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.