The Plague

We had a meeting today to discuss possible school closure due to swine flu. This meeting took considerably longer than usual on account of having to pause every time the roll o' thunder that is my horrific hacking cough emanated from my mouth. After reviewing a comprehensive list of swine flu symptoms, my coworkers eyed me suspiciously and then suggested that I go see the doctor. While backing away slowly. And spraying the air around me with disinfectant.

No worries...there is no swine flu wreaking havoc on my immune system. Just your garden variety chest infection. In any case I've been ordered to wear a medical mask whenever I venture out in public and the doctor gave me a nifty stay-at-home note that I cashed in for the afternoon. I'm supposed to stay at home tomorrow also, but sadly there is just no time for that. In any case, it is an interesting experience walking around in a mask while hacking violently. People give you a wide berth. As I was walking through the breezeway of my condo behind another woman (and, of course, coughing with great alacrity), she turned around to check whether it was a human or a wild boar behind her, and when she saw my mask her eyes became saucers and she stepped up the pace. That is not a reaction that I am used to receiving, and the fact that I was able to make a Thai person increase her gait means that I am probably pretty as a postcard right about now. This comes just after my face has finished healing from getting my freckle infestation lasered off two weeks ago (I'll post pictures soon...it was totally gnarly....). So I can't quite get a break.

In other news, this past weekend found me on a wild goose chase for belly dance costumage, yay for sparkly metal bras and beaded skirts, to a place that my belly dance teacher called "Nana Plaza." I found a place called "Nana Square," and I did not see a belly dance costume shop there (though it's possible it was closed). I asked around, but of course, no one had any idea what I was saying, and gesturing to my undulating belly was not helping matters either. I finally found someone who spoke a little English, and I asked where Nana Plaza was, as surely I must not be in the correct place if my store was not here. She took me outside and pointed across the street. "Nana Plaza is there, behind the Singha sign. But," she said as she placed a well-meaning hand on my shoulder, "I don't think you will find your store there." I just chalked it up to the language barrier, thanked her, and let my optimism be my guide.

Nana Plaza is not a place you want to be. It is filled with bars, which are filled with creepy farang men and neon signs flashing "pretty pretty lady," and "strip show," and there are stilettos and skirts hiked up around the hoo ha as far as the eye can see, and seedy rooms with darkened windows above the whole electric scene. I became disoriented and sunk mid-calf into a puddle of filthy rainwater. Yeah, there was clearly not a belly dance costume shop in sight, though I can understand why the undulating belly would have confused people as to my intention.

It never ceases to amaze me how Bangkok can be so painfully beautiful until you make a wrong turn, and BAM! Its unsavory underbelly rolls over and suns itself. This place is filled with endless nooks and crannies, endless mystery, endless things to see. There are so many incredible, incredible details. Girly bars notwithstanding, I am going to miss these details tremendously.

Overheard in Bangkok

Today at lunch I was sitting one table over from a French woman who was speaking on her mobile phone in beautifully accented English (seriously....I love the way French accents sound. My alter ego--the one I imagine myself to be whenever I happen to hit a rough patch--TOTALLY wears 20-eye boots and a leather corset and speaks with a French accent), and I couldn't help but overhear her conversation:

"Yes, I canceled my cable account last month, but I saw on my American Express card that you have just charged me for three more months. I would like you to remove the charges, as I should not be paying for an account that I no longer have............Yes, well, you see, I canceled my account last month and you have charged me for the next three months........No, I do not wish to pay you because I canceled my account...............Yes, you charged me for the next three months................No, I no longer have an account.............................I would like the charges removed.................No, I already canceled my account, I don't need to cancel it again............................"

Five minutes go by wherein the French woman is doing a lot of "yes....uh huh"-ing. And then:

"I canceled my account last month, but you have charged me for the next three months. I would like you to remove the charges, as I should not be paying for an account that I no longer have."

A wise man (or woman??)* once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Sometimes, however, that is also the definition of an expat.



*Both Einstein and Benjamin Franklin have been credited with this quote, as has Rita Mae Brown.

More Things....

I head back to the U.S. in less than a week (!), and I will be there for three weeks. I can't WAIT.

Whatever crazy virus I had that attacked my stomach is now resting comfortably in my upper respiratory tract. Great. I just need to get home and get some good ol' fashioned TLC.

The next week is going to be an insane whirlwind. I have a gazillion things due, plus parent-teacher conferences and report cards, plus pretty much all of my Christmas shopping to accomplish, as I've been too sick or injured to do any of it. And so, please pardon my absence from Blogland as I prepare for my journey home.

Here is a list of things that I have not done in a year, and which I plan on doing next week (YAY!!):

In all of 2008 (minus a week or two), I have NOT....

*Set foot in the U.S. (although I guess technically that trip to the Embassy was setting foot on U.S. soil....)

*Seen my family (save for my sister, who came out for a brief visit in October!!)

*Watched a T.V. show (yes, I've watched DVDs of T.V. shows, and about a gazillion videos of the presidential debates and conventions on cnn.com. However, I have not watched an actual, live T.V. show in a year)

*Eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich

*Walked into a store and taken it for granted that the person behind the counter would be able to understand what I was saying

*Driven a car

*Read an American newspaper (actual PAPER, not my daily online browsings....)

*Eaten Taco Bell (now, I've gone years without eating Taco Bell before, but somehow knowing that I couldn't have Taco Bell even if I wanted it makes it seem all the more alluring....)

*Taken a proper bath in an actual tub (I can't WAIT to do that....)

*Worn a jacket

*Contributed in any way to the U.S. GDP (unless you count iTunes)

*Used my U.S. cell phone

*Listened to the radio

*Heard a Minnesota accent

*Had any idea who/what any of the current "hot" actors/actresses/T.V. shows/bands/musicians are

*Taken a drink right out of the tap

*Gone to an ATM, put in my PIN, and had it spit out U.S. dollars

Embarrassing Embassy (say it five times fast!)

I had to go to the American Embassy today, because, globetrotter that I (apparently) am, I have actually used up ALL of the pages for visas and stamps in my passport, and therefore needed to get extra pages inserted in order to successfully renew my visa.

It was a little strange. I mean, security is INCREDIBLY important, and I'm grateful for the precautions, as I know that I will not be blown to smithereens while I'm in the sitting in the waiting room, twiddling my thumbs, and wondering when the guy whose digging expedition has taken him wrist-deep into his nostril is ACTUALLY gonna hit pay dirt and retrieve a slippery green treasure.

Anyway......

I had to surrender my mobile phone and one form of I.D. I thought I was finished there, but after running my bag through the security belt I had to surrender a thumb drive, the keys to both my school and condo, and a tube of lipstick. I set off the metal detector, and the guy had to give me the once over with his neon wand. Sure enough, BEEEEEEP! My back made the thing go ballistic. In one of the more awkward moments I've had in Thailand, the security guard had to unzip my dress to the middle of my back, and SLIP HIS FINGERS UNDER MY BRA STRAP. Now, in the U.S., if you have to endure a body search or a pat down (and, sadly, I've endured many.....what is it about me that screams SCARY TERRORIST????) or any sort of similarly uncomfortable precautionary measure, you are given ample warning about what is about to happen, and usually someone of your own gender does the groping. Sadly, that was not the case here. I was a little afraid that the guy was going to try the one-handed bra unhook (and, I gotta be honest, I would have been very impressed if he had pulled that off! No pun intended....), and I felt myself turning a fabulous shade of plum with the surprising exposure of it all. However, after a thorough inspection it was concluded that the only deadly weapon in my bra was my spectacular rack.

I'M KIDDING.

The big bummer of this all is the fact that I actually had to drop off my passport, collect my belongings so that I could call my boss, leave the Embassy in search of lunch, and GO THROUGH THE WHOLE SEARCH PROCESS ALL OVER AGAIN. I tried to plead with them, but clearly they saw me for the devious mass murderer that I am and thought that I had ACTUALLY stuck a deadly weapon in my bra this time.

Now, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience: For the fist time in almost a year and a half, after being handed a form I got to write the date with the month first!!!!! Even though now I'm somewhat used to writing the day, month, and year in that order, as that's how it's done here (and, um, in the rest of the world), I still feel like I have some bizarre mental impairment every time I write the date. I STILL have to stop and think about which one goes first. It felt strangely comforting to be able to write the date the way I'm used to writing it, and I had a moment of overblown patriotism.

I know that it's going to be a hard adjustment to leave the softness, the quiet, the pace, the chaos, the color, the adventure of Asia and return to the U.S. I'm prepared for some pretty hefty reverse culture shock. But, when that day comes, I think I'll be ready. And that day will take its rightful place right behind the month.

Loy Khratong

Tomorrow is the festival of Loy Khratong, where people ask for forgiveness from the water spirits by floating offerings--called khratongs--made of banana leaves and flowers on any body of water (though preferably the Chao Phraya River, and believe me, that thing has reason to be pisssssssssssed!!). You hold your offering, make a wish, and send it on its way.

During last year's Loy Khratong, I was having some difficulty adjusting to life in Bangkok. I was still living with my employers (which, to be honest, I've repressed at this point, and as far as I'm concerned, it NEVER HAPPENED), had not found my groove yet, was missing Peter terribly, and was just plain feeling like a fish outta water. Like something the disgruntled water spirits spat out. So I felt very compelled to make the traffic-infested trek to the river to float a khratong and make a wish, hoping that it would wipe my emotional slate clean.

Getting there took FOREVER. However, along the way I saw a lot of things I had never noticed before. An elaborate Hindu temple tucked behind some simpler facades. A place where I could buy German sausages. A fortune teller. When I got to the river, it was all MADNESS. Vendors everywhere were selling khratongs--each one more and more elaborate than the last. And, well, many of them were constructed with Styrofoam. Now, I'm not trying to sound judgmental, but I am of the opinion that asking for forgiveness from the water spirits by choking them and their various aquatic friends with Styrofoam is just NOT the way to go. I had to search for quite awhile, but I finally found a beautiful, colorful, BIODEGRADABLE one.

There were flowers and candles everywhere you looked. There were garlands of orchids and jasmine. There were people holding their khratongs with their eyes closed, making wishes.

I had somehow been swept with the rest of the crowd onto a boat that took me out into the middle of the river. The water was colored with flowers and leaves, and the boat cut a thick path through the fragrant litter. A surprisingly high number of khratongs had managed to stay lit, which was quite a feat considering the large ribbons of boat wakes that sliced the river to pieces.

I lit the small beeswax candle and joss stick that were lodged into my khratong with marigolds. I stared at the small flames for a bit, and then closed my eyes. "Please. Just let me make it to next Loy Khratong. Please give me the strength to wade through the difficult crap and get to the other side. I'm alone and overwhelmed and none of this looks like how I thought it would. Please don't let me give up. If I can make it to next Loy Khratong, I know that I will be a better, stronger person. Please just let me make it to the place where I will be able to look back on all of this with a huge sigh of relief, laugh at how difficult this all was for me, and be able to see how far I've come."

I set my khratong in the water, gave it the kind of tap a mother gives her child on his first playground outing ("Go on! You can do it!"), and watched it until the fireworks started and the bursts of misty color in the sky mixed with the solid colors in the water, and I hardly could tell which direction was up. I took a huge breath, and for the first time in awhile, felt that I was exactly where I needed to be.

And that's exactly how I feel on this year's Loy Khratong. The water spirits listened and granted every one of my wishes. And now I can laugh a little at where I once was, and how hard things used to be, knowing how far I've come.

But this year? I'm TOTALLY wishing for fifty grand......

*This blog entry is dedicated to Heather, a friend and fellow expat. Living overseas is a roller coaster, especially at first. But it will get better. I promise.

Of all these things, I think I will miss the Magnum Bars the most....

All of the work that I'm doing with developing (and implementing) the preschool curriculum has been going incredibly well, but MAN....it is GRUELING. The GOOD thing is that I love the work that I'm doing. The BAD thing is that it feels a bit like I'm diggin' a hole in a bucket of water. I worked for FOURTEEN HOURS yesterday (most of it at school, but some of it at home), and let me tell ya.....even with all of those hours I still feel like I can barely catch my breath.

In order to keep things positive (as that's just how I've been living my life lately....ewwww, that's probably the most obnoxious sentence ever written.....anyway, moving on....), I would like to share some things that are rocking my world right now:

-Magnum ice cream bars (in classic or almond). Holy lord. These things are *orgasmically* good. I'm plotting ways to ship some to the U.S. over winter break so that I don't go into withdrawal and get the shakes.

-Motorcycle taxis. Now, Peter does not approve of this mode of transportation, and neither does my mother after reading about one particular motorcycle trip, but these things are awesome. When you are traveling by motorcycle, your days of sitting in Bangkok traffic are over! Your (orange vest-clad) driver just zig-zags through the stalled vehicles while you try to compact yourself as much as possible in order to avoid the various mirrors and fenders other car extremities. What would take a half hour in a regular taxi can take ten on a motorcycle (or "motosai."). Plus, well, forgive me for this, but sometimes I just like to close my eyes and breathe deeply as we zoom through the muggy haze of Bangkok air. It's difficult for one's mind to wander out of the present moment while on the back of a motorcycle.

-Pirated DVDs. I'm looking forward to stocking up on more tomorrow, and wondering what the hell I'm going to do when I move back to the U.S. and DVDs are $20 bucks a pop (and, yes, I can download and burn and all that jazz, but I have no idea how to do any of that, nor do I have the patience to learn. Did I mention that I worked for FOURTEEN HOURS yesterday??).

-Street vendors. Now, the street vendors selling various roadside delicacies are nothing new. You can't swing a fake Chanel purse without hitting ten of them. However, it hasn't been until recently that I've really NOTICED them in all of their fabulous (and filthy) glory. While I will most likely never eat from one again after suffering through many street vendor-induced bouts of tummy issues, they really are SOMETHING. Raw chicken and beef dangling like ribbons from a rusty bar, peppered in flies. Fresh fruit stacked in such a way that you wouldn't want to buy any of it and disrupt the symmetry. Ice cream vendors with their little bells, putting scoops of coconut ice cream into hot dog buns (yes, HOT DOG BUNS!!). Pomelo and dragonfruit and rambutan and mangosteen and lychee and durian....all fruits that look and sound like they should be in a Dr. Seuss book. And always, right near by, are the plastic chairs and tables, where people are hunched over, scooping mouthfuls of food into their mouths ever so slowly. Savoring it. Breathing between bites (something that the American coding in my DNA still has not allowed me to learn how to do. Especially not during a fourteen hour work day).

-Preschool curriculum. OMG. Loves.

-When I asked my students what would happen next if the main character in a story (who is a dog, and who goes to sleep at the end) decided to NOT, in fact, go to sleep at the end, one of my students responded that he would wake up with "panda eyes" the next day from not getting enough sleep the night before. Panda eyes. That is awesome. Three-year-olds rock.

-Paying the equivalent of $1.00 for a very full meal.

-Scrapbooks that are covered in Thai silk. And, um, scrapbooking. Revisiting old trips. Adoring Asia through pictures. Writing silly captions. Giving crumpled ticket stubs a special place of honor.

What is rocking your world right now?

Rainy Season

It was a very typical rainy season night. I had drifted into the neon sterility of Au Bon Pain—craving a taste of home and a chocolate brownie—under clear onyx skies and was putting the two-toned hulk of my ten baht coins in my purse when the thunder rolled. The deluge of hamster-sized raindrops started pummeling the ground, subduing the traffic outside into a surprised smear of brake lights tap, tap, tapping.

I waited it out, taking my usual “to go” order on a tray instead, leafing through my planner, picking off the last of my nail polish. Finally the drops softened, and I stood between two pillars of smokers in the doorway, becoming wrapped in smoke like vines becoming solid in the wetness, assessing the persistence of the rain through the bulbous auras of streetlamps. People began shedding their umbrellas as the drops gave way to a mist.

I knew the window of opportunity, the breath between downpours, was limited. It was time to get home as quickly as possible.

Too much traffic for a taxi when the streets start to flood like this. Too much traffic, too few available taxis. I squinted and tried to spot the orange vests of the motorcycle taxi drivers. Those vests that give texture to the slate gray night like globs of agitated paint. I finally saw one, and he avoided my gaze for as long as possible before realizing that resistance was futile. I pleaded and shivered and blinked with the suggestion of a frown. He reluctantly deposited the contents of his hand into his pocket, shrugged, nodded, and we ventured into the slippery spinal cord of Bangkok’s rain traffic, weaving between still vehicles like delinquent impulses, fluid and electric.

And then…..the ever-lovin’ heavens opened up and the rain was like a million metal screws or shark’s teeth or filthy marbles. I couldn’t feel the wetness through the sheer force and impact of it all, and I could feel my flesh becoming pockmarked and illustrated with gumdrop welts and my bones being devoured like the ends toothpicks and my hair most likely melting from my head, leaving a stringy wake as the motorcycle shook and proceeded forward in its steadfast, metallic determination. I found myself hugging the driver’s waist and burying my face in his back like he was my lover or a tree branch and our fates were entwined and isn’t it funny how often our lives are in the hands of strangers due to the impersonal need for transportation and vehicles and drivers and people in control? My eyes could not stay open in the blinding, blinding rain and I estimated our location from the angled arcs of our turns, from the small sways of my driver’s torso as he drove on in spite of my clinging like a starved koala. When I did open my eyes I recognized nothing. I saw the thick green varicose veins of the 7-Eleven sign, but it melted into unfamiliar surroundings. Families huddled under flimsy umbrellas. Where there had previously been the living, breathing organism of traffic there were now only pedestrians and dogs and small doorways and everything was still. And waiting. And staring.

I hoisted my chin onto my driver’s shoulder and bellowed into his ear. I asked him where we were. I gave him my address again, which had been previously absorbed with a nod of recognition. My mouth filled with rainwater. The air was absent and I had to fight the impulse to start gulping. I could feel the arteries in my neck starting to pop like gills. There was no space for air. No space. No oxygen. No orientation.

My driver bellowed back, his voice lost in sheet of noise that rose up from the pavement and I tried to decipher what he said by the quick bursts of his diaphragm contracting, hoping that his rib cage could send a bony code to my fingers while they clutched it like piano keys.

I had no idea what he had said. Suddenly I saw the twin towers of my condo, rising up like sticks of chalk, white molars, lighthouses. The darkness seemed to bubble up around them and everything was illuminated. I pointed. He drove. He drove until we got to the meticulous bars of an impenetrable gate. And there was my condo, just beyond, lights blinking out as its inhabitants fluffed pillows, yanked out false teeth, spoke in many languages about their gratitude for walls and ceilings and blankets because have you seen it out there?

I snaked my arm in a manic undulation to show my driver where to turn, how to turn, screaming in Thai though none of my words reached his ears. They drowned, scattering on the street with their exoskeletons like quarters dropping without sound. We backtracked. He shrugged violently, not knowing quite how to handle my wild gesticulations. Suddenly I smelled that hearty scent associated with dry mouth and headaches and flavored burps and foam, and my leg was saturated with a frigid liquid that I could easily differentiate from the tropical rain. It was the contents of my driver’s pocket. It was beer. A can of beer that he had been happily quaffing when I happened upon him and was just too blinded by my desire for my pink pillows and pirated DVDs and hot showers to notice.

Please. Please please please please please PLEASE.

I closed my eyes and just let the rain pound, wishing for more wax in my ears, wishing for something to shield my eyes, wishing that I could wipe off the beer that was cascading down my leg, warming and thickening with the rain, resembling beer-induced piss. I had no idea if my driver knew where we were or where we were going. I just slumped further and further into the tensed shape of his back. I just waited. Waited. Waited in motion, waited for breath. I only knew that we were safely in the garage of my condo when the dark of my eyelids became penetrated with the smack of fluorescent lighting. I could still feel the rain beating me. I could still hear it. I could still taste it. But it was over and done with now. I opened my eyes and the security guards all stared. My colored bra and panties were betrayed as my white dress (yes….yes….the dress was white, because that’s the only thing that could possibly make sense in the infinite possibilities of this day) had essentially dissolved against my skin. They all just gave me the look that I’ve gotten since I was little. A look I’m rather accustomed to by now. A look that is partly amused and affectionate, partly questioning my sanity and wondering where the hell it is, exactly, that my mind resides. A look that crosses cultural borders. A look that is seared into my mind when I see myself through other peoples’ eyes.

I just shrugged, smiled, shook like a wet dog, discreetly spat out a mouthful of rainwater, and walked my (essentially naked) self through a gauntlet of (dry) lobby observers. And I giggled.

At the end of the day, sometimes that’s all you can do.

It's raining rats and dogs

It's a wonderful feeling when you finally realize that the Universe is conspiring to shower you with blessings. Don't vomit. It's true! Living in Asia has really given me that perspective and gift. In fact, I was even able to maintain that perspective in spite of getting elbowed in the face yesterday by an Australian guy who was gabbing on his mobile (why, WHY must people hold their elbows at a 90 degree angle while talking on the phone??), and getting drenched movie-style by a truck that whizzed through a deceptively deep puddle.

Speaking of deep puddles: So it rains a lot here in Bangkok. Like, A LOT. And lately we've been getting some rains that are heavy enough to flood the streets for a few hours. Lemme tell you: wading through ankle-to-knee-deep warm water that is filled with all kinds of garbage and floating cockroaches and leaves and grains of rice from street vendor stalls while trying to not slip on the oil-coated pavement that gets REALLY slick when wet is just not. terribly. pleasant. However, the other night I counted my blessings when I managed to find a small patch of high ground. I decided to pause there and take a few breaths before continuing to allow my lower legs to dissolve in the polluted rainwater. While I was pausing, an adorable stray kitten scampered over my foot, digging its little kitten claws into me for a quick second before disappearing behind one of the large potted plants that dot Bangkok's sidewalks. I was tempted to run after it and save it from the flood before realizing that, no, it was not, in fact, a kitten. It was a kitten-sized rat.

Earlier that morning the crappy doorknob on my bedroom door had ceased to turn, therefore locking me INSIDE of my bedroom. Clearly the Universe, it its conspiracy of blessings, was trying to warn me to just stay inside that day. I'm just a-waiting for my legs to shrivel up all Wicked Witch of the East-style and fall off.

I would like to dedicate this post to Will, who doesn't much care for rodents.

Protests

I've gotten several e-mails from friends and family members asking me about the protests here in Bangkok. Though the protesters have become violent (even breaking out the slingshots!!), I can assure everyone that they are not protesting in the part of the city where I live or work, and in no way is my personal safety in jeopardy as a result of these protests.

I WILL say that the protests have had an impact on day-to-day life around here. Bangkok pretty much becomes a ghost town after dark now. The sidewalks and restaurants and shops are all empty, and there's a tension in the air that you can FEEL. As my taxi driver advised me last night, "You go home, watch a video. No shopping, no eating. People not happy. People not happy." Again, I feel in no way unsafe. However, the Thais as a general rule DO NOT like confrontation or conflict. People here don't yell or honk their horns unless in warning. I think the fact that a conflict of this scale is happening in this city--in OUR city--is making a lot of people feel uncomfortable in a way that goes far beyond a "can't we all just get along?" level of frustration. Thailand has a collectivist culture, and everyone is connected through triumph and grief. The ripple effects of the violence are therefore felt by everyone. And, in true Thai fashion, everyone is trying to pretend that this nastiness, this ugliness, this unpleasantness that runs so counter to the glassy surface of calm upon which Bangkok sits is not happening. People are not talking about it. They shrug off my questions with their beautiful smiles. And it's this unacknowledged worry simmering below the surface that makes me--a Westerner who is used to transparency and always needs to know what's going on--very uneasy.

It's WEIRD to be in a place where there is unrest. I'm used to following news stories about foreign places where people are not happy with the corruption in their government and have therefore decided to take action, but it's weird actually LIVING in a place that provides the setting for the unrest. In the US nowadays, protests are (largely) highly organized, non-violent, empowering events that are truly inspirational. Citizens band together for a common cause, and save for the occasional protest that gets out of hand and requires, um, tear gas, they don't tend to become out-and-out riots that end in tragedy and violence. And here there are people setting off small explosions and blocking airports and threatening water supplies and it's just......surreal. And obviously I know and understand that I'm living in a foreign country (um, duh) and that the rest of the world doesn't operate like the US (um, double duh). It still just amazes me how each and every day I realize just....how.....different groups of people operating within different cultural, economic, and governmental systems truly ARE from one another. As much as the liberal hippie chick in me just wants to scream from the rooftops that "we are all one!! Let's just love each other and sing kumbaya and all be citizens of Mother Earth," I realize that that point of view does not respect the subtle and important differences embedded in all of the unique and special cultures around the world. OF COURSE we need to all share this planet in love, respect, and peace. OF COURSE we should all strive for global citizenship, but it needs to happen in a way that doesn't privilege one cultural and societal paradigm over all others. It needs to happen in a way where we are not living in a McWorld.

Sorry, um, what was I talking about? Oh yes. The protests.

I have my own opinions about the protests and the government, but mainly I have a huge question mark about what happens next if the protesters are successful in their mission, the Prime Minister steps down, and Parliament is dissolved. Because of my long list of questions, I don't necessarily feel informed enough to state my opinions. I just hope, much like everyone else around me, that all of this unpleasantness is over soon.

On the SkyTrain again

Yesterday found me squeezing into a verrrrry crowded SkyTrain with no place to hold on. My eyes darted around quickly, but every stable metallic or strappy surface was covered with fingers. Now, for most people a lack of stability on a train would not be a huge deal. I, however, was not blessed with either coordination or balance (or, since we're taking this moment to talk about my deficits, night vision), and I began to see myself as a gigantic boulder that had been plopped into a fleshy lake....in other words, I could very easily see myself falling into the people next to me and creating a disastrous ripple effect on that very crowded train.

As I began giving my limbs a pep talk and bracing for the lurch forward, I felt a gentle tapping on my arm. Apparently, as I was knee-deep in my own worst case scenario, several people had shifted over so that my hand could have a spot on the nearby pole. The woman who had tapped me smiled and pointed to the few empty inches of stability that would save me (and those around me) from bodily harm due to severe and tragic clumsiness.

You know that you've in a good place when your faith in humanity is restored and strengthened as a result of taking public transportation. I heart you, Thailand.

On the SkyTrain

Bangkok has a public transportation system that is TO DIE FOR, with the SkyTrain being its crowning glory. The SkyTrain is an immaculate train that speeds along above Bangkok's chaotic colors and congested traffic. The inside of the SkyTrain is a simultaneously polite and infuriating space, as younger people relinquish their seats for their elders, people cover their mouths during cell phone conversations so not to disturb any fellow passengers, and eating and drinking are not allowed. However, most individuals also tend to not move all the way inside the train after boarding (a cardinal sin in American public transportation) and stand in a Gregorian knot near each of the doors. Other individuals have a habit of leaning the entire length of their bodies against the poles, thereby making it impossible for anyone else to hold onto them. This habit of, er, getting strangely intimate with the poles is especially annoying if someone decides to do this AFTER you've already been holding onto one. In this case, you suddenly find your hand lodged at the nape of a person's neck, or getting smushed by the jagged undulations of a person's spine.

For the most part, though, the SkyTrain has some of the most surprising people watching opportunities ever. I jotted this little ditty down (which is sorta a poem, but not really...it is intended to just be a string of observations and therefore doesn't really have a particular shape to it, in my humble opinion) after a particularly memorable SkyTrain ride today. Y'know what is LESS welcome on the SkyTrain (or any other form of transportation in Thailand) than crumbs or litter? FRUSTRATION. It's uncanny. People just DON'T GET FRUSTRATED. It's amazing to be surrounded by that kind of calm energy whilst on public transportation. It's beyond awesome.

A blind man
Covered in blisters, in burns
Makes his way to the door
A stranger holds his arm, steadies him,
Releases him when the door opens
Small surprises
Small explosions, bursts of compassion
Like capillaries across a face
My skin ages, freckles
Folds like linens, like letters
A small price to pay for
breath that comes like ink in water
Full
Freeing blood, releasing bone

A child squeezes a squeaking toy
It is the only sound that darts
Like an insect
Among these crowded bodies
Squeak, squeak, squeak
The muscles around my mouth start to contract
Causing creases
Squeak, squeak, squeak
My fingers grip each other
Like wire around electricity
Like gloves stifling a blossom
Squeak, squeak
SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK
My eyes expand, impatient saucers
Porcelain faces look back at me
Free of aggravated shapes, just
Skin like walls, like windows
Clear
The squeaking stops, its absence
Barely noticed
Like a hand withdrawing from a bucket of water
Leaving no ripples behind
The air in this shared space
Buzzes with calm
The indentation of disruptive sound is
Like a button on pavement
Like a pinprick in the night sky.

On Solitude

It's certainly been no secret on this blog that I've had my share of ups and downs here. Bangkok, in spite of its enormity and energy and chaos and large amounts of expats living here, can be a surprisingly lonely place. I think the life of an expat can be surprisingly lonely: friendships shift, people come and go, everything feels like it is in a constant state of flux. I spend a lot of time alone. The fact that I don't really have coworkers makes this even worse; on days like today, when my employers are not here, I can go the entire day without having a conversation with anyone. And while I am a girl who DEFINITELY needs her alone time, too much of it drives me a little bit batty. I think, though, that there is a lot to learn from solitude.

On Monday, my day off, I slept late, bought some new bags (omg...they are soooo cute), ate some warm cherry crumble with vanilla sauce, spent two hours in a used bookstore/cafe, visited an art gallery, read, and saw the new Indiana Jones movie (and, um, welcome back, Indy!!!!!!). And while this most definitely has the makings of the Most Dorktastic Day known to man, it was like some sort of lightening rod. Things became much more clear.

I bought books* that serve the purpose of being catalysts for expansion. I want to learn Buddhist meditation, so I bought a book on that. I want to learn more about the exploitation of developing nations and the dilution of cultural identities as the world becomes increasingly more branded, thereby transforming the idea of the "global village" into a sort of homogenized consumerism that is powered by increasingly manipulative marketing tactics. Y'know....The Global Village! Brought to you by McDonald's! Because we all have heart attacks in the same language....So, um, I bought a book on that. I also picked up this little gem, and a whole bunch of other good stuff. So, there I was with my mammoth pile of books and I started diving into each of them right there in the store, perched on my little padded stool and sneezing from the dust and mildew. And, yes, I was alone. And, yes, I was doing things that I would normally prefer to do with friends or Peter. But it was so nice just sitting there, reading, with nothing else to worry about.

In Asia there is a much greater appreciation for the impermanence of things than we have in the West. The West is the land of reinforced steel. We want plaques and stars in sidewalks and monuments to our glory and billion dollar houses and faces that never wrinkle. We want to prove to the world that WE WERE HERE and we want parts of ourselves to last forever. WE want to last forever. And, hey, I'm not saying that they DON'T build monuments or buy anti-wrinkle cream or are anti-immortality in Asia. I'm just saying that, whether it's due to the Buddhist beliefs, or due to the fact that age is revered and respected (thereby lessening the fear of it), there is a greater acceptance of the impermanent here. Things change, things decay, people age, living things die. Even death is impermanent.

And so I'm learning to let the loneliness fall through my fingers. To let the joy fall through my fingers. To let the frustration and the mosquito bites and the happiness and the quiet fall through my fingers. It's taken me a year to get to this place, but I finally realize that it's time to focus inward, to be contemplative, and to be HERE. It's time to look at the red flowers that are blooming in the treetops as the Skytrain whizzes by. It's time to stop looking at friends' Facebook pictures and wishing I were back in the States partying along with them (as my friend R. said to me at dinner the other night, "Facebook is the devil when you're overseas and feeling lonely." Hell yes.). There have been plenty of amazing times with friends, plenty of party pictures (some more flattering than others....), and there will be many more. I feel the love of many friends and family so strongly right now, which gives me tremendous strength. It won't be much longer until I'm raising a family and changing diapers and cleaning up projectile baby vomit and surviving on four hours of sleep a night and trying to somehow find time to have a career in there and I will long for the days when I could sleep in, spend hours in a bookstore, or linger over a photograph in an art gallery, listening to nothing but the sound of my own silence.

So....Solitude, Silence, pull up a chair and I'll buy you each a shot of whiskey. You have a lot to tell me**.

*I realize that talking about the books I bought was a tad bit off topic, but I wanted to squeeze that in there because I *highly* recommend these books and thought that other people might find them interesting!

**Hmmm...it appears that I've written about this stuff before. I guess the difference is that now I'm ACTUALLY learning what I'm supposed to learn, and I ACTUALLY see the larger picture in all of this, instead of just SAYING that there are things I'm supposed to learn. Sweet!!

Bangkok

Sometimes it is gnarled and absent and full of holes
Other times it gleams like teeth, like
new parts.
Sometimes the veins of its momentum burst open,
spilling salty bits of plans and need
Other times it stands still
simmering in its denied frustration, in its
impossible peace
chunky, clotted, whole.
Sometimes it is a hollow chasm
speckled with nodules and bony parts
shivering in the artificial air
freezing lungs, forgetting breath
Other times it holds you in a grip without fingers
as it exhales rank, wet heat into the
exclamation points of your nostrils.
Sometimes it is abundant and glittery and
pregnant with paper and want
and everything, everything is just RIGHT THERE
and yes, I'll take it--ow,ow,ow*
and a constant burp boils in its belly
Other times starvation's possessed suitors
pull blankets of tin and pavement and memory
over themselves
shuddering in their lust
collecting liquid pools as altars.
Sometimes it is children and knees running
and shrieking and hands folded please
and b...b...b...ball
Other times it is high heels and pearls
and tiny skirts, hips
walking without tripping
giggling without sincerity
silk that billows like filthy light
a face like an angel's wing
This place, this place, this
Mecca for the Homeless
drifting, neon, liquid grasp
Searching, searching, searching
LOST.
And then, one breath, one blink, one
pulsating snap in time later,
HOME.
Sometimes plastic
Sometimes caked in a thick reality
A heavily lined palm
Holding, releasing, slapping, caressing.
Relentless.

*This is the Thai word for WANT.

Growth and decay

I've gotten some concerned e-mails from some readers (um, hi Mom!!) who have noticed the slightly morose tone that I've taken in some recent posts, and they were wondering if I am, y'know, alright. Worry not, loyal readers (hi again, Mom)! As I mentioned in my last post, there have been some difficult things that have been weighing heavily on my mind. BUT, I have dusted myself off and continued on. This last year has been full of many ups and downs. Things are starting to finally stabilize, and for that I am most definitely grateful. And I've still taken plenty of time through all of the difficult moments to STOP and LOOK and appreciate the various amazing places that I've gone. To savor the beautiful encounters and adventures that I've had. Sometimes real growth can only occur if you really push yourself. If you dare yourself to feel lonely and sad and scared, and if you take a huge leap out of your comfort zone. Then you realize that, no, it's actually NOT going to kill you. In fact, it feels pretty good. And I'm realizing also that happiness isn't just about one extreme vs. another (in other words, happiness does not mean that EVERYTHING IS PERFECT AND SUNSHINY AND SPARKLY or else it SUCKS). Things can be sucky and you can still find a way to be happy. Conversely, for a lot of people, things can be perfect and they can still find a way to be unhappy. Right now I'm learning things that I wouldn't have learned if I hadn't taken a gigantic risk in coming to Thailand (armed only with two suitcases and the part of my brain that allows me to take complete and utter leave of my senses from time to time) and starting a school from scratch. And it has been both difficult and exhilarating. And, well, sometimes growth and learning can be downright painful, and sometimes things in your life have to decay in order to make room for this new growth. And that's just how it is. So often we get so fearful of letting things decay, and letting people go who don't want to be in our lives anymore, and evicting the people who shouldn't be in our lives anymore, and letting go of grudges and negative feelings that brought us some sort of fucked up comfort, and letting go of bad habits, and letting go of the people we used to be, that we make the choice to stay still in a personal space where it's nice and cozy and warm, but there's no room for growth.

So yes. I am alright. I am starting to Get It. And I'm riding the waves of my ups and downs without swallowing them.

Thailand is starting to sink into my veins and clean out a lot of things. Anger, intensity, self-righteousness, extreme stress, crabbiness, slavish devotion to a deadline, unrealistic perfectionism....they don't translate here. And most people don't believe me, but NO ONE uses horns here (unless it's for a legitimate warning in order to avoid a collision...and even then, only at the very last second), and you NEVER hear people yelling in an argument. There is a surface of calm here, even on these chaotic city streets and sidewalks, that can be disturbed even by a sour facial expression. And once that ripple of unpleasantness, no matter how small, has started, then everyone feels it. Everyone's day is ruined. So it just doesn't happen. And I'm just trying to drink it all in. To make this energy a part of me. To somehow store all of the smiles that I receive every day in some sort of pocket, because I know that soon enough I will not be greeted by beaming strangers every time I walk down the street, and I will not be able to rely on the scent of jasmine from the garland vendors to give my nose and lungs a break from the urban air. I will have to start veering off of the sidewalk again (what IS that?? There are two kinds of people in the U.S.: people who veer, and people who just keep plowing along and expecting everyone else to move out of the way. I mean, can you give me an INCH at least so that I don't have to walk right into the fender of this oncoming car???? I digress....) and expecting anything with wheels to yield to my pedestrian self.

Goodness. I'm realizing that I miss Bangkok already, and I'm still here.....

Chon*

I have definitely grown quite a bit since I've been in Thailand. I mean, not physically, because nearly 20 pounds of me have melted off in the humidity/spice sweat/parasite diet, but definitely emotionally. Case in point: as I mentioned on my friend Andrew's blog, I have been missing the Urban Family of Phoenix, and feeling just a tad on the lonely side. This is due to some recent developments, which include miscommunication with various loved ones in my life (which were largely my fault); some rather intense personal circumstances that have been severely difficult for me to wrap my little brain around (Life and Death stuff), thereby causing me to withdraw a bit; and the realization that, no, I won't see my family for an entire calendar year, and being apart from them for that long is much harder than I would have thought. However, here's the happy part: Whereas one year ago I would have just curled up and cried (and, um, don't get me wrong, there has been plenty of that), this time I decided to dust myself off, say "fuck it," and throw a dinner party for the wonderful people here in Bangkok that I am lucky to call my friends.

The thing about dinner parties is that I LOVE LOVE LOVE throwing them. I love to entertain. I love having people in my home, I love getting them drunk, I love scrubbing floors in preparation for their precious feet. However, they can be insanely stressful, especially if said dinner party is the grand finale in the exceptionally chaotic performance known as Your Day. Having people in your home helps you to appreciate it more (oh gosh, that Buddha really DOES look pretty there!), but each guest seems to hand you a crazed magnifying glass as they walk through the door (**completely of your own invention, mind you, not as a result of what anyone else has said or thought**), designed to bring certain psychotic flaws to life (OMG....these light fixtures SUCK! Why are my walls such an eye-frying white? I just dusted! Why the hell are the floors ALREADY DUSTY AGAIN????). Add all of these neurotic thoughts to the fact that the air con in the dining room wasn't working, and it didn't look like there would be enough food at first, and you've got a recipe for Melted Down Brooke. Just bake at 90 degrees (not hard, considering the, um, lack of air con....)

BUT, the good news is that the wonderful people who are my friends have earned that title for a reason. They were sweet and wonderful and repeatedly ordered me to RELAX and SIT DOWN and DRINK THIS WINE. And the conversation got on a roll, and I started running around taking pictures, and I ordered some more food, and before I knew it I was enjoying the incredible company in my midst (wine buzz notwithstanding) and feeling the kind of familiar comfort that one can only feel when friends are in one's home.

It occurred to me that, save for buying several rounds of pitchers at the Redline, I hadn't entertained friends since leaving Phoenix. Sure, I may have been a little out of practice, and I definitely wished that my friend N. had been there, but it made me miss the past a whole lot less. And it was probably the most at home I've felt in Bangkok in the ten months (!!!) that I've been here. And it felt much better than indulging my self-pitying sadness and penning homages to my angst.

So here's to growth and to friends. And here's to a party at my place at least once a month.

P.S.: Does anyone know where you can find a pinata in Bangkok?? 'Cause you can take the girl out of Phoenix, but you can't take the crazy pinatas that we used to break in Phoenix outta the girl......

*In Thai, this literally means "crash" or "collide." It is also, however, what you say before clinking glasses. It is the Thai version of "cheers!"

Good Night, Vietnam!!

I'm a little drunkity drunk drunk. They have places here in Hanoi that brew their beer sans preservatives and therefore must get rid of it at the end of the day. Which means they sell it (in all of its watery glory) for the equivalent of 20 cents per glass. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

While I've found it difficult to lock into the expat community in Bangkok, I've had no trouble doing it here in Hanoi. All I had to do was walk up to a group of people, ask if I could join them on their guided tour of the Ho Chi Minh Mueseum (oh I sooooo have no qualms about walking up to random strangers and asking if they'll be my friends), and WHAM!!! New friends. Some Canadians, some Australians, and a couple from Minnesota. We had drinks and food and parsed the expat experience, leaving no topic off limits--from our stomach ailments to the fibrous details of our physical, mental, cultural, and linguistic border crossings.

As an expat, I often feel very alone. The fact that my work situation is rather isolated (and, well, far from perfect...or even far from tolerable some days....but that's not relevant at the moment) doesn't help matters much. Don't get me wrong--there are a gazillion things that I love about my life in Asia and wouldn't trade for anything. I am also learning to weather the ups and downs while staying internally steady. However, some days I feel like I am forced to take on these gigantic barriers of culture and language and identity armed with nothing but a genuine smile and the dogged determination brought on by my Midwestern work ethic. While wallowing never did anyone any good, tonight it was nice to hear that I'm actually NOT alone, and that other expats have their dark days. It felt good to hear the words "I totally know how you feel." I will probably never see these people again, and I know very little about them outside of their expat identities. But it was nice to commiserate. It was nice to briefly feel like a part of a community where people understand the mixed blessings of the wanderlust. And, well, I couldn't help but agree when one person said that the true MEANING and LESSONS of our time here will not become fully apparent until we are back home. While I think I am quite able to articulate the revelations that I have had out here, I don't think I will understand how they fit into the jigsaw pattern of my life until I am back in a familiar context, surrounded by loved ones, and no longer feeling like each day is a free fall.

Ultimately, though, I think I need to keep in mind the words that a Canadian fellow said tonight: "Sure, it's hard and it's a roller coaster, and you are going to have your tough moments. However, your life is not at risk. You're not marching off to war. You are most likely not going to DIE. And as long as you don't die, you have no choice but to grow stronger."

Indeed. I feel so good right now. And that's not just the beer talking.

Good night!

Licorice whips

I made the loooong trek from my cozy condo to the Embassy of Myanmar on Monday in order to get my tourist visa. Once there I did what any other traveler tends to do: I found a little mini-community of fellow travelers. These little communities are wonderful. For a brief moment the multi-colored licorice whips of our lives that slash across this planet, and over oceans, and in and out of embassies are combined to make a nodule, a little pulse point, that becomes startlingly intimate in a millisecond. We all commiserate about the Line and the Bureaucracy. We swap travel tales and compare passport photos.

There was the elderly gent from Australia who was less than impressed with the behavior of his fellow countrymen while traveling through Laos. "Morons!" he repeated as he told me about the disrespect and the noise at all hours of the night and the drinking. His frustration became intense and overwhelming, and soon I had to practically sit in the lap of the person next to me as each exclamation ("Morons! Morons!!!") brought a quaking invasion of my personal space. It can be intense side effect of travel--you begin to scrutinize the behaviors of your own "kind," if you will.

There was the American guy who had been floating aimlessly around Asia for the past two years. His ultimate destination is India, but he just hasn't gotten there yet. We talked about global warming, and the military junta, and I taught him how to say "I don't want a plastic bag" in Thai. Of course, there were many questions that I restrained myself from asking: How have you financed this? How can you stand living out of a backpack for years at a time? Did those tattoos on your ears hurt?

There was the greasy-haired Canadian girl who hated the fact that visas to most countries seem to be more expensive for her than for those of us with U.S. passports. She had been in Asia for six months and has an uncle in Myanmar. Yangon will be her last destination before making the long trek home to Vancouver.

The Australian woman was my favorite. After waiting in line for an hour and a half, I was FINALLY next. She glanced down at my fistful of documents and casually asked me where the photocopy of my passport was. I looked around in sheer panic at the rest of my "posse" and they wordlessly showed me their photocopies. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. I had read the requirements 8 gazillion times, and even got new passport-sized photos, but somehow I missed the photocopy requirement. My new friends told me where the closest copy place was and promised to hold my place in line. Four baht and a significant cardio workout later, I made it back to my spot in line, panting over the chorus of "holy crap! That was lightning fast! Are you part gazelle??" I tried to thank the Australian woman profusely for her sharp eye, but she was tangled up in her own document drama. After enduring the heartless stare that is the job description of all embassy workers, I was on my way.

I said goodbye to my fellow travelers and felt that strange, fleeting grief that I always feel when I have brief and interesting encounters with people, but I know I'll never see them again. I always feel silly when I have these feelings--I mean, you can't mourn EVERYONE who comes and goes throughout your life--but I have them, nonetheless. Later on I went to the food court at MBK Center (MBK being the Greatest Place Ever) and bumped into the Australian woman. Her document drama was quite the nightmare, but she was able to work through it with a red face and stern voice. Trust me--I wouldn't mess with this Aussie lady, and I'm sure the stone-faced embassy workers with their hate glares knew better than to try. I got a chance to thank her and we stood there chatting like old friends, resting for a moment in some comfortable conversation and the shelter of shared experiences before continuing to move, move, move.

These momentary rest stops, these flavorful patches of interaction, these chance and fleeting encounters that still leave me with a small twinge of grief like metal on a filling--THESE are critical tiles in the mosaic of reasons why my feet are just so darn itchy, and why I chase my wanderlust halfway around the globe like the character in my dream whose face is always just out of my line of vision.

Travelin' travelin' travelin' through.....

I have been reading the book Eat, Pray, Love, and she says many a thing in there that resonates with me COMPLETELY. This, however, was one of my favorites. The heroine, if you will (who is also the author), is living in Rome and has just met an Australian backpacker who is on her way to Slovenia:

"When I heard her plans, I was stricken with such a dumb spasm of jealousy, thinking, I want to go to Slovenia! How come I never get to travel anywhere? Now, to the innocent eye it might appear that I already am traveling. And longing to travel while you are traveling is, I admit, a kind of greedy madness...But the fact that this girl asked directions from me (clearly, in her mind, a civilian) suggests that I am not technically traveling in Rome, but living here...Traveling-to-a-place energy and living-in-a-place energy are two fundamentally different energies, and something about meeting this Australian girl on her way to Slovenia just gave me such a jones to hit the road." (pp. 77-78)

While a major reason that I moved overseas was so that I could travel and see the world, it was also because I was given an exciting job opportunity that would allow me to really flex my pedagogical muscles, explore my entrepreneurial spirit, and lay the foundation for something that will have an impact on children long after I've returned to the U.S. The trade off, however, is that I have a ridiculous work schedule. I only get 1.5 days off per week and no summer break. As a result, my actual time to travel is very limited. I have two friends here who have made it their job to travel all over Asia for a year--using Bangkok as their home base--and have some of the most incredible adventures that two people could possibly have. I'll admit it--when I hear about their travel plans I feel the same kind of jealousy that Liz feels in her book: How come I never get to travel anywhere??

But, at the end of the day, we do the best we can. And damnit, I make the absolute most of my 1.5 days off (by the way....next year I get two consecutive days off....thank goodness!). I make it a point to take a plane somewhere at least once a month. In fact, after I finish writing this I will book my flight to Myanmar, where I will spend exactly 24 hours. People have very shocked reactions when I tell them this: What?! You're going to Myanmar for 24 HOURS?? What's the point? It hardly seems worth it! Can't you get some time off to go? (the answer to this last one is a resounding NO, unfortunately....)

Yes, a 24 hour tour of Yangon sounds a little nuts. But it's a one hour flight (if I were going to, say, Russia for 24 hours, then yes, that seems highly impractical), it's an inexpensive ticket, and the alternative to spending 24 hours in Myanmar is spending zero hours there, so I think the math makes sense. And you know what? I love any of my short trips just as much as I loved the month that I spent backpacking through Europe on spring break during my year of studying abroad in Ireland. So, while I may not have as much time to travel as I would like, I have a job that is very fulfilling (and FUN!) and I relish the opportunities to travel that I DO get. For me, travel is always a sacred experience, regardless of the length of time spent doing it.

Oh, and as for Liz, after meeting the Australian backpacker she called her friend and they headed to Naples for the day to eat a slice of pizza. Sometimes the small, spontaneous trips are the most delicious.

Home is where the cheese is

A few days ago, the organism-rich landscape of my digestive tract developed its own Richter scale and began spasming with such force that it brought tears to my eyes and, well, scared me. I wrapped my pashmina tightly around me, took off my storm trooper hat, made a teary phone call to Jasmine (my boss), and hopped in a cab bound for Samitivej Hospital. By the time I got there I was delirious with pain and fever, and my face had taken on the same dark gray hue as the abalone shell bracelet that Jasmine had given me two days earlier--minus the pretty, rainbow-y shimmer. Inside Samitivej there is marble everwhere, and women in crisp, powder blue uniforms, and even a soothing fountain. There are leather sofas and current magazines and high ceilings and streak-free windows. I went straight to the ER where they laid me down on a soft bed, covered me up, and got to the business of Making Me Better. My doctor was a little nervous and jumpy and sorta giggled as he asked me questions and delivered my diagnosis. His attempt at a mustache made him appear as though he had only recently stepped out of the blue jeans of adolescence and into a pair of scrubs. Still, he was knowledgeable and efficient. Behind him stood a whole team of people who had concern in their eyes and who helped me to my feet and out to the lobby lest I get dizzy and faint. The nervous doctor hooked me up with a whole delicious cocktail of drugs, as well as a follow-up appointment. Everyone smiled kindly at me, and as I was leaving they called me a taxi. After it arrived, a man walked next to me holding an umbrella so that I would be spared the hot sun for those few steps. The whole thing could only have been more surprisingly pleasant if everyone had broken into song and a well-choreographed musical number complete with twirling crutches, a wheelchair can-can line, and nurses spinning me on a gurney as the camera catches a bird's eye view of my smiling face while everyone circles around me and holds that final, perfect note. Or something like that.

Conversely, this weekend I had my first Bangkok Au Bon Pain experience, which did not come with any singing amputees. To say that Au Bon Pain was important to me during grad school is a vast and hideous understatement. I ate so much broccoli cheddar soup that year that it began running through my veins instead of blood. Au Bon Pain was always there for me during those wee hours when I needed a sugar-free vanilla latte to get me through those last five grueling pages of a paper. It was the setting of many delicious conversations with friends, and where Peter and I would go for breakfast dates that lasted well past lunchtime. I'm not gonna lie--the fact that Bangkok had Au Bon Pain and Bogota didn't was another factor that caused me to choose the former over the latter as my post of overseas employment. While on the surface the Au Bon Pain in Bangkok looks similar to the ones that you find every few feet in Cambridge, MA--they both rock that happy shade of yellow, that adorable, chubby little font with the unassuming lowercase letters, and they both have that black and white photograph of the boy with the bony knees running with a baguette--the differences are a little unsettling to me. First and foremost, my beloved broccoli cheddar soup has been transformed into "cream of broccoli." Cheese is not a part of the regular diet here. It is just not on the radar. Therefore, a soup with cheese in it may not sound terribly appetizing to anyone other than, um, ME. The portions are smaller (which is certainly not a bad thing...I could rarely finish my entire order in Cambridge. What IS annoying is that the price is exactly the same), and Au Bon Pain in Bangkok attracts a very fashionable, very posh crowd--a stark contrast to the homeless chess players and sweatshirt-clad students in Cambridge--whose conversations are as impossibly hip as their sunglasses.

I wish I could say that this was one of those moments where I savor the delicious differences and take an opportunity to appreciate how things are done over here (well, okay, I STILL did that....), but really, this is one of those moments that makes me homesick. I miss my broccoli cheddar soup. I miss talking to Peter over a gigantic cup of coffee. I think most of the time over here I feel like things are BETTER than they are in the U.S. This is, in part, due to the novelty of the whole situation--the exposure to new things makes them inevitably more exciting and much more easily romanticized. At the same time, though, I do think that the taxis are better. The hospitals are better. The food is cheaper and tastier. The shopping is better and cheaper and more fun. Au Bon Pain is a gigantic exception. My life here is wonderful and amazing, but home is where the cheese is. It's where my friends are, and where bread-and-butter conversation is, and where Peter is. And it's nice to be reminded of that.

Shiny Gifts

Well, it's my freakin' birthday (*grumble, grumble*....back in MY day, we didn't HAVE these newfangled contraptions like blogs and Facebook!! Hey, you kids! Getoffamylawn*!). I am 28 years old. This is the first birthday where things like "biological clock" and "marriage" and "white picket fence" have jumped ferociously to mind and become active parts of my lexicon. Sheesh. I spent a good 30 minutes examining my face last night. Four new wrinkles on either side of my mouth. Half a dozen new age spots. Some baby wrinkles forming between my eyebrows. Yikes. My face has aged considerably since my last birthday (in spite of never leaving the house without SPF nine million slathered everywhere and, you know, reapplying throughout the day), and the only way my life could have changed more in the year between birthdays is if I had spontaneously changed my sex or grown a second head.

28, I embrace you with open arms. You are, as Peter tells me, a mathematically perfect number.

I'm going to use the rest of this post to type up something that I had written in my pen-and-paper journal. I'm not sharing this because I necessarily want to turn this blog into a super intimate play-by-play of my internal journeys. I, in fact, have no interest in doing that (well, within reason....I mean, I have had no trouble being a pretty open book thus far, but there are quite a few things that I like to keep private. That's where the pen-and-paper journal comes in!!). The reason why I DO want to share some very personal things is that I think a lot of the growth that I have experienced recently (and by recently, I mean that I think the chain of events was put in motion awhile ago, but I am only now able to fully appreciate and experience it) is directly related to the fact that I am living overseas and making travel a priority. Lately I've been drawn to stories about women who are living in the perfect house with the perfect husband and leading what appears to be a perfect life. And then the bottom drops out. As the heroine's life slumps on the floor around her like so many discarded silk dresses, she decides to pick herself up and start TRAVELING. And it is through traveling that she finds herself and discovers all of the joy that life has to offer. Well, I'm very lucky that I get to do that NOW. While my life had had a portion of its bottom drop out before I moved overseas (and, yes, it was a bit of a catalyst for my decision-making process to move halfway around the globe), I don't have to wait until my husband leaves me for a younger woman to forge a path in this world and discover myself. I can do it in reverse: travel first and live a cozy family life second. Minus, you know, all of the divorce stuff. Stories like Eat, Pray, Love (omg....LOVES!!!), Under the Tuscan Sun, and even Thelma and Louise show what travel can do for a woman's soul. I just wanted to share a little of what it has done for mine.

So this is the cheesiest statement ever, but what the hell: last night, along with counting my wrinkles and age spots, I also counted my blessings.

Commence vomiting.

Oh, and this is completely unedited, so please forgive any grammatical errors or less-than-dazzling word choices.

Journal entry written on 2/26/08
As my last journal documents, I've had many ups and downs since I've been here. Job frustrations, frustration with being so far away from people I love, frustration with finding my own inner peace. My path. My heart's desire. It has not been an easy road, to say the least, but I'm glad that I'm starting a new journal as things have shifted in a powerful, beautiful, new direction. Fresh new pages for a fresh new phase of my journey. I don't know how it happened or when it happened. Perhaps it's a ball that's been rolling for awhile and just needed to dislodge itself from the navy blue muck of stuckness and questioning and doubt. And transitions are tough. Moving halfway around the world is TOUGH and NOT for the faint of heart, and I really don't think I could have anticipated how hard it would actually be. But recently the two ton elephant that has been sitting on my chest for the last few months and siphoning the positivity out of me to wet his parched throat has stretched his legs, shaken off the sedentary dust that had settled in the creases of his skin, and wandered off in search of his own personal Serengeti. My lungs are re-inflating and my ribs are popping back into place like one of those foam stress toys that slowly returns to its original form--if a bit wrinkled--after being smushed and squeezed and flattened.

I am the recipient of many gifts.

And while many of these gifts had quite possibly been laid at my feet for quite some time, I chose to trip on them, fall down beside them, and skin my knee on them as the (albeit pink and sparkly) fishbowl over my head distorted my vision and made my shoulders stoop under its weight. But now my lungs can accept the air that fills them. My eyes are adapting to details and smaller, more subtle shades.

I am receiving many gifts.

*Thanks to Nina for that!