come get me and all of our stuff.  By  now he had found a house.  We call it the Daphne house because when he looked at it, it was on Daphne Drive and it's the one we both really liked - I especially loved that our street would be called Daphne Drive (something about the alliteration).  So we loaded up all of our junk into the biggest U-Haul rentable, dragged my neon behind it, and my mom and dad followed in the Cavalier.  We made it here, but i'm almost positive my dad went home with an ulcer from the stress and worry of that huge trailer.  And that was that.  We were here, in the Daphne house, in Hubert North Carolina, with all our stuff and each other.

I spent the first couple of weeks here unpacking and getting the house in order while Alberto went back to work.  We fell into a routine the minute we arrived and it's been magic ever since.  We laugh, we talk until our mouths go dry, we go to movies, rent movies, read about movies, talk about movies, we eat and grocery shop, mow the lawn, cook meals, and keep the house clean and we do it all like a well oiled machine.  I love being a wife.  I love making dinners and cleaning up together while me make lunches afterward.  I like sitting in the living room with him at night even if all we are doing is watching T.V.. I love date night, little adventures, and knowing that I don't have to go to bed alone.  The whole thing just fits, it feels right, like my navy blue, Levi's, zip up hoody - I put it on and I know that today is going to be a good day, I'm wearing just the right armor and nothing can touch my happiness - marriage is just that, shined, resilient, protective armor.

While marriage is something i naturally stepped into and loved, my teaching job has not been the same case.  There are days when I really like it, but for the most part it is the single most challenging thing I have ever attempted in my life and I have no idea if I am failing miserably and always will be, or if I am just in the middle of the biggest learning curve of my life.  When I think of an alternative school I think of the kind of place kids go when a normal public education just doesn't register with them.  Some of them get kicked out of school for truancy and behavioral issues, but it's minor stuff and they just need a chance to work through their issues in a safe environment.  What I'm working at should be called a transitional school, and even though North Carolina doesn't know it, there is an absolute difference between the two.  A transitional school, which is what I'm working at is a school where kids are in enough trouble to have been court mandated to either go to school or go to jail and their old schools refuse to take them back.  I work with criminal, angry, mean, entitled, lazy kids. In the first two weeks I had a fist fight in my class and had to press sexual harassment charges on a student.  It is a struggle every single day.  And there are days when something clicks and I can tell that they are interested or get what I'm trying to do with them, and there are days when I should be called a baby sitter and not a teacher.  So I do my best not to bring it home with me, to plan and do my very best while i am there, and to let it go when i get home.  My struggle now is one of philosophy.  I know that they need structure and consistency - I can give them those things, but my method of delivery is slow to get results and I'm not sure I'm willing to change it.  Most of the people I teach with think that if you are just mean and nasty they will sit down, shut up, and do what they are told.  I, on the other hand, don't want to be one more mean nasty person in their lives.  I truly believe that the only way to get them to respond to me, to respect me, themselves, and their education, is to be the one person in their life that no matter what they do or say refuses to do anything but love them.  So they do a lot of running all over me at the moment, but i am convinced that at some point they will see it and they will know that I believe they can do better, they can be better, that they are better and they will want to be those things in my class because it's what i see in them.  Now i just have to figure out a way to make all my idealist theory come true and I'll have mastered this job . . . I'll be here working on it for a while.

And that's life.  It's Friday morning here as I sit and write this . . . "Friday morning?" you say, "what is she doing at home blogging on a Friday morning?"  Let me tell you one last story and it will all make sense.

For three days it rained.  I woke up yesterday to a call that informed me that school was canceled for students and was optional for staff.  I live three minutes away and had lots to get done so I went in and on my way I couldn't help but think . . . "these people have no idea what bad weather is.  We just canceled school over some rain, toughen up.  They should sit through a Colorado snow storm and then we'll talk about canceling school due to weather."  As the day went on it never let up, it rained for hours and hours.  At noon they sent us all home in hopes we would beat the worst of the roads.  I still wasn't convinced.  Then, around 4:00 Alberto got home and was in a total tizzy because he was let go so late and almost couldn't make it home.  He said the roads were terrible and we were going to be lucky not to be in the middle of a true flood.  That's when he had me go look at our yard and we decided we would take pictures of the floods progress.  Between 4:00 and 6:30 we went from having a little bit of water at the edge of our back yard and a full drainage ditch, to water all the way up to the house.  It was insane and I spent the night swallowing my words.  School got canceled again today and I was in 100% support of the decision.  Between the hours of 6:30 am and 9:30 am Hubert got 12 inches of rain and it kept raining for 11 hours after that. Our house was a little champ and didn't get wet at all - we stayed dry and enjoyed our rainy night, like we enjoy all our  nights - together.

And now you know the story of the last 5 months of my life and i have carpal tunnel.

Various Vignettes and Moments Captured

Thailand . . . the land of "A" smile . . .

Thailand touts itself as being the “land of smiles.” Vegas sized billboards, boarding passes, menus, T-shirts, shop windows, busses, business cards, school posters, and all manner of advertisement ubiquitously announce that this particular plot of soil is where the seed for a smile was originally planted and where it most abundantly flourishes. I would argue that Thailand is the land of “A” smile.

Thai people, after all, are just people like the rest of us and have in no way been genetically modified to have a particular propensity for curling the corners of their lips up towards the heavens in kindness and welcome. People here, like everywhere, are individual and difficult to pack tightly into a single mold. There are those who scowl and glare in truculent animosity, and there are those who have no other facial expression, but a smile, rendering it mundane and meaningless. There are old people, young people, rich people, poor people, people who make their money illegally, and those who would rather give a meal away for free than accept corrupted currency. There are people who are magnanimous, kind, honest, and devoted to caring for their family and friends, and there are people who selfishly hoard their earnings and have no problem slighting someone else for their own gain. These traits are not endemic to any particular people or place in the world; they are simply what make up the fabric of a community . . . any community . . . globally.

But this country, this place, this plot of land is singular in that it is home to “A” smile – a hybridized version of the gesture that is shared all across the globe and universe, for all we know. Not everyone possess it’s magic and even fewer are able to deliver it with ease and proficiency . . . many never attempt it and most don’t even know it exists. But live here for a month, 6 months, a year and it becomes apparent that there is “A” smile and when someone wields its power, it is the warmest, most encouraging, and open embrace a person can receive.

I don’t think that Thai people smile more than the rest of the world’s population and for the most part they don’t do it better, but there is a small portion of the populace that have smiles so deep in their hearts that they have perfected wearing them on their faces and it’s a treasure to be given such a gift. It’s an experience that eludes my vocabulary and leaves me searching for a worthy description. But one knows when they’ve been the beneficiary of such a deed, because minutes later, long after the exchange, a smile still marks their face and lights their eyes; they feel lighter, like someone saw their soul, all that makes them pure and true and all that they have done to tarnish themselves – and still they rendered them worthy of “A” smile . . . a clean slate . . . a fresh start and the first step of that new beginning is placed on a foundation of love, understanding, forgiveness, and encouragement. This smile is an art that there is no perfecting, because it is organic and comes naturally to its possessor.

Thailand is the land of “A” smile and it is a smile like no other.



Naam Jai . . .

I took a linguistics class in college and we spent weeks discussing the phenomena of language. We talked about and studied all of the different theories regarding the way in which language came about, how it’s learned, what it is about the innocent plasticity of a child’s mind that makes acquiring language easier than it is for adults, and on and on and on. I remember asking everyone I knew what they thought about it and getting into deep conversations and sometimes heated debates. As an English teacher of native speakers it was merely interesting, because by the time my students got to me the language was already ingrained in them, it came naturally. As an English teacher of Thai nationals it once again becomes not only fascinating, but important to deciphering what it is that makes a person cognitively understand language.

It was with this train of thought that I was struck by how much of a language cannot be directly translated or even understood in any manner, but contextually. A friend asked me the other day what the word for “naam jai” is in English and I fumbled for an explanation because we don’t have an English equivalent. So, I explained that directly translated it means “water heart,” but that an English speaking person wouldn’t know what that was referring to, or what it meant.

During my first three months of training my language teacher encouraged, begged, and pleaded that we attempt to break ourselves of the habit of directly translating, because while there are hundreds and thousands of words that have an equal counterpart, there are also hundreds and hundreds of them that are ideas, customs, and expressions which simply do not live within our American culture. I could not wrap my mind around the notion that there are aspects of this new and challenging language that absolutely have no correlation to English. We are all humans, our physiology is identical, our basic needs consist of the same things, we laugh, cry, bleed, and sweat the same and yet there is a limit to our ability to communicate.

I live in a country which parallels the west in few ways and yet I exist upon the western foundation of my 24 years. I study the language every day, I converse with my neighbors, friends, counterparts, and students in their native tongue; I participate in the culture and customs and slowly I begin to live the language in a way translations never allow. Small pieces of my American framework are extracted, like a risky game of Jumanji, but it never topples over because the vulnerable portions are quickly filled with a Thai concept, one which I never realized I had made my own until I understood that I lived the idea, accepted the idea, appreciated and approved of the idea, without ever giving it a western definition – I simply experienced it day after day after day until Naam Jai became a part of my makeup, one which cannot be defined.

I am still grappling with the idea that language is more conceptual than academic in most regards, and often find it hard to turn my Thai to English dictionary of brain off and just experience the language as I live it. “Naam Jai” means “water heart.” This means that our generosity, love, trust, support, strengths, and achievements should be fluid, easily washing back and forth from one life to the next. It’s a trading of favors, goods, and kindnesses from one family to another, from one neighbor to another, from one friend to another, from one heart to another. It’s the idea that nothing in this life is completely mine until everyone else possesses it as well. It’s the thought that taking care of others needs should always come before taking care of our own. And in this vein it becomes apparent that “water heart” just doesn’t cut it and that unless you witness the occurrence of “naam jai” everyday words are not significant enough to encompass a true and complete definition.



Wonderland of English Camp . . .

I know what you must be thinking, “wonderland of English camp??? What kind of title is that???” It’s equally disturbing and embarrassing to me, but let it illustrate something about Thai people. English Camps are supposed to be planned in equal proportions by the volunteer and counterpart; however this is rarely the case. The first thing that must be concurred is giving an English Camp a name. My ideas were things that reflected the theme, had lots of alliteration, or were straight forward and to the point . . . in all honesty is was about the last thing on earth I was willing to deem important when planning this thing. But, to a Thai person it’s the MOST important. Camps get called things like, beautiful English camp, lovely English camp, English is fun camp, happy English camp, amazing English camp, enjoy English camp – feel free to look up any of the adjectives provided for a more extensive list of potential English Camp titles. So, we come up with “wonderland of English camp” and I don’t argue because there are real things that need to be dealt with, and that is where the help ends. My counterpart got what she wanted and washed her hands of the rest of the planning. This is something that I am used to and really I am better at feeling like I am in complete control, so didn’t mind being left to it . . . and believe me when I say that the rest of the camp was a lot less cheesy.

It was a big enough camp that I was able to ask two additional volunteers to come and help out. My good friends, Bethany and Noelle wanted to see my site, get out of theirs, and were excited about putting on a good camp. Generally these camps are really frustrating because they take a lot of time and preparation for very little outcome . . . in other words, kids can’t learn a year’s worth of material in two days. So, instead of coming up with all new topics and trying to make the thing meaningful we had two days of games, snacks, lunches, and review. Each station, like at all camps, was in charge of teaching a specific topic and each topic was one we had covered throughout the year and I knew they would see on their final tests.

The whole thing was fabulous! We were on time or early, which is unheard of, the food was delicious, which is a rare treasure, the students were enthusiastic and excited, and the games were fun and completely entertaining time wasters. Usually I walk away from a weekend like this feeling like I need about a month of hibernation before a complete recovery, but it was fun and really rewarding and left me feeling ready for a third day.

The students too, were hoping for an extension at the close of the camp on Saturday, but I’m pretty sure that had nothing to do with their dedication to learning the English language and everything to do with the stickers! As a reward system each teacher had a pile of stickers with them at their station; when a student answered a particularly hard question, participated extra enthusiastically, or did something above and beyond they received a sticker. We were going to get prizes for the team that earned the most stickers and the three individual students earning the most, but they were so excited just to be getting them that we decided we didn’t need to.

It was hilarious, they were little fiends. Every single correct answer or example of good behavior was met with shrieks and pleas for stickers. They tried stealing the pages of them, they tried prying them from each other’s name tags, and they went absolutely nuts when they got one legitimately. At the end of the last session on Saturday we were just emptying the pages and handing them out at random and somehow a page of them ended up in the hands of some greedy little brats. Bethany walked past a huddle of kids who were shushing each other as she approached, thinking something suspicious was going on she entered the mess and found a bunch of sticker addicted kids applying the stolen morsels to their nametags. We needed a sticker IV!

I don’t know how much English they learned, but they all went home smiling and stickered up.

Virginia . . .

Alberto did it again. He promised that we would see each other again before I come home and he made it happen. In the middle of February he got me a plane ticket and flew me to Virginia, where he is completing the rest of his training. It was about this time that the weather decided to test my patience and went nuts. Only days before my plane was set to take off multiple feet of snow fell on Virginia and the DC area, threatening to delay if not cancel my flights. No need to worry, someone out there was looking out for me and I made it to the good U. S. of A. without a hitch.

Aside from Alberto, the first thing I saw when evacuating the airport was SNOW!!! I miss the cool weather in an unhealthy way. I wanted to throw myself at it, hug it, eat it, cry into it, and pack some of it to take back with me. I also quickly realized how long it had been since I lived in the states and how new and exciting things felt. I was like a giddy little kid, everything felt so special and extravagant to me that I just couldn’t get enough of any of it. My first night there we went to dinner and then headed to the base, where I was put up in a hotel. The next day Alberto had classes and so I was left to conquer some of my jetlag and get rested for the week. I didn’t do a whole lot of resting, it was too much fun to be home again and I couldn’t make my mind shut up.

We stayed another night on base and then moved hotels so we would be closer to DC, where we spent most of our time. When Alberto was here it was all about finding new foods, unique experiences, and showing him the ropes. This trip was opposite in that we went in search of all the things I miss and love most about living in the states. We ate great food, went to movies, walked the streets, slept in a fabulous bed, I took an actual bath, and understood every single channel on the T.V. It was amazing.

It also felt like exactly where I was meant to be. I had never before been to Virginia and the week I spent in DC was in a homeless shelter for an alternative spring break trip, so it wasn’t home . . . but it immediately felt like it. Alberto is home, America is home, cool weather and good food are home, and my family and friends are home. There were so many things that felt perfectly right, and when I reflected upon what it was that made me feel so strongly connected to a place I would spend 5 days the answer was obvious – when I have something on my mind no matter how trivial or profound my first reaction is to turn to Alberto and say it, when I am sad, lonely, or feeling blue I wrap myself in his embrace and don’t feel quite so vulnerable anymore, when I go to make a meal it is instinctual to ask what he wants, when I start to make plans my first question is always regarding what he thinks. My hands miss being held, my thoughts miss being listened to, and my heart misses his presence - I had it all back again for a few days and it felt like my “real life,” like what every day is supposed to feel like.

We didn’t do anything spectacular. We stayed in a nice hotel, ate great meals, watched entertaining movies, spent hours at a book store, talked, laughed, cuddled, and enjoyed being able to love each other in person again for a time. Five days in his arms was all it took.

When I got home I was surprisingly content. There weren’t a lot of tears or long days spent moping around wishing I never had to come back. I returned and I jumped right back into my life. I know now that this was because I had already made a huge decision and it felt good to not have the doubt, the worry, and the constant struggle looming over me anymore. Thailand is a beautiful place and the people I have encountered here are among the finest I have ever known. I love my little house (no matter how hot it gets), I cherish my time with my neighbors, my counterparts are genuinely good teachers and people, my students will always be some of my very favorite, and the friends I have made through Peace Corps will remain my friends forever, but there isn’t enough need for me here to warrant another whole year of my life.

I live five minutes from an American style coffee shop, my schools have the money and the means to hire a native English speaking teacher, my community is well off and has little need for a Farang except in the form of a mascot. Thailand just needs Peace Corps volunteers in a much smaller capacity than other Peace Corps countries do and I feel like I have done what I can for my community. So, I am going to finish up the projects I have in progress, spend one more term with my students and counterparts and then head home. I am in the middle of a reading and library program project that is going really well, I have been asked to develop a listening component to add to the current curriculum which I will finish in the next two months, I am going to paint my two world maps, hold a series of teacher trainings, and teach every single day of the next term. I have signed up for the GRE and will be taking it in April and am in the middle of applying for a graduate program for Library and Information Sciences. If all works out according to plan I will be heading back sometime at the beginning of November and will start school in the spring.

I feel nothing, but a sense of relief and excitement. This has been the experience o f a lifetime and the things I have to complete in my time remaining will be my legacy – students will have the materials necessary to continue their learning in an environment that fosters success and not fear, my counterparts speak the language and have the skills now to truly benefit their schools, and my community and I will always remain good friends. But, I am excited to get back to my life and I feel completely at peace with my decision. I have been a happier, easier going, and light hearted volunteer ever since I got back and that is because I am no longer carrying within me this huge debate. Attending school again is a major draw, but love was really the only one I needed . . . I’m ready to get back to my future.

Ten Days of Christmas and a Happy New Year

Usually I sit down to update my blog only after I have spent at least a week working through all the details in my head, coming up with just the right way to talk about the experiences I’m having here. Ideas float through my mind and play themselves out in my dreams hundreds of times before I commit them to the semi-permanence this format entails. This one, however, hasn’t at all played along with my need to pre-plan, re-plan, think through, list, contemplate, evaluate, and over analyze every single detail of my life as a Peace Corps volunteer. Whenever I would sit down and write, “update blog,” on my list of things to accomplish I was frustrated at the lack of reaction this elicited; now I am certain that this is because there are no words that properly speak to the gift of spending time with one’s family.


My trip started out with another fun filled weekend with Brooke and Arnie at Perfect Place (I’m not making that up, it is truly the name of his housing development and couldn’t be closer to the truth). We sat around enjoying good company, cable T.V., and Brooke’s contagious energy. We saw a movie, ate great food, and went on nice walks and rides around the area. It was fun to be away from site for a while and live more like a westerner for a few days, but there was no containing the anticipation rolling around in my heart waiting for Monday morning when I would once again be reunited with my mom, dad, and brother.

Monday morning wasn’t just any Monday morning in my life; this particular Monday morning just so happened to mark my 24th birthday and brought with it my Krap-krua (family in Thai). They landed at the international airport in Bangkok around 11:30 a.m. and found their way to me about thirty minutes after that. I stood along with all the other anxious and excited greeters of family members, friends, and loved ones while I waited to spot one of them. There was more than one occasion during those thirty minutes, the longest of my life, when I wanted to reach out smack someone! I mean come on!!!! I am obviously vertically challenged and going out of my mind with eagerness and these fools have the nerve to stand in front of me and block my stinking view . . . but, I need not worry, because in the land of little people my dear brother, Cody, stood out like an aged tree in a pasture of seedlings. I saw that head full of curly hair, a full foot above anyone else, heading my way and I couldn’t help but do a little jig and throw myself into his arms. Cody has a lot of things I love about him – one of them is that he knows how to give a hug, so it was fitting that he should be the first to embrace me. My Mom was next in line and this time I didn’t do so much of a spastic dance, but I did notice some minor condensation collecting in my eyes (ok, so I might have spilled a tear or two . . . did you really expect anything less???). My Dad was the last of the three and as each one passed through the gate and into my arms it got more and more special . . . I couldn’t contain myself.

We set out for our hotel and spent the rest of the day and a large part of the next in Bangkok. Our first meal in Thailand was at an Egyptian restaurant, which might seem an odd choice, but the food was out of this world and Cody was able to enjoy a grape hookah while we ingested more food than an army probably should have. We wandered around and got to know the lay of the land for two days before we headed for the bus station and bus that would take us down south. Hailing a cab is never very hard to do in the city, but actually getting where you want to go without being driven in circles for an hour before hand is a far greater feat; on this particular day we got lucky. The cab driver recognized my limited ability to speak Thai and used it as an opportunity to chat with Cody and brush up on his English, while he quickly and efficiently got us there. This would be the first of many encounters where Cody captured the attention and enthusiasm of a Thai person. They all wanted to know what he did, how old he was, what kind of food he liked, if he had a girlfriend and regardless of the answer, if he wanted a Thai girlfriend; inevitably the conversation would end with them suggesting that he move to Thailand and start teaching immediately . . . I don’t know what it was, but they LOVED him.

We parted ways with the driver and loaded ourselves onto a double-decker bus. I was fully prepared for the journey upon which we were about to embark, but I’m not all together certain that I made it clear to my beloved family. It was an overnight bus that took us from central Thailand all the way down to the edge of the southern portion of the country and lasted twelve hours in all. Torture wasn’t my intention and there was a stop along the way, in my defense, but in retrospect it probably wasn’t the greatest plan after they had just been on a twenty-two hour trip around the world to get here . . . my bad.

Like I mentioned a second ago, the bus did make one stop to allow for the stretching of legs, the draining of bladders, and the filling of bellies. There is room for disagreement on that last point, however, as the culinary options were a bit limited, and by that I mean that they had tables set up with baskets covering food that may have been sitting out for multiple hours in the heat and consisted of pork balls (don’t ask, you don’t want to know) and pickled eggs, which are a grayish purple color. Again, I was fully prepared for this generous offer of a free meal, but didn’t really anticipate needing to intervene on behalf of the parentals. So, I stood by and watched their reactions as that basket was lifted from the plates of food, and laughed hysterically to myself as my Dad turned a bit green and obviously began to panic; pleadingly his eyes met my Mom’s, screaming “please Lona, please help me!!!! We cannot eat this . . . we can’t!!!” My Mom’s reaction was bit more of a surprise, since she generally likes all food and is always up for a new challenge . . . on this particular occasion, however, she wasn’t feeling it and also chose to decline. Instead we each sipped on an orange juice and my dad passionately relayed the story to Cody, who just returned from the restroom.

The bus dropped us off in Krabi, where we booked tickets for the ferry that was to take us out to Koh Phi Phi (the island on which the movie “The Beach” was filmed). The man who sold us the boat tickets was about my size (average for a Thai individual) and, like they all did, became enamored with Cody. We took advantage of the chance for a good photo-op to show just how big he seemed around all these tiny people. Finally, after about 14 hours of travel, we landed in paradise. The resort we stayed in was quite the find. We stayed in a villa all our own, which consisted of three separate bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, a communal area, hammocks, and sun bathing beds. It was huge, luxurious, beautiful, and felt like an enchanted tree house, with actual tree trunks coming up from the center of the floor in various locations, small twinkling lights, magnificent art, and a picturesque view of the ocean from the living space. It was unbelievable. The next five days were spent lounging around a beach, drinking fruity drinks, eating great meals, and people watching during the day; wandering through the little island town, finding dinner, shopping, and more people watching at night. We stayed on Koh Phi Phi through Christmas and simply enjoyed being together, having the chance to catch up, and sharing lots and lots of hugs. The next day we took a snorkeling trip out to a small island which houses a large population of monkeys and then to the actual beach on which the movie was filmed (it has since been turned into a national park and is absolutely beautiful).

When it was time to say goodbye to the life of ease we had been living, no one was particularly thrilled – but everyone at my site was eager to meet them so was set off anyway. Opting out of another twelve hour bus ride and finding travel extremely cheap once in country, we flew back to Bangkok and then took a two hour cab ride to my site. I lost my phone on the plane and wasn’t able to contact anyone on the way back and it was late, so I dropped my Mom and Dad off at the hotel and Cody and I headed to my house to call my counterpart from my computer to let her know I was there and lost my phone. As we walked into my house I was greeted by a musty smell and started searching for the source – I found my kitchen, laundry/storage room, and bedroom sitting in an inch of stagnant water. A pipe in my kitchen burst while I was away and my house flooded. Not exactly a fun thing to come home to, but my family was around and I wasn’t going to let it get to me.

The next morning, their first in Ban Chang, my counterpart, Tip, and my friend Tu came to the hotel and took us to my house. We spent the whole morning and afternoon cleaning up the mess and drying things out. It wasn’t exactly the most fun thing that could happen on a vacation, but it was nice to have them here. Tip went back to school, I got a new cell phone, and my fam headed back to the hotel to rest up before we went on an adventure that night. Tip, Tu, Tip’s daughters and husband, and two other teachers I regularly interact with all came together and took us to a sunflower field – they don’t really understand that we have them at home, so we smiled for the pictures and acted like it was the coolest thing we have ever seen. Then it was off to the beach for a seafood feast . . . and feast we did. They ordered at least fifteen different dishes and just kept shoveling the food on to plates . . . it may have been a bit overwhelming, but it was certainly delicious.

The following day was one of my favorites because I took them to go see my elementary school. The students were awe-struck with the sudden invasion of foreigners and were so excited to have them there that they did a dance in their honor. It was out of this world cute. After the show they all gravitated towards Cody and sat checking out this giant that just showed up; they could not understand how we were related and kept talking about how big he was and how small I am. They are all still talking about it (like I haven’t put up with midget jokes my whole life, now I’m getting it here too) and they think it is hilarious to tell me that I am the only Thai person in my family because the rest of them are too tall to fit in. My students weren’t the only excited people that day, my counterpart Took was beside herself with pride that I would bring my family to meet them and my principal took the opportunity to sit my Mom, Dad, and Cody down and explain to them all that they were taking good care of me and that under no circumstance was he going to let me go home early . . . it was a really special day.

That night we met back up with the gang from the night before and went on a tour of temples and had another huge meal, only this time it was home made. I was excited that my family was able to see where Tip lived and what a traditional Thai house looks like. We had BBQ chicken, shrimp, fried rice, soup, fruit, chips of various flavors, french fries, and probably a few other things that I’m forgetting. When it was all said and done we ate for well over two hours and none of us could have fit one single morsel more into our ever expanding waist bands. Thai people are superstar hosts and they were at their very best for this visit. I was proud of my community and overjoyed that my family could be a part of what I am doing here for a brief moment.

It was back to Bangkok for the New Year and then they were off. We spent the New Year close to the hotel in a bar filled with prostitutes and old foreign men. It wasn’t as dirty as I make it sound, but I’m jaded so I can’t help it. Everyone was really excited and the energy was light hearted and fun and all the x-rated junk was saved for a more private venue. So, it ended up being a fun time – we brought the New Year in together, as a family, and then headed back to the hotel. The next day we had to say goodbye again and I’m not going to write about that because I’m still not over it and probably won’t ever be – so, enough said.

It’s rare to get to have an experience like am having and even more unusual to have the opportunity to share it with the people you love most in the world. My life is nothing but a blessing and it’s full of precious gifts, but nothing in it is as important as the time I am given with those who have molded me into the creature I am today. I’m the luckiest person I know, I was born not only into a loving, generous, and supportive family, but into my three best friends. It was the ten best days of Christmas and the happiest New Year of my life.

A Whole New World

After six months of twiddling my thumbs, contemplating the blue tile that covers every inch of my house (except of course my once white bathroom), reading an entire library full of books, and wasting hours on end coming up with things to Google, I have finally found more productive ways to spend my time. Or, maybe it’s just that the people around me have figured out how to put me to work . . . regardless, it’s heaven!!!

I’m actually teaching – and I mean really teaching. I spend Monday and Thursday mornings at the high school down the street from my house, until it’s time to walk home, grab lunch, exchange my skirt for more bike appropriate attire, and ride to the elementary school about three miles away. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are spent in much the same fashion, only I spend the mornings at the elementary school and the afternoons at the high school. There has been time set aside to lesson plan and both of my counterparts have suddenly come to terms with how important I think this is and so sit down and humor me for about an hour each week. It’s marvelous!!!! I walk into class everyday and we essentially know what we are going to teach, how we are going to teach it, and what we need to get the job done. I’m 100% positive my co-teachers have yet to be convinced of the great service we are not only doing each other, but our students, by being prepared – and really as far as I’m concerned, I don’t care if they spend the next year and four months pretending to think this is a grand and novel idea as long as it keeps happening.

Again, I have no idea what caused such drastic changes, but something in the water must have made these women see the light, because all of the sudden I am not only seen as a good resource in terms of pronunciation practice and curriculum development, but I nearly have full control over the classes. Tuke, my counterpart at the elementary school, acts like a student; she participates in all the activities, completes all of the assignments, and takes copious notes while I teach her 9, 10, and 11 year olds. When I really get stuck and just need a direct translation she jumps in and throws the kids (and me) a bone, but aside from a few comments here and there she sits back and lets me do my thing. Teaching English as a Foreign Language is far more different that I ever could have imagined. I thought coming here that I had this thing in the bag – I mean I spent the last 5 years of my life completely consumed with learning, discussing, practicing, and contemplating this whole teaching thing. Apparently it kind of makes a difference when your students can actually understand a single freaking word that comes out of your mouth. So, I go in everyday and I wing it; I do more acting, dancing, singing, and drawing than I do true teaching and usually the point I am trying to make is completely lost to them, but they are laughing, and singing, and dancing, and drawing right along with me . . . sometimes I figure it’s enough to just have some fun and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

My degree is in Secondary English Education and I fully intend to return to the states and set up camp in a high school setting somewhere. However, here, in this context, I love the little kids; they are excited to learn and eager to please. Mostly they are still young enough to think that EVERYTHING I do is super cool, so they are absolutely easy to entertain and enthusiastic about even the lamest of lame ideas I come up with. There are days when I have to do nothing but drill and kill to get them to really understand and become familiar with the vocabulary. All I have to do is say the words at different speeds, yell them, whisper them, stutter them, draw them out as long as I can, or leave parts of them out completely and they are in utter rapture for an entire hour of learning a simple 10 words. It is amazing.

They are adorable, they are completely amusing, and they are a blast. We play lots of games, create bushels of art projects, invent noises and actions to represent all sorts of words and sets of instructions, and somewhere in the midst of all the silliness I think we are learning from each other. I can tell them to open up their notebooks and copy the writing on the board accompanied by pictures of the vocabulary and they immediately know what I am requesting. I am able to tell them how many minutes they have to complete an assignment and they all hold up the right amount of fingers. They are even to the point that they tell me when they need more time or are confused . . . this is unheard of in a Thai classroom, where questions come across as a personal assault to the teacher. And for my part I know when they are truly lost and don’t know how to begin asking for help, I can tell when they are bored and need something new to keep their attention, and I’m getting really good at understanding when they translate my instructions into Thai so I can correct them when they are going astray.

It was such a welcome surprise to realize how little the cement walls of my hut were giving back in our isolated little relationship. I am getting out of my house, seeing people, getting to know my community, and building real relationships with my students. It reminds me a little bit of training, when I was welcomed by a parade of people on my way home each day, as I ride my bike up to the elementary school – in a matter of seconds I am surrounded by waving, shouting, groping little kids saying hello to Kru Happy (English Translation: Teacher Abby) and equipped with a bottle of cold water. I recognize and am recognized by people on my way to and from and have come to expect smiles, hellos, and waves from vendors and community members along my path. It’s starting to feel like home.

The actual act of teaching in the high school is far more challenging and a lot less entertaining. There is a group of students who have really dedicated themselves to learning the language and so participate in the lessons without coercion. Then there is a chunk of students who could simply not care less and do not see the relevance in learning English – these students tend to be boys and they are largely favored for it. And finally there is the extremely high volume of students with learning disabilities that simply get over looked, because “they can’t learn anyway.” Talk about a melting pot – only the ingredients don’t really complement one another and while the cheese melts up all nice and creamy it quickly begins to curdle as the other elements are added. Girls here are taught from a very young age (like birth) that they will never be as good as boys and so should spend their lives taking care of men and doing whatever is necessary to land one. This is in no way conducive to a productive learning environment. The girls study hard and most of them are way ahead of the game, so they finish their work and then move on to finish that of the boy sitting three rows back. This drives me crazy!! I wander around helping the large handful of students who are so far behind and struggle so severely that they have given up right along with their instructors and as I do I keep my eyes out for cheating and copying. I actually took a boy’s work away from a girl, drew a big X through it and handed it back to him to do on his own; three minutes later the kid next to him was doing it, so I repeated the process and told him to start over; I sat and watched him work on it for a few minutes and moved on. When I returned to check on him, he was doing the work, but was copying off of a friend, so another X was scratched across the page and he finally got serious and did it himself the fourth time. This isn’t a rare happening and I have made it my charge to see that it stops, even if just in my classroom. I am making a name for myself, they call me Teacher Mai Copy (mai means no), and they’re all a lot more edgy than when I first started working with them.

The diversity in ability levels and interest in the language makes the older kids less fun. They are also at an age when they aren’t easy to entertain and they certainly do not think I am a super hero; in fact, I have to work extremely hard for my “cool” points with them. But, I have found ways to start weaving myself into the fabric of their lives and the more of this I do the better response I get in class. Who would have ever thought . . . if you take the time to get to know someone they actually learn to trust and respect you. In this vein I have started stopping by after school on occasion and playing volleyball with some of the girls, I shop at places I know my student’s parents own, and I show up for all of the extra activities that happen when I’m not at the other school. It’s a different dynamic and a lot more work, but equally rewarding.

So, between biking like crazy, lesson planning, material making, teaching, playing volleyball and stalking students, planning teacher trainings, and getting ready for English camps my idle time has been significantly cut into and I couldn’t be more thankful for it.

I came here to teach, that shouldn’t be news to anyone. It was driving me crazy to sit around and watch someone else flounder when I could do a perfect breast stroke. But, getting more involved in the classroom has also been eye opening in terms of how much I was missing out on by not getting out of my house more often. My students and counterparts lit a fire under me and now I’m running around like a crazy person never saying no to anyone. I went to a vineyard and mountain temple with one of my counterparts; I accepted an invitation from my principal to join a group of teachers and principals for a night out on the town; I have even started going to aerobics again. All things I have been missing out on while I sat around feeling lonely and sorry for myself. Self pity is an ugly thing and being a hermit didn’t do me any good. This whole time, all I had to do was put the book down and go for a walk . . . something that shouldn’t have been all that hard for a person with two working legs. There was a whole village of people just waiting for me to outgrow my shell and come looking for a new one . . . I’m glad I did.

                                     

My counterpart and I spent an afternoon touring a vineyard and climbed hundreds of steps up to a beautiful temple on a mountain just outside Ban Chang. Then the very next night I joined the group previously mentioned for dinner and a show. This wasn’t quite the success that the last field trip was, but it makes for a good story. We went to a tourist town about thirty minutes down the road and had dinner by the sea. I ate about twice my body weight in food and thought I was going to explode, when someone looked around a came to the astonishing realization that there was nothing but Thai food, on this Thai table, in this Thai restaurant, in Thailand. They demanded that I be made a tuna salad. I couldn’t bear the thought of another single morsel of food reaching my palate, but there was no stopping her, she was on a mission. So, I unbuttoned the top button on my jeans, took a deep breath, downed the thing and we were off to the show. Thais have kind of warped idea of what it means to be entertained and they took me to a cabaret show. I sat through about forty-five minutes of the transvestites with great boobs and hardly anything on dancing around and lip sinking to really bad remakes, when it hit me. Now, whether it was the food that got to me or the strip tease taking place in front of my eyes is still up for debate, but regardless something offended my insides and I was sure to be sick. I got up and rushed to the bathroom and let exit all the food that forcefully entered my gut. I missed the last few minutes of the show (darn) and met up with everyone at the car, where I informed them of my illness. We headed for home, but were forced to stop six more times in my honor . . . it was awful, but I don’t think I’ll have to go to another cabaret show and they’ll probably think twice before packing me plum full of tuna again.

Oh, and did I mention aerobics????? Well it is the single most hilarious thing I have ever taken part in and I’m pretty sure that lying in bed watching movies causes me to break more of a sweat. I was given the option of two different home stay families when I moved here, neither of which actually had room for me to live with them, but both take good care of me. Pi Laan, is one of them and she does aerobics at the health station behind my house. This week she decided that it was silly that I wasn’t going and so started to come over and get me before hand. This is something I would have previously declined, but saying no doesn’t go with my new attempts at happiness and integration, so I put on my tennis and went. What I found was a bunch of middle aged and old women hoolahooping their hips off. I was dumb struck. When I asked about it, they all claimed that is was the best exercise they had ever done and got me all hooked up with equipment of my own. We hoolahooped around for about 15 minutes and then the actual class started. The class consists of 10 minutes of stretching, 15 minutes of aerobic dancing, which is more of a wiggle and shake here and there, and then 15 minutes of “ab” exercise (otherwise known as lying on your back and chatting with your neighbor), and finally after all that exertion we stretch again, because cooling down is of the utmost importance. I went every night all week and found that it actually was a good stomach workout . . . well, the sitting around yapping isn’t, but dying of laughter does wonders to tone the midsection. It’s really just one more way to get to know people and become familiar to the people who have surrounded me for months.

I joined the Peace Corps to fulfill a lifelong dream, to teach, and to become a better me. I am having to stare down my demons, my insecurities, and my fears and every time I overcome one I know that I am here doing the right thing for the right reasons and that I am going to come home really knowing myself. It took me six months, but I shed a layer of myself that was holding me back and for the first time since moving here I feel free.