Jingle Bells…

I almost walked to Burma today.

 

We hadn’t realized we’d actually passed the official gateway to Thailand’s left-hand neighbor until after we’d finally noted the change in script on the signs across the way.  It looked like Thai had unraveled and danced in its revelry, to be free from the tight circles and sharp angles that define most stylized Thai writing.

 

The unfortunate first impression of the country was the image of a man leaning over the rail of the footbridge above us, likely a shop owner, dumping a garbage bag into the already brown river that passed between me and the sharp rule of a controlling military junta.  I admit, it didn’t reflect well on either country, especially considering the man proceeded on to our current side of things.  Next we saw children, under the bridge across the way, tumbling over each other in sand strewn with pieces of trash that presumptively had found its way over on some unfortunate wind.  They waved enthusiastically, delighted to see people with different hair and skin than they had, and wished us happy birthday.  I doubt they knew the meaning.

 

Then I noticed the more significant thing. 

 

I glanced from Thailand to Myanmar, forward and back, when I realized the children had reached the sand by hoisting themselves over barbed wire.  Thailand is, despite the dark stain of humidity and dirt streaking down the buildings, a rich sight.  Perhaps I think such because I’m accustomed, though I don’t believe so.  There are bright advertisements, for Pepsi and Singha beer, and the ever present red and yellow signs in both Chinese and Thai.  There are handmade gifts and chintzy souvenirs hanging in every window, and at the restaurants there are carved railings of dark wood and brightly colored boxes of napkins on the edge of the tables. 

 

Turn an eye to Burma, and the sights change completely.

 

There was one advertisement in sight, somewhere above the green swathed guard eyeing us, and nothing else.  All the visible buildings were plain, painted one fading color, concrete blocks with closed curtains.  There was the spire of a temple emerging from trees over the bridge that we could see from our vantage point.  But there was no colorful bustle, no sound, barely any lights visible down the pathway we could see.  You could tell it was a path crowded with buildings, all concrete, all painted.  There weren’t any of the signs, any of the bustle, any of the life that I could discern.  I imagined people running through the streets.  I pictured the monks hiding in the temple.  I stared for a long time.

 

The world isn’t real until you’ve seen it. 

 

I want to see more of Burma.

 

That’ll probably have to wait a few years.  But I’m also learning an awful lot about time. 

 

In other news, there is one day until Christmas.  If you’re reading this, chances are I miss you.  I want you to have a wonderful holiday!  Even if this post is a bit of a downer.  Sorry!  Hahaha…don’t worry, it comes amongst a time of great fun for me—we’re on our second Rotary trip of the year, and despite my tendencies towards being car sick, I’d managed to hold out for the first (and arguably best) couple days of the trip.  As for the rest of the time (three days, I think) I plan on arming myself with an iPod, a blanket, a teddy panda I bought at the zoo, and a healthy supply of shut-eye.  

 

I only wish I had the time to tell you all about the number of amazing things I’ve been doing since I left for this trip.  But I’m at an internet café, and there is barely enough time in a week to chat on and on about what I’ve done.

 

Highlights?

 

Elephant riding.

Boat across the Mekong.

Games with Rotary kids.

 

As I type this list, I slowly recognize that the majority of the amazing time has much more to do with who it was with.  We’ve got an incredible group along for this ride.  I can’t wait for what happens next.

 

Love much, and with much Christmas cheer,

 

Holly

 

PS.  I’m wearing a beautiful Thai silk dress for Christmas.  I can’t wait.  J

I owe you all a book.

Ehehehehehehe…

I was on a three week break just now…and…yeah, so the other day I totally saw a something–a car crash!  Right in front of my house!  A car rear ended another one and then another one bumped into that car, and–three cars, stopped, right in front of the shop.  I thought I heard it, but wasn’t quite sure until my aunt came in all, “Did you hear that?  A car crash!” but definitely not in English, and I ran upstairs onto the roof garden and sure enough wouldn’t you know there was a real, bonafide car crash.

Please accept this exhilarating story as a sort of peace offering.  It’s the best I can do.  I’m only a student!

And ignore the title.  I don’t owe you all a book because I’m only a student! and am spending my own money right now.  Thailand’s cheap, but definitely not that cheap.  I’ll buy you one if you put the moolah in my account.  Yeah.  Thanks.  (No one’s gonna do that.)

So, as my closest friend in Thailand is rockin’ her self out in Bangkok.  Without me.  I’ll be writing this now.   I think you gathered.

The last month.  Has it seriously been a month?  Seriously?  How am I supposed to do this?  But enough stalling.  It’s frustrating me.

In the last month I have mostly been on break.  This involved copious amounts of boredom for a time.  It was bad for a little while when I could actually feel my own body itching to escape the wooden walls I’m sandwiched between in my room like ants were crawling inside me rather than just biting my ankle and arms on random occasion.  (The things I try not to think about.  But when you wake up with one on your cheek, you figure you’ve eaten your fair share by now.)  But Virginia rescued me.

Virginia, her host mom (hereby referred to as “Khun Mei,” which I’m ultra-tempted to write in Thai script from now on to impress you), and I went out to dinner with a friend of Khun Mei’s and a friend of his.  Dinner was enjoyable, seeing as there was cashew chicken and a live and talented band that kept talking to us in half-broken-English-half-Thai.  I wanted to get up and dance, but there’s a definite “NO!” on that one.  Thai culture doesn’t allow for the same amount of dancing.  Well, they dance (and it’s totally cool, too).  But it’s not hip-shaking get-your-groove-on type dancing.  It’s skilled movements with your hands that become completely unskilled when my hands fumble through them.  We tried it with a couple of boys during our mini-convention at the Athletic University, and they had their good fun actually dancing while the three of us undeniably white girls clapped our hands to the beat and laughed.  Laughing is the best way to cut straight through cultural differences.

And then came the big one: Karaoke.

In case you weren’t aware, in Asia Karaoke is performed inside a rented out room (unless you’re brave enough to test your talents in front of a group–who, if you’re old enough and lucky enough, is too drunk to tell you don’t sound anything at all like Whitney Houston and instead resemble a dying cat breathing through a slide whistle) on very comfy couches.  There’s a wait service.  It’s deluxe.

The group’s attempts were largely…let’s leave it at attempts, for kindness’s sake.  It was fun.  But to be honest, you sit there singing.  …Yeah.  (I have a feeling that if you’re there with close friends, there’s jumping across the couches for songbooks and dancing and elaborate performances.  I’ll try it sometime)

I spent the night at Virginia’s that night (where the ant was on my face).  I love the airiness of that place.  They live farther out, and though the roosters just don’t know how to shut up, I know how to drown them out just fine, and the sunlight doesn’t have about two feet leeway on one wall, but only around a big extravagant red sign on which someone took WordArt in Microsoft Word and just went nuts.

Okay, okay, it might not be that bad.  But anytime font goes from small to big across anything I cringe, and some part of me dies.

Ahanyway.  Things were pretty normal for a minute.  Except last Tuesday a Rotarian from Reno rolled in with his former exchange student and (the trumpets sound) the District President swung by.  Now, he comes only once a year, twice if you’ve been extra good (wish Santa would do that) and thus, we exchangers of Magkang were asked to present something we’d learned at school to the club.  Before I knew that important people would have to be eating it, I offered to cook dessert.

Thankfully, my Obachan kindly offered oh-so-desperately needed assistance, and we made one of the simplest desserts on the face of the planet.  Cut little bananas into fourths, stick in a pot with a lot of sugar, a lot of coconut milk, and a little salt, and heat and stir for a while.  Only thing is, I had been drinking coffee just before I taste tested.  Two seconds after extra sugar went in I realized what I’d done.  Coffee.  Of course fruits are going to be bitter after…oh well.

They took it graciously at Rotary, too, but I did mock myself a little bit while reading the recipe in Thai, and the way they laughed as I explained that “if you like it sweet add more sugar” I can tell they noticed.  But.  They took it graciously.  Virginia made a part of a little wire and net flower for the group, and passed around her beautiful earlier creations.  I’ve tried one.  They’re not easy.  They don’t always turn out that pretty.  I can tell by looking at the “rose” sitting in the corner of my room.

The next day, it was off to a school again, where we were invited for the harvest and shown a little bit about Thai school life out in the poorer communities.  See, this particular school we’d been to before for a dedication of a clean water system.  It so happens that this is the only available source of said clean water, and the entire community uses it now.

I had no idea.

Also, when kids are sick their option is to tell the teacher, climb in a wooden bed in the corner of the room, and take some assorted medications from the back of the classroom.  The harvest is for mushrooms, and the kids go hunting (notably, in bare feet) through the woods behind the school, put them in jars, and store them in a shed next to the catfish and frog pool so they have something to eat.  The director explained that this extraordinarily fresh meal (or meals, as breakfast is also served) is often the only one they get during the day.  They make their own brooms, too.

School is these people’s lives.  And they have the most threadbare library I’ve seen.  I want to buy them books.

It’s strange, when you realize you’re standing exactly where they’ve been telling you about for years and years.  And the kids were so sweet.  They wai’d way better than I ever have.  Gotta love being beat by someone literally half your size.  I felt the same trying to decipher the Thai scrawled on the chalkboard.

After that, we went off to Ban Chiang, where they closed down the main museum for, literally, a year.  And that was the only air conditioned part.  So we baked in the little museum, stealing minutes in front of fans, fixing cameras, and went to the excavation site that still has all the original stuff in it.  That was cool.  Skeletons never lose their creep, though.  Cool.  But creepy.

There was dinner after all this, too, where ironically enough I froze my butt off and talked politics and took pictures and finally caught up with Eve.

And that night I totally spent the night at her house.  Which reminded me so much of America…it had a living room next to the kitchen with wooden floors and a shower all sectioned off in glass…and there was a four month old adorable pug chasing us around…

Eve is really cool, in case you didn’t know.  I had met her at the conference in America, and it was amazing to be able to catch up with her (and to hear about the ridiculous amount of studying Thai high school seniors have to do…no thank you).

I’m burning out, guys.  I’m pretty confident you are, too.  I don’t blame you.

This shall be finished…tomorrow.

Night all.

อภิญญา <3

Hear ye, Hear ye!

I have joyous news for you all.

Holly, your very own Apinya, has started to rejoin the ranks as–gasp–an appropriate teenager.

No! I can hear you all saying, faces frozen in a Munch-esque pose of shock mixed with horror.  And you’d be only partially correct to be in such a state of surprise; after all, my skewed definition of “appropriate teenager” has always been on that shoddy, off-kilter fork off of true adolescence.  Still, hear me out.

I have stood defiant against the wishes of–well, many (it would, I think, just hurt to list them all) and straightened my hair.

Permanently.

For 6 months.

Allow me a mild hair flip, which I can now do, thank you very much, and a raised hand in “talk to the face” fashion before continuing.  …Ahem, thank you.

I have made friends and done things such as “hang out” after school to watch “football,” commonly known as “soccer” or “that sport where they kick a ball a lot, and also sometimes each other” or “the one that Zidane guy plays.”  Take your pick.  Let it be known I did not get hit by the ball, just only nearly, which actually resulted in pretty white flowers raining down around and on me.  I believe this should be protocol–but continuing on.

I have begun to like R&B and hip-hop music.

This one catches me off guard a little, until I realize that my version happens to be in Korean.  But hey.  Thai teen magazines actually have an entire section for Korean pop stars and actors.  I didn’t say which country I was becoming passingly normal in.

There’s my list.

Oh.  Except for the fact that I can read and write Thai.  ^_^  See, one night I got sick of my own inability.  So I taught myself the alphabet and had a brief pass over the salas.  Vowels.  Same same (loan words rule).  The fact that my host father assumed this mean I must know them all by name the next night actually proved itself a bit of a help, as the letters had to become a reflex (also an aid during the more recent sessions where his spelling has suddenly picked up speed, with an immediate sounding out and pronunciation of the word–needless to say but you know me my listening comprehension has taken one monstrous leap forward).  I did interrupt once last week to learn the tone sounds.  The rest is all–what’s that again (since I never learned it, but I’ll keep that part to myself)?

For the most part, I’m doing quite well all of a sudden.  Vocab is starting to absorb simply from repetition, and I’m no longer omitting tone differences.

I wish my speaking was going better, though.  I think that’s going to change, though yesterday my host father was talking to the PE teacher man (oh yeah, I’m taking Muay Thai and swords/poles) and, in Thai, explained my level of comprehension, then asked me (in Thai) if I want him to speak Thai or English.

Good-bye, native language.

Thus, I only hear English from one person–Monica, who has officially joined me at Achiwa.  And I’m teaching her the alphabet now, along with some other basics.

Yes.  Me.  A teacher.  Laugh, Mom and Steve and all those who understand how misguided this move truly is.  Laugh.

I have, by the way, Mom and Steve, fully and completely adopted the attitude and principles of the BFZ.  This has been quite the advantage most times.

Also, I have (in the middle of typing this up) received my second piece of mail–a letter from one and none other than Khalila!  If you think anything you did, everyone else, has made the month of September, Lila just stole it from you.  I love Lila.

<3
me

Under the Sea

First and foremost, my most heartfelt apologies for this dry spell in tales from the other side of the globe.  For a while, it was genuine.  By that, I mean wordpress was blocked entirely by the Thai government.  However, this only accounts for something like seven or eight days, and my intermittent laziness sprinkled with adventure (so it can be called) covers the rest.

“There you see her
Sitting there across the way
She don’t got a lot to say
But there’s something about her…”

This familiar Disney song (I can bet at least half of you are now singing it in your head) pretty much describes me.  Or I hope it does.  See, I’m much like Ariel during the school day–my voice, stolen, by the Bilingual Witch, the metaphor who stands in my way of triumphant victory over the Thai language.  Most of the time, I hope that someone sees a personality slipping through the silent exterior.  (I don’t need to be kissed, though.)

I also feel like Ariel because I am being constantly crushed and dragged by gallons and gallons of water.  Also known as Thai.  This is, in fact, how one inbound from Mexico described the first couple months of her exchange.  (Fortunately, she could speak so fluently I didn’t realize she was an inbound.  So, this is encouraging to a degree.)  She explained it was not like being overwhelmed, it was like drowning.  Gasping for air and coming up with water.  (That last bit was me, elaborating.  Drowning is serious business.)

I am Ariel, and I don’t breathe the water yet.

This doesn’t prevent me from being in at least fifty people’s cellphones, as .jpg files.  My favorite was the effeminate boy who had to retake the picture three times because his hair wasn’t falling right in any of them.  He wears bright pink lip tint and is fun and social-therefore talks to me.

When I get back from Bangkok (I’m going to my host brother’s graduation ceremony, and no, I’ve never met him) in a couple of days, there will be a lot of important changes on this website, and I’ll start promoting it to Rotarians a little more.  Don’t worry.  This won’t change that much.  But it’s gonna be cool, guys.

Other things going on:

What’s a girl to do when she’s in Thailand and finds herself passingly fluent in Japanese and starting to really like Korean music?  (Oh well, tons of people do here.  Super Junior, anyone?)  My fortune will be spent in Asian CDs, seeing as I actually can’t buy those in America.  Goodness knows I try desperately to search the world music section at each and every Borders we shop at, but alas, the best I’ve done is find an Utada Hikaru CD in Virgin Megastore.  I should’ve gotten that one, actually.  It’s really good (but then again, I did have it on my computer, so…yay I didn’t waste the money?)  Each CD, imports at least, are about 9 dollars.  Others are around 4 or 5.  It’s beautiful…so much so, I throw little dance parties when I find one of my favorite artists among the rack.

Arashi!  Ice Saranyu!  Rain!  (I didn’t buy that one, for the sake of Arashi.  But man, am I just about to run back there and pick it back up.  Stop me.  It’s 400 baht.  12 bucks.  Yikesabee.  I’m going to just die if I find a KAT TUN CD, or a Nicholas Teo–OH!  I should look.  I MUST LOOK.)

Also, I bought my very first honestly eighties piece of fashion.  Wearing it, if I don’t look so much like my mother in high school it hurts, then it’s only because my hair isn’t blonde enough.  You know, that blinding shade that just leapt right out of the bottle like sunbeams?  …I like the shirt.  I’m going to wear it with leggings and ballet flats.

Slowly I realize there isn’t much of cultural importance here, or at least not nicely worded cultural importance.  I apologize for the materialism and such…but I really can’t help myself.  Asian pop culture is so much more fun than American pop culture.  Americans, funnily enough, take themselves too seriously, at least compared to Thais.  Americans shout about bad service and “I’m not paying, this is cold!  …ish.”  Thais slowly sip on Pepsi, and after astronomical amounts of time, slowly wonder if maybe they’ve been forgotten and need to reorder.  (After which the order will be brought out, food will be eaten, and people will be paid for said food.)  It makes me nervous, as the American I most definitely am–nothing like world travel to confirm your own cultural identity, just before changing it irrevocably, I suppose–because I imagine that behind the “Mai ben rai” they’re really seething, like a boiling pot with the lid melded on, and fear shards when it’s gone too far.

So that’s what I’m concerned with.  The Thai language, making friends, finding beloved music, and exploding Thais.

What iz Zis ‘Update’ you Speek of so Vell?

My mother finally decided to push the “Update” button, similar to the famed “Easy” button, but less red and much less to do with marketing.

She also says I’m changing, but I can’t confirm nor deny.  She says she can hear it in my writing.  What she doesn’t know is that my writing simply sucked in the last email I sent to her.  They’ve been wearing me down every day this week, starting at a tender 6:44 am every morning (oddly specific, yes, but that is exactly when I’ve been waking up, without fail).  By the time I get back home, I’m ready beyond ready to be snuggled up against the cold air the machine next to my bed blows out over me, lights out save for the soft green glow of stars and moons stuck to the ceiling (Note to self: Never be without glow in the dark stars) that really don’t give off much…light.  I just wanted to say that.

Things I’ve noticed:

Ladyboys are so much fun.  They’re like the hidden wild side of Thailand, but without the hidden.  In such a polite society, men with boobs wearing beads and feathers.  Could you not love it?

There is a Starbucks in Nong Khai, there is a Starbucks in Nong Khai, there is a Starbucks in Nong Khai, this was possibly the biggest news of last weekend.  Wow.  There’s a Starbucks.  In Nong Khai.

Guys do the huggy thing with guys and take pictures with their cellphones, and are generally more…happy around each other.  American boys?  Sit there and grunt at each other while leaning up against a wall, eat, or joke about hitting each other and accidentally break something, argue about who did it, and then brood for fifteen minutes before finding some food, or something incredibly stupid to do with something with a motor.

Mary was apparently pretty much the best thing since sliced bread to hit Ashiwa, if you ask anyone there.  I’m actually pretty confident that the next time I hear someone talk about her I’m going to go insane, except the people who keep bringing her up are teachers, so I’m forced to say, yes, I’ve heard of her.  Kaa.  She lives about an hour and 45 minutes by plane away from me, I have never met her, and telepathically I inform everyone in the room that I am not nor could be Mary.

There is an Asian counterpart to everyone you knew, and every celebrity.  I’ve found a John Cusack, a Ninomiya Kazunari, and a lot more I can’t remember right now.

Dogs and cats are not the same precious pets here as they are at home.  It’s strange to walk around and see all these dogs wandering around, and people just barely passing by in cars without a second thought.  At home, someone would at least mention getting some food for them, possibly a bath.

The things I have eaten for Thailand.   We’ll not discuss.

I’m good at badminton.

Things I’ve done:

Gone to an old folks’ home with Miss Thai Beauty (we also went shopping and played badminton, and I have never felt quite so ugly in a little while).

Boosted the broken ego by scoring two appearances on the local evening news.  The news worthy events included a couple classes of little Scouts chanting, “You’re beautiful!” and my name being called for more pictures over the mic.  Rotary dedicated two clean water systems to two local schools, we dedicated ‘em, and I have never had to smile so much in my life.

Attempted to get by knowing such limited Thai vocab it hurts.  School has been difficult.  At least I can ride the bus home no problem.

Fallen in love with Zach Braff and Scrubs.  Thank you, Bex.

Wanted my Mom, just for a little while.   Steve, Bo, and the dogs are permitted as well.  See, the thing about exchange is that you don’t realize how much you actually a) are embedded into your own culture b) do feel like home is home is home and will always be, could never be anything else c) like American food.

I’m tired, I have to go over Thai, which I’m finally finding a grip on, and I have to give food to kids at an orphanage tomorrow (TV appearance number 4, thank you very much).  In the morning.  When else?

More as I realize it.   Promise.

My only regret is that I have but this much dignity to give for my country.

Thank you to those well-wishers, those naive members of society, who imagined I could pull off attending a college where people’s English consists of “Are you hungry?” and “What’s your name?” without a hitch.

Imagination, however, fails completely in the face of the realities of the Exchange Student.

Yesterday, I screwed up so magnificently, at some point I had no choice but to simply lean back and admire the complete mess that had become my reputation, and smile as I watched my dignity float away. I never imagined I could be quite so humbled in the span of 24 hours (or less!), but nevertheless.

Getting to school was one thing. I was nearly late, because I suddenly imagined I was wearing the wrong shirt (remember what I said about imagination?), and tossed on the dark blue one before leaving. Half an hour later, after my teacher and advisor had already fussed over my outfit–untucking the shirt, repinning things, adjusting the belt–I stood under the Thai flag, before hundreds of young students in crisp white, botching their native language and accepting a pin on the right–no, left–no, right side of the shirt which the pin shouldn’t be worn on from the director of the college. With as of yet wet hair.

Welcome to Ashiwa. Hope you don’t screw up this badly Tuesday.

Then, off to the Mother’s Day ceremony, where I:

Didn’t know where to sit, and had three four teachers physically drag me into a spot. In the front of the room.
Screwed up a ceremony I didn’t know I would be performing, while the director, acting as my mother in this whole disaster, smiled kindly and said things like, “These are pretty wreaths of flowers, aren’t they?” Yes. They would be greater if I knew how to actually give this thing to you. The only thing worse at that moment would be me either
A) falling off the small podium upon which the ceremony was, in front of a sort of shrine to the Queen
B) having toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my foot
C) having a really bad sneeze straight onto the director’s skirt
D) all of the above.

Luckily, that’s where my misfortune ended, as a couple of very nice Thai students helped me through the rest of the day without too much of a problem, minus the language barrier. But when Pat and Noy and I all realized we all knew who Golf Mike, Harry Potter, YamaPi, and Johnny’s Jr.s were, things turned north. They want to take me to the mall and show me around sometime soon. Friends! ^_^ And there was that very smooth guy up in the English room. He chose a more personal approach than being in a room of boys (in the art department, coincidentally where I will be studying drawing–familiarity, oh thank God. I can do that.) and shouting, “You’re beautiful!” This one actually made me feel cute. Always nice.

But alas, that was only as a break.

That night, Monica came over. We spoke fast English, ate Oreos, and went all out crazy over our weird experiences. Then she joined us for dinner.

Dinner was to honor Ama as part of the Mother’s Day thing (which, by the way, is officially the 12th, the Queen’s Birthday. You’ll hear more after those ceremonies.). I sat with Aor, Ing, and Monica at our own table. The food was wonderful–cashew chicken! This beef stuff with tofu, cabbage, and seaweed! Crunchy stuff with yummy dressing!–until they brought out the fish.

Which looked straight at Aor as she dug into its belly, crunching things off its spine and chewing on them happily.

Monica and I had a quick discussion over this oddity, and finally ended up explaining to two very confused Thai girls that our food didn’t look at us.

“So the head bothers you?” Aor asked after I stared at it for a little while.

“Yes.”

She smiled.

Moments later, she had cracked off the head of the fish and was playing with it. I was laughing with my eyes closed, at one point, after Monica had run from it. Then, I opened them.

Fish lips were a mere two inches from my nose. I screamed and my chair shuffled back. Thus started the joke. Chase Holly with the fish head! It’s great! She runs away! Oh. How fun. (I was laughing, but I really didn’t want the thing to touch me.) “He loves you! What’s that, fish? Oh, you want to marry her!” My host sister has entered my black list.

It was interrupted by the presenting of flowers to Ama, and let’s just say I didn’t learn enough that morning about that particular tradition. Screwed up. Naturally. Fortunately, I was keen enough to celebrate my miss. Though I don’t know if it just looked really disrespectful. I don’t want to think about it anymore.

Then the fish head started back. Finally, I was driven out the door, and I complained in Japanese to Obachan, who agreed and giggled the entire way. Then Ing chased me.

The deck had an extra little step in it I didn’t see. It was at an angle, and quite possibly the most deceiving place to put a three inch difference in height. So I fell. In front of everyone.

At that point, I called it. “Now. Now, I have lost all dignity.”

But I had fun. That helps a little, I suppose. I really had fun.

Sigh.

School.

Many have asked, and few have actually known (including myself) when I was going to school.

Today.

It’s 6.30 am, and I’m going to school today.  Do I know enough Thai to order my own food?  …It’s possible.  Is that the only thing I’m mildly confident I can do yet?

Do I have to go today?

Oh, yeah, yeah, I’ll learn the Thai I need at school.  I know.  It’s really just this “speech” thing that’s bothering me right now.  I just need to get through that part, and I’ll be just fine.  Right.

Ganbatte, atashi.  Or, do your best, me.

I’ll tell you more after more happens.  Till then.

I learn good, and other things.

I’ll get to the learn part in a minute, but first, I turned 18 somewhere in there.

My birthday was incredible, to say the least.  Between Ama reaching over with her spoon (you can hear Vader’s theme in the background slowly building as it moves from dish to plate), completely ignoring your “Im lao kaa!” (I’m really full!) and instead insisting, “Gin kao,” (Eat.) and completely destroying the coconut decoration on your cake as you -try- to cut it…not to mention the guy with the guitar and the guy with the violin were singing “Country Road”…it was anything but your average run-of-the-mill American birthday.  (I did get presents, too…so nice!  I can’t believe it!)  I met the other exchanger in my club, too.  Virginia.  She’s from Canada, and I officially love her.

Then started the rain.  The rain hasn’t really quit for two days now.  People are starting to worry about flooding.

Right at the very start of the rain I went to Nong Prachak with Aor and Ing and a couple of their friends (after visiting Monica and her host brother at his school).  We had juice and snacks…and this is why I’m telling you about this at all:  There’s a myth, in Thai culture, that whoever takes the last piece of the dish will have a handsome boyfriend.  The first time I heard that was actually from my host Papa at dinner my first night here, but I recall not exactly…feeling the raw slices of cucumber.  Ew.  Anyway.  All the girls look at me.  “You take it.  Handsome boyfriend.”

And I, in all my dignity and kindness, dig in with my chopsticks.  “I could go for that.”

Do I believe it?  Well, it would be nice, wouldn’t it?  I can hear my mother reading this.  “Oh no.  Honey?  She’s going to bring back a Thai boy!”  Oh, Mom, I’m just having a little fun with you.  Though the former exchange student I met at the Rotary meeting yesterday (the one in which I was nervous and had to introduce myself.  In Thai.) said I would have no problem finding a boyfriend here.  (Score number two.  Mom, please don’t have a heart attack.)

You will all want to see my school uniform.  (This is where the “learn” becomes relevant.)  The first time I saw myself in it, I laughed.  For a good five minutes.  Just laughed.  It looks good, don’t get me wrong, but man, I look…foreign!  Nothing like those cute girls with the contained black hair falling over their shoulders.  I have never felt more like a falang in my life than I did looking at myself wearing that uniform.

School is going to be good.  I’m a little nervous still, so don’t mind my restrained tone, but my teacher and my advisor are wonderful people.  My teacher (she’s at least the gal in charge of me, I don’t know what I should technically call her, but teacher works for now, don’t you think?) told me before I left to get my uniforms that she didn’t have her own family, and hoped to be able to think of me like a daughter.

I almost cried, right there.  Just turned into pure mush.

And a very sweet girl whose name escapes me bought me lunch today and introduced me to all her friends.  There really are just…so many exceptionally nice people around here.  It really makes me wonder if foreign exchange students in America have anything near this luck.  I feel so well taken care of, wherever I go.  Not to mention a Thai boy already wanted me to know he loves me.  …eh?

I would like to tell you more.  However, I am tired.  All who have commented, I’m working on getting back to you, I promise…hopefully by the end of the day today.  Which is…something like…noon for you guys.  On Wednesday.  Yeah.

Time difference will never make sense to me, I swear.

Jet Lag. Part Million.

So no one really clarifies this, “jet lag” thing.  This thing is Satan and robs you of all ability to function normally in any time zone.  Imagine the specific time zone as the exact 100% reversal of your native zone.

Awake is an interesting state to achieve these days.  I feel horrible about it, too.  I should be more awake and interactive and things.  I shouldn’t be forgetting what “Sabishii” means.  I should know things at all.

They weren’t kidding, though.  When you’re an exchange student, forget all dignity and image of intelligence.  You are not intelligent.  That five year old could completely school you…and you wouldn’t even know.

The thing about being absolutely exhausted, blatantly unaware (blissfully?  A guy took a picture of me at the park with his phone.  He wasn’t cute enough to get away with it in my head.  Thus, I can’t imagine what the schoolboys were saying when we visited.), and otherwise disinclined to interact…you get a lot of time to just observe, even when you’re out with people.   As a result, the novelty (and I knew that it was, but it was fun, man) of this place is wearing off.  People seem like people, living life in the place they live.  You get time to understand that these people aren’t gaping at everything–they’ve seen it a thousand times.  They know their way around the rotary intersections that confuses the life out of you.  They know what those sounds mean, and what ones make it funny, or smart, or cute, or mean.

And I have time to realize that as much as they stare at me now, try to speak broken English, shout out a familiar, “Hello!” I will soon be one of them.  Living life, speaking to friends, amongst a familiar atmosphere.  This is going to take work, though.  Even I can see that.

I didn’t get to blog about my birthday party, which I absolutely should, because it was amazing and wonderful and otherwise incredible.  I will.  Keep an eye out for that.

Sawatdee kaa…

18, and not a moment too soon

Tis past midnight.  I have hit the milestone.  Oh yeah.

Wish me luck, for tomorrow they whisk me away to the temple to offer the hungry monks some munchies.  Unfortunately, this is breakfast and not a late brunch.

Tomorrow they also throw me a party!  And as excited as I am, I’m nervous.  I’m afraid I’ll be rude, and more lost than I was today (oh, wait.  That’s so impossible.).  It should be one of the more incredible days of this entire year.

I just got here. 

Tidbits about Thailand I’m willing to bet you didn’t know:

The driving really is that crazy, but you feel safe anyways.  I don’t know how to explain that one, but it’s like, no one’s really concerned with who’s driving badly or anything, they just make sure the cars don’t meet each other (or the people filtering across the streets, or the scooters zigzagging between cars).

You know how Chicago sometimes gets deserted?  Like America shuts down sometime after 9 or 10 pm, and everyone goes to watch TV at home–unless you’re on Rush or something.  Thailand, at least my city, is never deserted.  There are people everywhere, all the time, and it makes me happy.  Especially around Nong Prachak.

Night markets.  Holy wow.  I’m going tomorrow night.

The grocery store is Meijer’s with some different brands thrown in for fun.  Well, Meijer’s with fish sausage cooking in the aisles.  But seriously, there’s nothing I can’t find here that I could find at home (virtually).  And I was so concerned about razors and shampoo and toothpaste.  Oh well, now I have a ton, and the American brands cost the same here anyway.

Showers are now bathrooms.  Picture a drain on the floor between a toilet and a deep, narrow tile bath.  Above said drain is a movable shower head.  End.

It really is that much prettier here.  No.  I’m not kidding.  You’ll see when I get some pictures up here.

The language is fantastic.  The tonal part is really just…fun, trying to learn it.

Real Thai food for the win.  America doesn’t know a thing.  And hot doesn’t begin to cover anything.

So much has happened in one day, I feel like I’ve been here for a week, and I slept for five hours this afternoon.  I can’t make that make sense in my head anymore than I can rationalize that I’m actually here, and I’m on this adventure of a lifetime.  I actually get to keep doing this.  For a year.  That has to be one of the greatest privileges I’ve ever been allowed.

And yes, I do miss you all.  I wish you could be here with me, so you could see and hear and smell and taste and speak English.  But my host family makes me feel like I’m home, so don’t worry.  Those moments when I do want you all back so badly it hurts, there will be a way through.  That makes me smile, even if I do anticipate my own misery somewhat.