I suppose it’s about time for an update over here. Especially because I’ve been all cryptic and acting like I’ve got secret agents from various Asian countries after me. No, I tend to be melodramatic; it’s really nothing more than what you’d have to worry about putting online and having a US employer get upset about. It’s just that there are different definitions of what causes people to become upset, and I’m constantly guessing here. And since my employment is directly tied to my visa, well, I was rather anxious.
It’s hard to believe that in less than one month I will be starting my first job as a lead art teacher in a school. Yes, I went through student teaching, yes, I did art outreach work in the summer of 2010. But this will be my first, full time job in my own classroom. And that’s a really, really big deal to me.
Looking back, I thought to myself, this is something I’ve been striving for since graduation in May 2009. But thinking further, really, I was striving for it those full five years at Purdue. And really, though I hadn’t made up my mind to pursue art education yet, even when I was planning my future in middle and high school, it was always ‘well, I’ll get a science job like my parents want so I can build a really cool art studio.’ That lasted to about October of freshman year of college. I still remember the trembling phone call home to my mother about changing majors, if she would still support me, if she would not tell Dad yet. And the people who supported me in that decision then, though many are no longer in my life. They served a very important role at a pivotal time.
It seems surreal, that I will be walking into my own art class. That I will have a proper health care plan. That I will have a real school calendar, with set vacation days that I can actually take instead of sit, play, work…
And I’m not completely naïve. I know that I’m not entering Nirvana. Though my new school did not flood in the Great 2011 flood, during a rainstorm the nearby Khlong overflowed and THAT caused a slight flood in the school. You can see the water marks on the wall. Note to self: Most important art supplies do not go on the bottom shelf. Perhaps nothing goes on the bottom shelf if possible, I doubt that’s possible.
I am going to miss my current English students. I was so touched by the hugs, photos and notes they gave me. And now I’m glad I caved in and created a teacher’s facebook account, separate from my personal space, because I will be able to see what they do after this. Probably 10 students jumped up and shouted you should be our art teacher, we’ll go ask the head mistress when I told them I was leaving to teach art. I told them it cannot be, the school charter dictates that a Thai will teach art. And I really have no desire to take a job from a Thai art teacher in their home country. Though in some ways, that is exactly what I’ve done at my new school, though they were looking for someone with a better command of English, and that’s exactly the skill I can bring. I’m very conflicted about the stratification I see here. But this post is not about that.
This post is about what I’ve overcome, my excitement for the future, a dream 8+ years in the making coming to pass. I know I put too much expectation, too much pressure, too much grief onto this dream. But that’s exactly why I refused to give it up. I’ll move half way around the world before I’ll give up.
I don’t always rub everyone the right way. I’m outspoken, I’m opinionated, I’m ‘easy to anger’ as my current boss notes with chagrin. I have views that other people don’t agree with, don’t know when to keep my mouth shut and hate being politically correct. But that’s why I get along with my closest friends, even from literally the other side of the planet, and that’s what has allowed me to keep up this relentless pursuit. Next month, I will arrive.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Time For Another Ramble
Those of you on the email updates list will have just received some very exciting news. I’ll make that public on the blog in about a month.
In the meantime, I believe I have enough to ramble about that is worthy of a blog post as opposed to 15 rambling facebook status updates. So without further ado in no particular order:
When one is craving a sandwich, it is best to remember what part of the globe one is in. I’ve had good sandwiches in Bangkok, but not many. BLEK. Dinner was a poor choice. Whoever’s tastes they are catering to with that one, they are not mine.
The prevalence of American pop music in Bangkok astounds me. Well, it used to. But you know what’s really unfortunate? The Bossa Novafication of contemporary North American pop. As if Bossa Nova Avril Lavigne wasn’t bad enough, today I heard Bossa Nova Black-Eyed-Peas. Seriously? Who on Earth thought this was a good idea?
One of the changes for me in the next six weeks includes moving to another apartment. I haven’t found the new digs yet. But, I will miss certain small things. Here’s a break down:
My personal motosai entourage that know all my regular haunts. Sure, I may still be able to ride with a few of them once in awhile; but my routes will all be changing, and especially the ones that take me to school and the doctor, I will not see often. I truly mean it when I say I will write a dystopian fiction novel that includes motosai superheroes. And no, not like Akira. At all.
An aside on motorcycles, I believe Bangkok must be cracking down on helmet safety somewhat, because the prevalence of motosai drivers who hand me a helmet to wear has greatly increased the past month or two. That or since they know me now they want to protect my skull as a repeat customer. Maybe both.
Being across the way from Mai Kai Dee’s vegetarian restaurant.
My soi’s massage parlors and the people that greet me every time I walk past, and know exactly where the tension hides in my right shoulder blade. I like them enough to stop by occasionally if I’ve got friends visiting the city.
Ming, the alley cat, and some of the neighbors I’ve gotten to know, both English and non-English speaking.
My landlords who rescue my laundry from the rain.
Being able to see the Golden Mount Temple from the roof, especially lit up at night.
Possibly, being called Teacher Jenny. Like ‘Miss Corazon,’ I will adjust and cherish it.
In the meantime, I believe I have enough to ramble about that is worthy of a blog post as opposed to 15 rambling facebook status updates. So without further ado in no particular order:
When one is craving a sandwich, it is best to remember what part of the globe one is in. I’ve had good sandwiches in Bangkok, but not many. BLEK. Dinner was a poor choice. Whoever’s tastes they are catering to with that one, they are not mine.
The prevalence of American pop music in Bangkok astounds me. Well, it used to. But you know what’s really unfortunate? The Bossa Novafication of contemporary North American pop. As if Bossa Nova Avril Lavigne wasn’t bad enough, today I heard Bossa Nova Black-Eyed-Peas. Seriously? Who on Earth thought this was a good idea?
One of the changes for me in the next six weeks includes moving to another apartment. I haven’t found the new digs yet. But, I will miss certain small things. Here’s a break down:
My personal motosai entourage that know all my regular haunts. Sure, I may still be able to ride with a few of them once in awhile; but my routes will all be changing, and especially the ones that take me to school and the doctor, I will not see often. I truly mean it when I say I will write a dystopian fiction novel that includes motosai superheroes. And no, not like Akira. At all.
An aside on motorcycles, I believe Bangkok must be cracking down on helmet safety somewhat, because the prevalence of motosai drivers who hand me a helmet to wear has greatly increased the past month or two. That or since they know me now they want to protect my skull as a repeat customer. Maybe both.
Being across the way from Mai Kai Dee’s vegetarian restaurant.
My soi’s massage parlors and the people that greet me every time I walk past, and know exactly where the tension hides in my right shoulder blade. I like them enough to stop by occasionally if I’ve got friends visiting the city.
Ming, the alley cat, and some of the neighbors I’ve gotten to know, both English and non-English speaking.
My landlords who rescue my laundry from the rain.
Being able to see the Golden Mount Temple from the roof, especially lit up at night.
Possibly, being called Teacher Jenny. Like ‘Miss Corazon,’ I will adjust and cherish it.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Stories From the Backlog
Hi, I live here
“Good morning sir, would you like a suit.”
“It’s Ma’am.”
“Yes Sir…”
“No, it’s Ma’am, I’m a woman… Listen. I’m a woman so you call me ‘ma’am,’ a man is sir, but I’m not a man, I’m female, so you call me ma’am.”
“Ok…ma..am.”
“And let’s get something else straight. I live down this street. I teach down this street. So, I don’t need a suit every day. Just thought we should get that clear.” *handshake*
“Thank you ma’am! You are a good teacher!”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day!”
Problem solved.
The White Chick on the Motorbike
I never ask questions when a motosai driver takes an alternate route the way I might ask a taxi. I’ve learned they’re avoiding police and/or mafia shake down road blocks, or simple traffic congestion. They look out for their own; they warn each other about these things when one is approaching. Police and/or mafia you ask? Yes. And/or. The drivers around my soi know me well enough, they’ve even taken two friends and I across town at a discounted price (three bikes in Bangkok traffic is something), and they’ve taken me without their official vests on, with the promise of payment days down the line so police wouldn’t see the exchange of bills. Why would I get on a motorcycle with a guy taking his uniform vest off? Well, then he doesn’t get stopped by the police for the shake down, and they know I need to get to school and what not. They know my haunts. I even approached one of the pink vests in Siam last week, and he completed my address and price before I had to finish. I’m a regular now I suppose. Once shortly after my arrival, when the height of Red vs. Yellow was still fading from fever pitch, I was told: If you want to know where the reds or the yellows are, ask the orange shirts. Orange – the color most motosai driver’s vests are. Also available in Pink and Blue, because this is Thailand. For a good month when asked what my politics were, I was smugly saying ‘orange’ to myself in my head.
The Art of Hacking
“Did you log in from a new location recently?”
Yes facebook, thank you for noticing that I’m trying to circumvent the school blocking facebook and conveniently hopped over to Russia for a quick social media jaunt. Now stop asking me to identify pictures of 9Gag translated into Thai where I have entire classes of students tagged and let me login. I should I remind you that in Russia, facebook logs onto you! Tasteless, I know.
But hey, I actually attempted to use facebook as a tool for communicating assignments with my students before the successful block, because they were constantly distracted by it. And well, they still are, on their contraband phones and not contraband iPads with private internet connections. Besides which, if my school could be bothered to give the foreigners logins, I wouldn’t have to do this any way, it’s not blocked for other staff. Foreigners are relegated to the generic student login; hence I’m blocked from everything the students are. Including the Indiana Department of Education for the past month, for what reason I have no idea, but that was the icing on the cake, I had to get around it.
It’s said that China produces some of the best hackers in the world, because they get so much practice. What they may not get in school, those with net access get in every day firewall scaling; problem solving at its finest. As much as it chagrins me when game files are downloaded throughout the computer lab yet again, it warms my heart somewhat to hear some of the students have also been creatively ‘unblocking’ websites the school has blocked. I’m not even talking Ministry of Communication Technology here, just school blocks. I just hope my budding hackers put it to good use outside of MICT later down the line. If you’re unfamiliar with MICT, please do a google search of censorship in Thailand. If living outside of Thailand, notice that none of your results come up with the following page when you try to click through:
http://58.97.5.29/annouce/court.html
And please, if at all inclined to collect as much random knowledge about the world as possible, educate yourself on this issue.
“Good morning sir, would you like a suit.”
“It’s Ma’am.”
“Yes Sir…”
“No, it’s Ma’am, I’m a woman… Listen. I’m a woman so you call me ‘ma’am,’ a man is sir, but I’m not a man, I’m female, so you call me ma’am.”
“Ok…ma..am.”
“And let’s get something else straight. I live down this street. I teach down this street. So, I don’t need a suit every day. Just thought we should get that clear.” *handshake*
“Thank you ma’am! You are a good teacher!”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day!”
Problem solved.
The White Chick on the Motorbike
I never ask questions when a motosai driver takes an alternate route the way I might ask a taxi. I’ve learned they’re avoiding police and/or mafia shake down road blocks, or simple traffic congestion. They look out for their own; they warn each other about these things when one is approaching. Police and/or mafia you ask? Yes. And/or. The drivers around my soi know me well enough, they’ve even taken two friends and I across town at a discounted price (three bikes in Bangkok traffic is something), and they’ve taken me without their official vests on, with the promise of payment days down the line so police wouldn’t see the exchange of bills. Why would I get on a motorcycle with a guy taking his uniform vest off? Well, then he doesn’t get stopped by the police for the shake down, and they know I need to get to school and what not. They know my haunts. I even approached one of the pink vests in Siam last week, and he completed my address and price before I had to finish. I’m a regular now I suppose. Once shortly after my arrival, when the height of Red vs. Yellow was still fading from fever pitch, I was told: If you want to know where the reds or the yellows are, ask the orange shirts. Orange – the color most motosai driver’s vests are. Also available in Pink and Blue, because this is Thailand. For a good month when asked what my politics were, I was smugly saying ‘orange’ to myself in my head.
The Art of Hacking
“Did you log in from a new location recently?”
Yes facebook, thank you for noticing that I’m trying to circumvent the school blocking facebook and conveniently hopped over to Russia for a quick social media jaunt. Now stop asking me to identify pictures of 9Gag translated into Thai where I have entire classes of students tagged and let me login. I should I remind you that in Russia, facebook logs onto you! Tasteless, I know.
But hey, I actually attempted to use facebook as a tool for communicating assignments with my students before the successful block, because they were constantly distracted by it. And well, they still are, on their contraband phones and not contraband iPads with private internet connections. Besides which, if my school could be bothered to give the foreigners logins, I wouldn’t have to do this any way, it’s not blocked for other staff. Foreigners are relegated to the generic student login; hence I’m blocked from everything the students are. Including the Indiana Department of Education for the past month, for what reason I have no idea, but that was the icing on the cake, I had to get around it.
It’s said that China produces some of the best hackers in the world, because they get so much practice. What they may not get in school, those with net access get in every day firewall scaling; problem solving at its finest. As much as it chagrins me when game files are downloaded throughout the computer lab yet again, it warms my heart somewhat to hear some of the students have also been creatively ‘unblocking’ websites the school has blocked. I’m not even talking Ministry of Communication Technology here, just school blocks. I just hope my budding hackers put it to good use outside of MICT later down the line. If you’re unfamiliar with MICT, please do a google search of censorship in Thailand. If living outside of Thailand, notice that none of your results come up with the following page when you try to click through:
http://58.97.5.29/annouce/court.html
And please, if at all inclined to collect as much random knowledge about the world as possible, educate yourself on this issue.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Are You Earning Respect or a Paycheck?
I realize I work as an English teacher in a third world country and not a 1960s era US advertising agency, but sometimes I wonder what the difference is. I’m required to wear a skirt. Wage discrimination is by skin tone, not gender, and to my benefit, but it’s there. And being a feminist, well, I’m not the majority here. It’s just as well I didn’t get my photo share site working, it’d be a liability to my employment right now. Obviously I’m not going to elaborate on a public blog. Same reason post about Thai scout camp is indefinitely postponed. I took paper notes. Not many white girls attend those. I enjoyed the camp for the most part, and the students enjoyed my presence. Especially the red-bracelets. I’m glad I could be there for them.
American Teacher Barbie, I’m not blonde, but I’ve got the right accent and I am pretty cute. Throwing out my mascara was hardly a stand. And I ended up buying more. It never actually helps, especially in this humidity. Last week, I was trying to help a student and I was wheeled over into a desk that is not my own to be filmed for local TV, all the white teachers in one block of desks, working their magic to teach listening and speaking. Yep, I am Barbie. I didn’t get to help that student.
It’s been awhile since I posted. You may or may not be aware that I’m trying to be more guarded, and simultaneously exploding on to the internet to try and keep my outward cool while appearing to be productive. Gee, when did you start posting so much? Well, I said I’m playing my cards even closer than usual. I should probably save that. It’s a junk hand any way. But I’m sure the Terror Warning and Iranian bomb bozos didn’t help matters. For the record, you’re not required to call the Embassy to tell them you’re ok. And I am not a government official.
I won’t fully explain the incidents leading me to ponder the question, am I working for respect or a paycheck? But I’ve realized I’m working for a paycheck right now. I enjoy having housing, food, etc., but I know few people that can feel happy when they aren’t earning respect. Real respect, not the OMG your skin is SO WHITE respect. I value respect and honesty. And I’m currently mastering deception and falsehoods. How do I even find room to respect myself? Well, I’m doing the best I can. I try to remind myself that just last week I earned my 5-year teacher’s license. But I spent five years just to get the 2-year, and my home state just passed legislation against labor unions. I’m in a situation where schools on both sides of the ocean want two years of experience, and my first year doesn’t ‘count.’ In many situations my current experience doesn’t ‘count.’ Hey, this isn’t about the paycheck this is about respect. And I am Teacher Barbie in a world disbanding unions and dumbing down education.
Like everything else, I will push through. Many people have to compromise respect to put food on their table, and like I’m one to complain when I have a passport, a paycheck and my resume to date. I’ll find a way, even if it’s not the most traditional one. That’s what I do. I am the ringleader. And I like to take my circus on the road. No one will get that reference.
American Teacher Barbie, I’m not blonde, but I’ve got the right accent and I am pretty cute. Throwing out my mascara was hardly a stand. And I ended up buying more. It never actually helps, especially in this humidity. Last week, I was trying to help a student and I was wheeled over into a desk that is not my own to be filmed for local TV, all the white teachers in one block of desks, working their magic to teach listening and speaking. Yep, I am Barbie. I didn’t get to help that student.
It’s been awhile since I posted. You may or may not be aware that I’m trying to be more guarded, and simultaneously exploding on to the internet to try and keep my outward cool while appearing to be productive. Gee, when did you start posting so much? Well, I said I’m playing my cards even closer than usual. I should probably save that. It’s a junk hand any way. But I’m sure the Terror Warning and Iranian bomb bozos didn’t help matters. For the record, you’re not required to call the Embassy to tell them you’re ok. And I am not a government official.
I won’t fully explain the incidents leading me to ponder the question, am I working for respect or a paycheck? But I’ve realized I’m working for a paycheck right now. I enjoy having housing, food, etc., but I know few people that can feel happy when they aren’t earning respect. Real respect, not the OMG your skin is SO WHITE respect. I value respect and honesty. And I’m currently mastering deception and falsehoods. How do I even find room to respect myself? Well, I’m doing the best I can. I try to remind myself that just last week I earned my 5-year teacher’s license. But I spent five years just to get the 2-year, and my home state just passed legislation against labor unions. I’m in a situation where schools on both sides of the ocean want two years of experience, and my first year doesn’t ‘count.’ In many situations my current experience doesn’t ‘count.’ Hey, this isn’t about the paycheck this is about respect. And I am Teacher Barbie in a world disbanding unions and dumbing down education.
Like everything else, I will push through. Many people have to compromise respect to put food on their table, and like I’m one to complain when I have a passport, a paycheck and my resume to date. I’ll find a way, even if it’s not the most traditional one. That’s what I do. I am the ringleader. And I like to take my circus on the road. No one will get that reference.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Here Comes The Sun
Sometimes, you have to keep your hopes up high and your head down low, while we’re doing song lyrics. Though that’s no match to the Beatles.
Any way. I’m not even going to pretend I know how long I’ve kept a foxhole any more. Could be any number of times in the past that I’ve stuck my head down in the sand. But how long doesn’t matter as much when you’re coming out of it. At that point, it’s just the fact that it’s over.
I know it’s not over. I don’t know why today is different from any other day I could have declared, things are not ok, but they’re a bit better now.
I do know that I managed not to cry several times today; not even realizing until quarter to 6pm that today is the anniversary of my father’s passing.
I listened to a podcast about an adult with autism, and the plan for what he would do after his mother’s passing. (Almost tears, office, must remain composed).
I listened to a podcast about an Iraqi war veteran seeking out a Muslim Student Association to change his ideas, and that lead to his relief from his crippling PTSD.
I talked to one of my students about his aspirations to become a filmmaker.
My grammar lessons didn’t totally flop. I added a few details to the book lesson; with mixed success but something else.
My students have correspondence from students in New Jersey! ☺
I had grandiose ideas about getting more English books, which I weighed against the neo-colonialist viewpoint. We do have a librarian now finally; I’ll let her keep the reigns unless I come up with a really solid idea.
I can’t make any promises that I will never return to my foxhole.
I can’t say I’ve done things all on my own, all with my own fortitude. I’ve had shoulders and guidance, good and bad. But, as many say, I’m nothing if not stubborn, and my fortitude does have something to do with it.
I’m still not revealing what 2012 has in store. Mostly, because it’s still forming and shaping, and the last thing I’d want to do is jump the gun and maim it.
It wasn’t a particularly sunny day in Bangkok, but it wasn’t raining in my neck of the concrete jungle, and the sun is on the way.
Any way. I’m not even going to pretend I know how long I’ve kept a foxhole any more. Could be any number of times in the past that I’ve stuck my head down in the sand. But how long doesn’t matter as much when you’re coming out of it. At that point, it’s just the fact that it’s over.
I know it’s not over. I don’t know why today is different from any other day I could have declared, things are not ok, but they’re a bit better now.
I do know that I managed not to cry several times today; not even realizing until quarter to 6pm that today is the anniversary of my father’s passing.
I listened to a podcast about an adult with autism, and the plan for what he would do after his mother’s passing. (Almost tears, office, must remain composed).
I listened to a podcast about an Iraqi war veteran seeking out a Muslim Student Association to change his ideas, and that lead to his relief from his crippling PTSD.
I talked to one of my students about his aspirations to become a filmmaker.
My grammar lessons didn’t totally flop. I added a few details to the book lesson; with mixed success but something else.
My students have correspondence from students in New Jersey! ☺
I had grandiose ideas about getting more English books, which I weighed against the neo-colonialist viewpoint. We do have a librarian now finally; I’ll let her keep the reigns unless I come up with a really solid idea.
I can’t make any promises that I will never return to my foxhole.
I can’t say I’ve done things all on my own, all with my own fortitude. I’ve had shoulders and guidance, good and bad. But, as many say, I’m nothing if not stubborn, and my fortitude does have something to do with it.
I’m still not revealing what 2012 has in store. Mostly, because it’s still forming and shaping, and the last thing I’d want to do is jump the gun and maim it.
It wasn’t a particularly sunny day in Bangkok, but it wasn’t raining in my neck of the concrete jungle, and the sun is on the way.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
What Christmas Feels Like
I’m not sure if it feels like Christmas or not. A couple of days ago, I decided it didn’t feel like Christmas at all, and I was okay with that. On the contrary, I thought to myself, perhaps I never want to feel Christmas again. Followed by the thought that everyone is going to think that totally morose and view it as not moving on.
But, maybe I just don’t want to feel Christmas the way it’s felt since 2007. I want to feel Christmas the way it was in 2006 and before that. I’m speaking of course, about losing my father at holiday time, Christmas 2007/New Year 2008. Anyone that’s experienced grief knows the holidays are hard. But they’re even harder when that’s the time of year your loved one passed. And that’s the foundation of my Grinch attitude, but I try to tone it down.
Last night I went to a holiday potluck. Almost everything had cheese. My friends with the vegetarian, non-dairy Thai food saved me on that one. It didn’t really feel like Christmas, but it was social, it was merry, and I guess that’s as close as it gets when you’re an expat away from your family and culture. It was nice.
On the walk and motorbike taxi ride home, I marveled at the ridiculous Christmas lights, fake reindeer and sleighs and what not decked out for the shopping megaplexes. While that looks neat, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Just commercialism. But, I suppose we don’t do a good job separating the two.
I received a Christmas card today from a good friend.
And it felt a little more like Christmas.
My Uncle Steve told me he is sending Uncle Jim’s famous Christmas cookies and cards for Christmas and my birthday. Family. Christmas.
I have a pile of un-mailed gifts sitting on a stool in my apartment. When I realized it would take two months to ship them; I figured well, I’m already late I’ll get to it after some other year end business. And it won’t matter that it won’t be there in time for Christmas, because the sentiment is what really makes it so.
But, maybe I just don’t want to feel Christmas the way it’s felt since 2007. I want to feel Christmas the way it was in 2006 and before that. I’m speaking of course, about losing my father at holiday time, Christmas 2007/New Year 2008. Anyone that’s experienced grief knows the holidays are hard. But they’re even harder when that’s the time of year your loved one passed. And that’s the foundation of my Grinch attitude, but I try to tone it down.
Last night I went to a holiday potluck. Almost everything had cheese. My friends with the vegetarian, non-dairy Thai food saved me on that one. It didn’t really feel like Christmas, but it was social, it was merry, and I guess that’s as close as it gets when you’re an expat away from your family and culture. It was nice.
On the walk and motorbike taxi ride home, I marveled at the ridiculous Christmas lights, fake reindeer and sleighs and what not decked out for the shopping megaplexes. While that looks neat, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Just commercialism. But, I suppose we don’t do a good job separating the two.
I received a Christmas card today from a good friend.
And it felt a little more like Christmas.
My Uncle Steve told me he is sending Uncle Jim’s famous Christmas cookies and cards for Christmas and my birthday. Family. Christmas.
I have a pile of un-mailed gifts sitting on a stool in my apartment. When I realized it would take two months to ship them; I figured well, I’m already late I’ll get to it after some other year end business. And it won’t matter that it won’t be there in time for Christmas, because the sentiment is what really makes it so.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Oh Where does the Time Go
So here we are, December. Where has the time gone?
Well, I’ve read so many books I feel I might be close to on par with my 7th grade self’s bookworm abilities, and perhaps a little improved. And I’m quite happy about that.
I’ve re-examined and re-confirmed the plight that is being a serially monogamous white female feminist in Bangkok. But I’m not going to write a book about it, because it would be shallow, and everyone wants to hear about the men and their Asian girlfriends and wives any way. I’m so getting spammed for that last paragraph.
But regardless, let’s sum up some of where I’ve been.
I’ve been to Penang, Malaysia, where I witnessed a Daoist celebration of the God of Prosperity’s birthday. I shared a ‘steam boat’ (in Chinese, ‘hot pot’) dinner with a group of no less than 9 nationalities in a newly opened art gallery. I got to see a fellow artist and friend currently working in Penang. I hiked through a National Park with some Brits I met at my hostel, to Turtle Beach. We missed the turtles. They showed me an interesting British sitcom that seemed like it should be viewed, and was probably created, with the help of LSD. And I did try ice kachang and that other noodle dish I was supposed to try. Oh, and frog. Penang has so much food; you could spend months there and never try it all. Maybe someday I’ll try.
Within the span of one day I found out school’s opening was pushed back yet further, and I turned around and booked myself a ticket and got back to Chiang Mai with less than 24 hours between landing back in Bangkok after Penang. I landed just in time to catch some good Loy Krathong festival photos, coming into Chiang Mai evening of the event with my acquired that day tripod. I win. Photographers note: Don’t shun the Starbucks when it has a third story balcony overlooking the parade where you can set up your tripod above the crowds. I didn’t even have to buy anything, I just waltzed on up.
I went mountain biking for the first time. I’m talking shin guard elbow armor mountain biking. Yes, it was the beginners trail, but it wasn’t anything to scoff at. Especially as I cannot recall the last time I rode a bicycle, 2009 back at Purdue, on sidewalks? I started counting how many times I fell. And then I thought to myself. How many kilometers are you biking? And what percentage of that is going to be taken up by your falls? So who cares? You just went mountain biking. That’s pretty awesome, regardless of how many times you slid and fell. One of the guides told me some people give up and walk their bike down the mountain, taking until 6pm for a ride that should end between 3 and 4pm. Sometimes I had to rest, or walk my bike over a bunch of boulders, but I always got back on. And oh goodness do I understand why serious cyclers wear padded shorts.
So I sit here and reflect, and wonder how I will phrase my words to keep from being cliché. But the fact is, I’ve learned more about myself this past year than I’ve learned about Thailand. I’ve learned a lot about Thailand, don’t get me wrong. But there are so many things I’d never been able to do before moving over here.
Thanksgiving this year was a smaller group, but we came together, laughed and ate. It reminded me that I miss that family tradition back home; but we all reminded each other how thankful we are to be in Thailand. Where I have a job. Where I can get medical treatment and, in my income bracket at least, know I’ll be able to receive and pay for treatment. And where I finally have room to just breathe.
My students will be back on Tuesday, December 6th, the 5th being the King’s birthday. After the October break and an extra five-week break due to the flooding, a friend of mine was right, “long break makes not just students lazy, but teachers too!” It’ll be an adjustment. But it’s time. We won’t be doing essays this quarter. I might be setting up a blog and requiring my students to publish their flood stories in English. Though I clearly know how to set up a blog, multiple authors is a bit trickier, and I’ll be consulting my 15 year old computer gurus on this matter. I will shamelessly ask you to read some of their stories.
I’ve spent some time tutoring a flood refugee at school. It’s hard going, but it’s more fulfilling than sitting in the office (teachers have still had to appear part of the time despite the students being pardoned for the flood), playing windows solitaire. I can hardly believe it’s December. In this tropical climate, you lose all sense of seasons, having grown up with all four. But I’ve done a lot, starting with my goal of living in Thailand for a year. And I’m not done yet.
In the words of Matchbox 20,
“Let’s see how far we’ve come! Let’s see how far we go!”
Well, I’ve read so many books I feel I might be close to on par with my 7th grade self’s bookworm abilities, and perhaps a little improved. And I’m quite happy about that.
I’ve re-examined and re-confirmed the plight that is being a serially monogamous white female feminist in Bangkok. But I’m not going to write a book about it, because it would be shallow, and everyone wants to hear about the men and their Asian girlfriends and wives any way. I’m so getting spammed for that last paragraph.
But regardless, let’s sum up some of where I’ve been.
I’ve been to Penang, Malaysia, where I witnessed a Daoist celebration of the God of Prosperity’s birthday. I shared a ‘steam boat’ (in Chinese, ‘hot pot’) dinner with a group of no less than 9 nationalities in a newly opened art gallery. I got to see a fellow artist and friend currently working in Penang. I hiked through a National Park with some Brits I met at my hostel, to Turtle Beach. We missed the turtles. They showed me an interesting British sitcom that seemed like it should be viewed, and was probably created, with the help of LSD. And I did try ice kachang and that other noodle dish I was supposed to try. Oh, and frog. Penang has so much food; you could spend months there and never try it all. Maybe someday I’ll try.
Within the span of one day I found out school’s opening was pushed back yet further, and I turned around and booked myself a ticket and got back to Chiang Mai with less than 24 hours between landing back in Bangkok after Penang. I landed just in time to catch some good Loy Krathong festival photos, coming into Chiang Mai evening of the event with my acquired that day tripod. I win. Photographers note: Don’t shun the Starbucks when it has a third story balcony overlooking the parade where you can set up your tripod above the crowds. I didn’t even have to buy anything, I just waltzed on up.
I went mountain biking for the first time. I’m talking shin guard elbow armor mountain biking. Yes, it was the beginners trail, but it wasn’t anything to scoff at. Especially as I cannot recall the last time I rode a bicycle, 2009 back at Purdue, on sidewalks? I started counting how many times I fell. And then I thought to myself. How many kilometers are you biking? And what percentage of that is going to be taken up by your falls? So who cares? You just went mountain biking. That’s pretty awesome, regardless of how many times you slid and fell. One of the guides told me some people give up and walk their bike down the mountain, taking until 6pm for a ride that should end between 3 and 4pm. Sometimes I had to rest, or walk my bike over a bunch of boulders, but I always got back on. And oh goodness do I understand why serious cyclers wear padded shorts.
So I sit here and reflect, and wonder how I will phrase my words to keep from being cliché. But the fact is, I’ve learned more about myself this past year than I’ve learned about Thailand. I’ve learned a lot about Thailand, don’t get me wrong. But there are so many things I’d never been able to do before moving over here.
Thanksgiving this year was a smaller group, but we came together, laughed and ate. It reminded me that I miss that family tradition back home; but we all reminded each other how thankful we are to be in Thailand. Where I have a job. Where I can get medical treatment and, in my income bracket at least, know I’ll be able to receive and pay for treatment. And where I finally have room to just breathe.
My students will be back on Tuesday, December 6th, the 5th being the King’s birthday. After the October break and an extra five-week break due to the flooding, a friend of mine was right, “long break makes not just students lazy, but teachers too!” It’ll be an adjustment. But it’s time. We won’t be doing essays this quarter. I might be setting up a blog and requiring my students to publish their flood stories in English. Though I clearly know how to set up a blog, multiple authors is a bit trickier, and I’ll be consulting my 15 year old computer gurus on this matter. I will shamelessly ask you to read some of their stories.
I’ve spent some time tutoring a flood refugee at school. It’s hard going, but it’s more fulfilling than sitting in the office (teachers have still had to appear part of the time despite the students being pardoned for the flood), playing windows solitaire. I can hardly believe it’s December. In this tropical climate, you lose all sense of seasons, having grown up with all four. But I’ve done a lot, starting with my goal of living in Thailand for a year. And I’m not done yet.
In the words of Matchbox 20,
“Let’s see how far we’ve come! Let’s see how far we go!”
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