Today's Thoughts...
I love meeting new people. That’s what life overseas is about— plugging into the expat community as it grows and just livin it up. New faces, new places. You know the drill. So the other night I made some new friends. Really cool people. Enjoyed them a lot. Now you know whenever you get talking out here with recent grads like yourself, the inevitable topic comes up— where did you go to school? Now back in the States, I usually danced around this question. “I went to school in New Jersey.” “Er— a little place not too far from Trenton.” “I was on the East Coast for my four years.” Whatever I can eek out really that doesn’t sound pretentious or even remotely stuffy as tons of people always seem to assume about certain schools in the Northeast. Honestly for four years, you would have thought I was ashamed. Sort of whispering the name and cringing like at any moment I was expecting to get caught on Candid Camera and was desperately trying to avoid it. Here in Thailand most of the folks I meet are from so many places all over the globe that it never really matters if I drop the P-bomb every once in a while, so I usually don’t hesitate. It’s really no biggie. Every once in a while though, that’s not exactly the case.
Take the other night at dinner for instance. Fab dinner. Great folks. Like I said. Well I struck up a conversation with a really cool guy and as usual the convo turned to his recently graduated status. “Where’d you go?” I asked. He replied about a school just outside of C--, a city in the States. Awesome! “I thought about N--!” I chimed in before I could stop myself. Eeerrrr! Squeeze on the breaks, lady! I hadn’t felt this one out yet and here I was plowing full steam ahead into the dreaded topic. Here goes. Naturally, he went down the path of circuitous explanation— why his school was really great (I hadn’t denied such a thing at all), why N-- was absurdly overpriced (okay, can't deny that), and ultimately why his decision to go State rather than shell out the thousands and thousands necessary for N-- was the best choice he could have possibly made (again, no contest; I don’t know his life’s story). He of course summed it up: “I got a great education for four years for the price they pay for one. Ha. They’ll be payin their loans off the rest of their lives while I’m living mine. You see, it’s like that with all those upper level schools and the Ivies.” Red light. Red light. Mayday. Mayday.
“Really?” I asked, lifting a quizzical brow as I sipped my water. “Do go on.” “Well you know they just pay so much and it’s not worth it. It’s like they’re just paying for a name on a piece of paper and what does that mean any way?” “Job security?” I asked. I was not bristling. I repeat I was not bristling. “Well, not even. Look at the market now. Where you came from doesn’t matter. You all end up in the same place.” “Totally.” I nodded. He had a point. Here we were, in the same place, a tiny rickety food stand in Thailand. He pushed on. “Yeah, so I think you’re better off just steering clear of all that debt and getting a solid education elsewhere.” I remarked that I had a friend who was currently getting his PhD at N--. “What in something obscure like Near Eastern Studies?” he laughed. Actually, yes. He graduated from Georgetown and speaks Arabic fluently. He’s also lived in Morocco and Senegal where he worked on his Fulbright scholarship and plans to become a college professor at Brown." (Alright so I added the Brown part; forgive me.) “Oh, well don’t get me wrong N-- is a good school," he interjected. I merely smiled. “Where did you go?” he asked, eyes on his plate, now searching for a safe topic. Looking him in the eye, I told him. And cue... silence. Talk about awkward turtle.
Sigh. It’s not that I don’t get it. Believe me I do. I said all the same things when I was college shopping. But having been there, done that, and holding that "worthless piece of paper", I can’t say I regret a single minute-- er, penny.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tents and Reggae Roots
Today's Thoughts...
Last weekend sort of flew by something like this:
Saturday, 9:30am: A crowd of some slightly hung over, some very hung over, some very sober friends all pile into a rented van to head into the mountains. We are equipped with four plastic bags, big bottles of water, and Dramamine. Check. Three very green looking individuals with large sunglasses nurse bottles of ginger ale and cups of ginger tea. Onto Pai!
1:30pm: Arrival in Pai. Stake out the camp site. Celebrations. Purchasings of absurd quantities of revelry materials. On to set up camp. Literally.
3:00pm: Tents are officially pitched on a large lot near the river. Scenic. 80 baht/ head. Fantastic.
4:00pm: Brunch/lunch/early dinner is sought and devoured. Momentary interlude with some mealy white worms floating in a cup of nam pbla , popular fish sauce served with most rice dishes. Confusion trying to explain the slithering creatures. More green faces. Hunt for a sandwich shop/bakery. Success.
6:00pm: Back to our guest house where Elena, Cresa, and I are staying while friends head to the tents to prepare for the festival night ahead. Wait. Actually, mai mii fai— black out at our guest house Baan Pai. Sighs. Such a beautiful place. Embers glow tauntingly beneath their lamp shades. Several sudden flickers give us hope, but alas, nothing. We resort to stealing candles from the lobby tables. Done and done.
7:00pm: Somewhat dressed, colors perhaps not quite matching, mascara and eyeliner on our cheeks, Elena and I sit like old ladies sipping our Sauvignon Blanc in the restaurant and lounge, clucking and remarking on tourist passersby. Remind me again when we turned 80 and bitter?
8:30pm: Joined by Cresa, we head to the tents and then pile into the ten-person van turned fifteen-person party mobile to head to the festival grounds nearby. Thai pop music videos blare on the in-car TV. The pulsating rhythms greet us at the door. We haggle successfully for lowered ticket prices, hand over a whopping 250 baht each and head inside.
9:15pm: Okay, now I actually head inside after a lengthy Spanish convo with a Brazilian couple and their friend selling their jewelry wares at the entrance to the festival. Advice on India, Brazil, Peru, and life abound. I suddenly feel home again, whisked back to the streets of Latin America. Wistfully, I part ways and run inside to find my compadres.
9:20pm: Inside I find sheer pandemonium. Hay litters the outdoor amphitheater; Chang beer and Sangsom whiskey stands line the sides and farang and Thai alike mill about in yellow, red, and green striped shirts and woven hats and fisherman pants. The faint smell of ganja hangs on the air. Ah, Reggae Festival 2010.
Approximately 2:45am: Music still throbbing in our ear drums, we make our way to the khao soy stand on the side of the road and down hefty bowls of the spicy northern curried soup. Then some random assortment of folks, no final word on numbers, pile back into the party van, some still toting reggae cups and bottles, others sleeping while talking, ridiculousness.
3:30am: Somehow sans Cresa who has gone on a 7-11 hunt, Elena, Becca, and I make our way in the suddenly frigid mountain air back to our guest houses. Within minutes of showering, we’re knocked out cold for the many hours of the night. Rest at last.
10:30am: Cresa, Elena, and I wake to the obnoxious sounds of backpackers shouting a conversation to one another from their opposite bungalows near our own. Something along the lines of: Man with unusually high voice: “So when I woke up this morning and meditated, I was just writing in my journal about going to Laos. I really think it will cleanse me and be such a moving experience.” Girl with feigned (?) enthusiasm: “Totally. I know what you mean. Thailand has just really helped me grow so much in these past three weeks. I might do Vietnam next.” Man: “Be careful of the motorbikes.” Girl: “I know! I really think Thailand needs to have more regulations for that. It’s just ridiculous what some people get away with on the roads here. So unsafe. I’d never get on one of those motorbike things.”
The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter. Their conversation comes to a sudden stop. I think we might have laughed all the way back to Chiang Mai.
Last weekend sort of flew by something like this:
Saturday, 9:30am: A crowd of some slightly hung over, some very hung over, some very sober friends all pile into a rented van to head into the mountains. We are equipped with four plastic bags, big bottles of water, and Dramamine. Check. Three very green looking individuals with large sunglasses nurse bottles of ginger ale and cups of ginger tea. Onto Pai!
1:30pm: Arrival in Pai. Stake out the camp site. Celebrations. Purchasings of absurd quantities of revelry materials. On to set up camp. Literally.
3:00pm: Tents are officially pitched on a large lot near the river. Scenic. 80 baht/ head. Fantastic.
4:00pm: Brunch/lunch/early dinner is sought and devoured. Momentary interlude with some mealy white worms floating in a cup of nam pbla , popular fish sauce served with most rice dishes. Confusion trying to explain the slithering creatures. More green faces. Hunt for a sandwich shop/bakery. Success.
6:00pm: Back to our guest house where Elena, Cresa, and I are staying while friends head to the tents to prepare for the festival night ahead. Wait. Actually, mai mii fai— black out at our guest house Baan Pai. Sighs. Such a beautiful place. Embers glow tauntingly beneath their lamp shades. Several sudden flickers give us hope, but alas, nothing. We resort to stealing candles from the lobby tables. Done and done.
7:00pm: Somewhat dressed, colors perhaps not quite matching, mascara and eyeliner on our cheeks, Elena and I sit like old ladies sipping our Sauvignon Blanc in the restaurant and lounge, clucking and remarking on tourist passersby. Remind me again when we turned 80 and bitter?
8:30pm: Joined by Cresa, we head to the tents and then pile into the ten-person van turned fifteen-person party mobile to head to the festival grounds nearby. Thai pop music videos blare on the in-car TV. The pulsating rhythms greet us at the door. We haggle successfully for lowered ticket prices, hand over a whopping 250 baht each and head inside.
9:15pm: Okay, now I actually head inside after a lengthy Spanish convo with a Brazilian couple and their friend selling their jewelry wares at the entrance to the festival. Advice on India, Brazil, Peru, and life abound. I suddenly feel home again, whisked back to the streets of Latin America. Wistfully, I part ways and run inside to find my compadres.
9:20pm: Inside I find sheer pandemonium. Hay litters the outdoor amphitheater; Chang beer and Sangsom whiskey stands line the sides and farang and Thai alike mill about in yellow, red, and green striped shirts and woven hats and fisherman pants. The faint smell of ganja hangs on the air. Ah, Reggae Festival 2010.
Approximately 2:45am: Music still throbbing in our ear drums, we make our way to the khao soy stand on the side of the road and down hefty bowls of the spicy northern curried soup. Then some random assortment of folks, no final word on numbers, pile back into the party van, some still toting reggae cups and bottles, others sleeping while talking, ridiculousness.
3:30am: Somehow sans Cresa who has gone on a 7-11 hunt, Elena, Becca, and I make our way in the suddenly frigid mountain air back to our guest houses. Within minutes of showering, we’re knocked out cold for the many hours of the night. Rest at last.
10:30am: Cresa, Elena, and I wake to the obnoxious sounds of backpackers shouting a conversation to one another from their opposite bungalows near our own. Something along the lines of: Man with unusually high voice: “So when I woke up this morning and meditated, I was just writing in my journal about going to Laos. I really think it will cleanse me and be such a moving experience.” Girl with feigned (?) enthusiasm: “Totally. I know what you mean. Thailand has just really helped me grow so much in these past three weeks. I might do Vietnam next.” Man: “Be careful of the motorbikes.” Girl: “I know! I really think Thailand needs to have more regulations for that. It’s just ridiculous what some people get away with on the roads here. So unsafe. I’d never get on one of those motorbike things.”
The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter. Their conversation comes to a sudden stop. I think we might have laughed all the way back to Chiang Mai.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Bicycle Built For Two
Today's Thoughts...
Last weekend, Lili and I, love it though we do, needed a bit of a break from Chiang Mai. The conversation went something more or less like this:
(Friday Night over burritos at El Diablo)
Me: I’m feeling sort of restless. I want to DO something this weekend.
Lili: Me too. Now that I’m done work, I want to see something new. Like what?
Me: I’m not sure. I’m not up for the beach.
Lili: Nah. Too far, dude. Maybe something cultural?
Me: Hmmm.
(Saturday Afternoon lying on my bed)
Me: (on phone) What’s up?
Lili: Just out for a jog.
Me: Cool, cool. So you want to go to Sukhothai? It’s halfway to Bangkok but it’s got some pretty cool ruins.
Lili: Totally. I’m there. When do you want to leave?
Me: Like now?
Lili: Awesome. See you at the bus station.
Ahh, Thailand. Land of the Get-Up-And-Go. So here’s where we went…
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Teachable Moments
Today's Thoughts...
Well I thought that a lesson on product launching as a segment of my marketing game in Public Speaking would be fairly innocuous. Students had to simply survey their peers and teachers about a given product-- deodorant, face wash, toothpaste, toilet tissue-- and come back with their findings. Do you like it soft/minty/fresh/fruity? What adjective comes to mind when you think of it? What person(s) come to mind when you think of it? The point was, basically, to devise a persuasive speech and commercial to gear your product towards a target community in need or better yet, want, of it. Simple, right? Hence my teachable moment.
One group returns, bright-eyed and eager with their report on deodorant. Sipping my morning cup o' joe, I listen and smile, nodding, tallying their points. People think of deodorant as refreshing, freshening, drying, whitening (this is Thailand, remember, a place where like perhaps some two thirds of the world people take the time to whiten their pits). Check: two points. People love that deodorant can keep them smelling fresh, keep them dry, provide a delicious aroma to waft from beneath their arms. Check: two points, er, one point-- aroma? Delicious? Hmmm. What people does it make you think of? At this, one of the students presenting clears his throat and sort of mumbles a reply. "Speak up," I urge him, my face half buried in my notebook as I track their score. He mumbles again. I swivel on my stool to face him, smiling. "What did your group find out," I press, ignorant to his discomfort. "Well, ajarn," he starts. "The people it makes you think of is the Turkish students because they smell not so good all the time. I mean, some of them, smell not so good all the time. I mean...," his eyes dart to the sole Turkish student in our class. He quickly fashions an apology-- "No, not you. I mean, like other kids, who need... to... er... wear deodorant."
The rest of the class chatters on, oblivious. I freeze, coffee mug in hand. What did they call this at AACLDS-- a teachable moment? Okay, okay, what do I say? My brain is racing. I nod to him, giving him permission to squirm to his seat as the next group rises. My Turkish student and I lock eyes and instantly I'm in his seat, seven years ago, sitting in my Social Justice classroom sophomore year of high school. Girls in green skirts are chatting all around me as our teacher writes two words on the board-- AFFIRMATIVE ACTION. Strawberry blonde ponytail bobbing, the girl in front of me quickly raises her hand to answer the teacher's query-- "What is affirmative action?" "Well, it's when Black and Spanish kids get to take the spots of smarter White kids in school just because they're minorities." I feel myself cringe, sinking lower in my chair. All the pale faces in the classroom turn to face me; I suddenly feel like its one of those I-went-to-class-in-my-underwear dreams. My teacher turns beet red and the strawberry blonde ponytail slowly swivels to face me, her face one color from the tip of her nose to the ends of her hair. "I mean kids who don't work hard, not like you," she stammers. I excuse myself to the rest room and don't come back. My teacher is silent.
I blink and see my student's eyes once more. Allowing the remaining two groups to report, I gather my faculties and slow my spinning thoughts. As the final students take their seats, I turn to the board and write one word on the board: STEREOTYPE. I turn to face the class, already steadily copying. "What did we say you never want to do when you speak before a large group of people?" I ask. Pages flip, a hand goes up: "Alienate your audience." "And what is the best way to do that?" Another hand: "Offend someone." "What is a stereotype?" Blank stares. One student raises his hand uncertainly: "Making an opinion about a whole group based on rumors or what a few people have done or do." His textbook answer suffices. I look to the student who had read the earlier presentation. "Now I know you were reporting from what your interviewee told you, about Turkish students and the deodorant, right?" He nods. "Well, no fault to you, this is a good example to show one way of accidentally alienating and offending not only your audience but your friends..."
After roughly another half hour, the class ends and the students gather their books. I notice as my former presenter approaches his Turkish classmate. Words exchange, nods, some smiles, and what only can be called a handshake-man-hug. (You know when guys slap hands and pull into something akin to a one-armed hug? That.) I smile. My Turkish student smiles. Sighing a deep breath, for the first time I notice the beads of perspiration running down my face and neck; I realize I might just need some deodorant myself.
Well I thought that a lesson on product launching as a segment of my marketing game in Public Speaking would be fairly innocuous. Students had to simply survey their peers and teachers about a given product-- deodorant, face wash, toothpaste, toilet tissue-- and come back with their findings. Do you like it soft/minty/fresh/fruity? What adjective comes to mind when you think of it? What person(s) come to mind when you think of it? The point was, basically, to devise a persuasive speech and commercial to gear your product towards a target community in need or better yet, want, of it. Simple, right? Hence my teachable moment.
One group returns, bright-eyed and eager with their report on deodorant. Sipping my morning cup o' joe, I listen and smile, nodding, tallying their points. People think of deodorant as refreshing, freshening, drying, whitening (this is Thailand, remember, a place where like perhaps some two thirds of the world people take the time to whiten their pits). Check: two points. People love that deodorant can keep them smelling fresh, keep them dry, provide a delicious aroma to waft from beneath their arms. Check: two points, er, one point-- aroma? Delicious? Hmmm. What people does it make you think of? At this, one of the students presenting clears his throat and sort of mumbles a reply. "Speak up," I urge him, my face half buried in my notebook as I track their score. He mumbles again. I swivel on my stool to face him, smiling. "What did your group find out," I press, ignorant to his discomfort. "Well, ajarn," he starts. "The people it makes you think of is the Turkish students because they smell not so good all the time. I mean, some of them, smell not so good all the time. I mean...," his eyes dart to the sole Turkish student in our class. He quickly fashions an apology-- "No, not you. I mean, like other kids, who need... to... er... wear deodorant."
The rest of the class chatters on, oblivious. I freeze, coffee mug in hand. What did they call this at AACLDS-- a teachable moment? Okay, okay, what do I say? My brain is racing. I nod to him, giving him permission to squirm to his seat as the next group rises. My Turkish student and I lock eyes and instantly I'm in his seat, seven years ago, sitting in my Social Justice classroom sophomore year of high school. Girls in green skirts are chatting all around me as our teacher writes two words on the board-- AFFIRMATIVE ACTION. Strawberry blonde ponytail bobbing, the girl in front of me quickly raises her hand to answer the teacher's query-- "What is affirmative action?" "Well, it's when Black and Spanish kids get to take the spots of smarter White kids in school just because they're minorities." I feel myself cringe, sinking lower in my chair. All the pale faces in the classroom turn to face me; I suddenly feel like its one of those I-went-to-class-in-my-underwear dreams. My teacher turns beet red and the strawberry blonde ponytail slowly swivels to face me, her face one color from the tip of her nose to the ends of her hair. "I mean kids who don't work hard, not like you," she stammers. I excuse myself to the rest room and don't come back. My teacher is silent.
I blink and see my student's eyes once more. Allowing the remaining two groups to report, I gather my faculties and slow my spinning thoughts. As the final students take their seats, I turn to the board and write one word on the board: STEREOTYPE. I turn to face the class, already steadily copying. "What did we say you never want to do when you speak before a large group of people?" I ask. Pages flip, a hand goes up: "Alienate your audience." "And what is the best way to do that?" Another hand: "Offend someone." "What is a stereotype?" Blank stares. One student raises his hand uncertainly: "Making an opinion about a whole group based on rumors or what a few people have done or do." His textbook answer suffices. I look to the student who had read the earlier presentation. "Now I know you were reporting from what your interviewee told you, about Turkish students and the deodorant, right?" He nods. "Well, no fault to you, this is a good example to show one way of accidentally alienating and offending not only your audience but your friends..."
After roughly another half hour, the class ends and the students gather their books. I notice as my former presenter approaches his Turkish classmate. Words exchange, nods, some smiles, and what only can be called a handshake-man-hug. (You know when guys slap hands and pull into something akin to a one-armed hug? That.) I smile. My Turkish student smiles. Sighing a deep breath, for the first time I notice the beads of perspiration running down my face and neck; I realize I might just need some deodorant myself.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Home Coming
Today's Thoughts...
Wow. It has been quite some time since I’ve written. December was a blur, but I’m back. Back to the web world, back to the blog world, back to Chiang Mai. It’s strange you know? I expected to feel like a fish out of water going home after being away, but truthfully, nothing really changes. The people who loved you still love you. Your room is still your room. Your pillows are just as soft. Well, sometimes your brother grows ten inches and suddenly sprouts a thicket of dark fuzz he’s calling a mustache. And occasionally your father develops something of a social life and your mother learns to take a break and breathe every once in a while. Stuff like that. But otherwise, things are pretty much the same, just as you left them seven months ago.
It’s being back that’s strange, the part that for so many months has begun to make sense, suddenly unravels, the very fabric threatening to tear. Why are you getting on a plane to travel literally to the other side of the world? Why are you cranking, kicking, pumping in vain to get a two-bit second-hand motorbike to start? Why are you deserting hot water showers, meals that don’t involve rice, and weather that actually changes every so often to come back to… to come back to what exactly? That’s what I asked myself as I hopped on the first of five planes back to this place. That’s what I asked myself as I clambered into a tuk tuk outside of Chiang Mai International Airport. What am I doing here? (A little depressing, no?)
Then I got that damn bike to start and went whirring down the highway, the warm air on my arms and cheeks. Then I saddled up with my copious bags and papers and strode into a classroom amidst giggles (yes, college students still giggle) and noticed the “Welcome Back!” sign written in highlighter and hanging from my podium. Then I stepped into a little bar with international football (soccer) games in full gear, Europeans cheering, Americans tucked away at the rear, me clanking bottles with some of my closest compadres in this tiny town of a city. But it was when I called my father, tears in my eyes, desperate to cling to some shred of sanity, to find a method to my madness and a reason for the growing doubts that hung over me like a petulant cloud in rainy season, then and only then did I start to see. “It takes a lot to be there,” he said, the Skype connection struggling to carry his words to me. “You know, not everyone’s out there doing what you’re doing. It’s hard. Very hard. You're far away, but you’re making it work. That’s all that really matters.” I couldn’t tell if it was the connection fading or his voice: “I’m proud of you.”
Going back home will always be going back home, you know? Home is the place where my parents are, where my brother stays, where the people I love will always love me back—- my grandmother dutifully reading this blog, my aunt writing me snailmail letters from 10,000 miles away, my Visi chicas who I know will never leave my side no matter how far I stray, my cousins, my uncles, my people. My home. Yes, going back will mean precisely what it has meant these past few years of college; it will mean all of that till I’m wrinkled in the face and gray in the hair. But returning to Chiang Mai is something different. It’s not about leaving home and the place where I am loved. It’s about coming back to the place where I belong. And I think for the moment, it’s where I’m supposed to be.
Wow. It has been quite some time since I’ve written. December was a blur, but I’m back. Back to the web world, back to the blog world, back to Chiang Mai. It’s strange you know? I expected to feel like a fish out of water going home after being away, but truthfully, nothing really changes. The people who loved you still love you. Your room is still your room. Your pillows are just as soft. Well, sometimes your brother grows ten inches and suddenly sprouts a thicket of dark fuzz he’s calling a mustache. And occasionally your father develops something of a social life and your mother learns to take a break and breathe every once in a while. Stuff like that. But otherwise, things are pretty much the same, just as you left them seven months ago.
It’s being back that’s strange, the part that for so many months has begun to make sense, suddenly unravels, the very fabric threatening to tear. Why are you getting on a plane to travel literally to the other side of the world? Why are you cranking, kicking, pumping in vain to get a two-bit second-hand motorbike to start? Why are you deserting hot water showers, meals that don’t involve rice, and weather that actually changes every so often to come back to… to come back to what exactly? That’s what I asked myself as I hopped on the first of five planes back to this place. That’s what I asked myself as I clambered into a tuk tuk outside of Chiang Mai International Airport. What am I doing here? (A little depressing, no?)
Then I got that damn bike to start and went whirring down the highway, the warm air on my arms and cheeks. Then I saddled up with my copious bags and papers and strode into a classroom amidst giggles (yes, college students still giggle) and noticed the “Welcome Back!” sign written in highlighter and hanging from my podium. Then I stepped into a little bar with international football (soccer) games in full gear, Europeans cheering, Americans tucked away at the rear, me clanking bottles with some of my closest compadres in this tiny town of a city. But it was when I called my father, tears in my eyes, desperate to cling to some shred of sanity, to find a method to my madness and a reason for the growing doubts that hung over me like a petulant cloud in rainy season, then and only then did I start to see. “It takes a lot to be there,” he said, the Skype connection struggling to carry his words to me. “You know, not everyone’s out there doing what you’re doing. It’s hard. Very hard. You're far away, but you’re making it work. That’s all that really matters.” I couldn’t tell if it was the connection fading or his voice: “I’m proud of you.”
Going back home will always be going back home, you know? Home is the place where my parents are, where my brother stays, where the people I love will always love me back—- my grandmother dutifully reading this blog, my aunt writing me snailmail letters from 10,000 miles away, my Visi chicas who I know will never leave my side no matter how far I stray, my cousins, my uncles, my people. My home. Yes, going back will mean precisely what it has meant these past few years of college; it will mean all of that till I’m wrinkled in the face and gray in the hair. But returning to Chiang Mai is something different. It’s not about leaving home and the place where I am loved. It’s about coming back to the place where I belong. And I think for the moment, it’s where I’m supposed to be.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Beauty of the Bard
Today's Thoughts...
A few words from my Shakespeare class as we attempted sonnets just before staining their literary innocence with the blood and gore of Macbeth…
(From the shyest boy in class)
You are as beautiful as an angel
Who watches me every day from the sky
My dream like we are in a fairy tale.
I always keep it in my mind
Oh my love, you are so noble
I do not dare to propose to you
I am waiting for the miracle
Just to make my dream come true
Do you see your good man?
You will see how I am sincere?
Can do all with my heart and hands
Hope one day you see me here
I just hope my dream comes true
To live together with you.
***
(From the shyest girl in class)
The love that will last forever
When you and me are meant to be
There is a spark when we are together
Some strong bond that we cannot see
I pray to the Angels do not take us apart
Because I’ve been waiting for so long
You are my everything, my heart
The one who completes my love song
You are the star that fulfills the sky
The lost pieces of my jigsaw
When I’m with you I feel I can fly
You have owned my heart of all
The Gods have given us their blessing
That our love will be everlasting
****
(From the most outspoken guy in class)
I don’t know whether this is right or wrong
To hear your voice day and night long
When I close my eyes, your face I see
In my dreams, with you I long to be
I really don’t know what love is
Hope I’ll someday learn from you this
I’m enchanted with everything you are
I really want to be with you there
Your life is to share…
Something tells me that you are mine
What I feel for you will never decline
Sometimes when I think of you, I blush
Have your own way…I don’t wanna rush
I can wait for you all my life.
Suddenly the Bard's words have a whole new meaning in these kids' mouths... :)
Monday, November 23, 2009
Breakin all tha rulez
Today's Thoughts...
When I started to ride my bike, I made myself promise not to break five very simple, very cardinal rules. Everybody else did it, said I, but not me. Oh no. Fearful farang that I am, there’s no way I’d ever…
Rules of the Road:
1) I hereby promise to never squeeze through traffic with approximately 4 to 6 inches between myself and the two pick-ups on either side of me. (Okay, but sometimes, you really don’t have time to wait in line at that traffic light.)
2) I hereby promise to never rideth o motorcy upon the footpath of man (aka the sidewalk). (Again, no time, really just no time.)
3) I hereby promise to never run a red light be it as it may that red lights (not at intersections!) are in fact optional in this city. (If no one else is waiting…I mean you just look dumb.)
4) I hereby promise to never ride upon the highway in reverse. (But really? Are you going to go all the way down to the next U-turn because you missed your turn-off by 10 feet? No, I didn’t think so.)
5) I hereby promise to never be struck by a moving vehicle that nudges me across two lanes and looks at me like I’m the one who caused him grief in his shiny silver Civic while he undoubtedly curses my name to the girl on the other end of his mobile phone. (Seriously. C’mon. I’m on two wheels. You hit ME.)
I hereby promise not to make any more promises. Last time I checked, I was still in Asia. Here, I’m playin by their rules.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Good Eats Penang
Buddhas at Kek Lok Si Temple
Today's Thoughts...
Alright, so as promised, I will return to the saga of October Break, picking up with the deliciousness that is the food capital of Malaysia: Penang. Let me say that the cuisine certainly unbelievably lives up to the hype. I’m talking, some of the best dishes I’ve ever had in Asia (and I ADORE Thai food!) and right on the street corner at a plastic table and chairs. Incredible! I was in nothing but food coma for about a week and thoroughly fulfilled my plans to eat my way through Penang, so I’ll just sprinkle a little of that tasty garnish in this post…
Nasi Lemak- a Penang Favorite
Plopping down with PiA fellows Alex and Agnes in their cool apartment complete with huge gorgeous swimming pool downstairs, I set up camp for an unexpectedly extended stay in Penang. I stepped off the plane into the absurdity that is the Penang transport system. That is, crazy bus lines that wrap and wind around the city, a dearth of taxis, and as per non KL-Bangkokian SE Asia style, no subway, womp, womp. :) No bigs. I lugged my oversized bags onto the nearest bus and proceeded on a nearly three hour journey utterly lost (of course I’d be lost) around the city. No cell phone in sight, I had no way of reaching Alex and Aggie so I just went with the flow and managed to make friends with an elderly Chinese woman who convinced me I would be going on a Buddhist temple retreat with her later in the week (complete with cell phone numbers, addresses, and emails) and an Iranian photo-journalist and graphic design student who asked me to be a model for some of his latest work. Sweating, dragging at least my weight in luggage; that was the last thing I was expecting at the end of my incredibly long journey. The last thing, but perhaps the best as he had once lived precisely where Alex and Aggie do and unlike the scores of university students and bus drivers who had no idea what I was talking about when I asked over and again for directions (you know, panting, dripping, heaving bags) and dropped me and my entourage off right at their doorstep for free! Sometimes it does help to play up the damsel in distress card occasionally ;) (More on that thought in Indo…)
Their Pool!!
If you haven’t noticed already, Penang and Malaysia in general is a HUGE melting pot of peoples. That’s what explains the overabundance and variety of great SE Asian eats there. The major population divides of Malaysia are among the Chinese and Indian populations and the ethnic Malay. In Penang, that’s amplified with mixtures of Acehnese, Thai, Burmese, and pretty much a healthy dose of all the culture SE Asia has to offer. Which means barrios of all sorts, shops of every kind, and listening to a conversation that starts to you in English, turns to a friend in their native tongue, and asks a question of a fellow Penangite (sp?) in Bahasa Malaysia. But I digress, back to the food.
Me with Hokkien Mee
During my stay, I managed to make it through about nine of the twelve top dishes of Penang including Char Koay Teow (Chinese fried noodles with seafood, eggs, etc. and my favorite of all the dishes), Hokkien Mee (Hokkien Chinese soup with spices, meats, and boiled eggs), Laksa (the deliciously creamy fish-ball curry-esque soup and my second favorite), Mee Goreng (Indian fried noodle), Mee Rebus (Indian sweet noodle soup with boiled egg), Nasi Kandar (Indian Muslim rice and curry and meat), Nasi Lemak (a Penang favorite of rice, boiled egg, and meat), Maggie Mee (Ramen-type noodles fried and perfect after a night of drinks), and of course some Mango Lassi to top it off. And I can’t remember the rest. And I barely tipped the iceberg. It was like hopping through Asia on my plate. I’m salivating as we speak. Ok. I’m going to stop. But the noodles, I’m telling you! Orgasmic, really. My first full day there, I did all the highlights of Georgetown, Penang’s downtown district and hub. I went to Little India, Chinatown, the Esplanade along the sea (Penang is an island btw, how did I not realize that before?), famous Hindu temples, famous mosques, the Khoo Kong Si Chinese clan house, St. George’s Church, home and museum of the man they call the Rockefeller of the East Cheong Fat Tze, and the Penang State Museum to name a few.
Exhibits of Nonya Culture at Penang State Museum
The State museum was my favorite spot because of the plethora of exhibits of Penang’s ridiculously rich cultural legacy. I’m somewhat addicted to anything that screams heritage, racial/ethnic legacy, pretty much all that anthro-type stuff we learned in the fine halls of Princeton ;) So the museum was a huge hit with full on displays of Penang’s many groups, when they came, their courtship practices, food background, opium dens, arranged marriages, etc. Loved it, loved it.
Hands off the Balls
Next day, I plopped on several buses and made my way to the most beautiful temple I have ever seen, purportedly the largest in SE Asia. The Kek Lok Si Temple, or the “Temple of Supreme Bliss,” is known as the Temple of the Thousand Buddhas for the thousand plus statues of the Buddha that dot its terraces, walkways, and peaks.
Kek Lok Si Temple Complex
It is also home of the enormous statue of Kuan Yin, of whom I purchased a large fold out wall hanging for her uncanny resemblance to the Virgin Mary standing on the serpent Satan while Yuan stands on the back of a dragon, halo adorning her porcelain frame. The temple complex is also known for the composition of its highest temple peak which has Chinese, Thai, and Hindu architecture from base to crest. Breath-takingly beautiful and inspiring. I could spend hours just hanging out up there and did, looking over the city as the sun sank low in the sky. ::sighs:: Oh, Asia.
Offering Tiles at Kek Lok Si
When I wasn’t engorging myself on noodles, rice, and curries or hiking my way up to sacred ground, I was bopping around on buses, indulging in the icy refreshing flavor of Jazz beer, having cheery dark-skinned Indian men laugh and point at their skin, shouting “Same! Same!” to me, and conscripting a fellow partner in SE Asian crime to follow me. My fourth day in Penang, Dylan flew in to spend a couple more days with me soaking up food and fun.
Our first stop was SoHo bar and pub where we danced till we were breathless to the tunes of…Footloose? In Asia? WHAT! Reliving some high school glory days of golden pumps and jean skirt cut-offs, I rocked like I was had been back on stage belting “I Need a Hero” yesterday. Oh we brought it all right. Perhaps to our chagrin, had we cared enough to notice, the entirety of the bar saw just how well (or hideously)we brought it complete with air guitars, squeals, and choreographed dancing. Move over Kek Lok Si. That was a sight to behold.
Cheesy Nan Deliciousness
As if the sunset over the thousand buddhas wasn’t enough, indulging in Dylan’s love of all things that go boom and vroom, we decided his second day there to catch an ancient furnicular to Penang Hill, the highest look-out point and retreat in the city. Swept northward by its cool breezes, we climbed into the rickety cars and managed to make it to the top just in time for the sun to unfold its rays of fiery reds and fierce oranges over a perfectly blue blue sky. Cameras could never fully capture the magic in that, the skyline of Penang beneath us.
Penang Skyline from Penang Hill
The Hindu temple, mosque, and night time fire-show made the long trip up and back more than well worth the journey. Much more worth the price of admission than the horrifying gated two building compound down near the Esplanade that they call Fort Cornwallis. Ooh, not worth the money, energy, anything. Had the feeling not quite of fading glory, but glory that never was with carny costumed “soldiers,” a megaphone that boomed the time to the backdrop of anthem music and something like a twenty-one gun salute. Kind of like a mini theme park gone awfully wrong.
Dylan in Prison at Fort Cornwallis
But most of the trip to Penang was just right. Exactly what was needed after the stresses (and beauty!) of Vietnam and the commercialism (and comfort!) of Singapore. Perfect slice of SE Asia topped with a little bit of sunset for flavor—delectable.
Today's Thoughts...
Alright, so as promised, I will return to the saga of October Break, picking up with the deliciousness that is the food capital of Malaysia: Penang. Let me say that the cuisine certainly unbelievably lives up to the hype. I’m talking, some of the best dishes I’ve ever had in Asia (and I ADORE Thai food!) and right on the street corner at a plastic table and chairs. Incredible! I was in nothing but food coma for about a week and thoroughly fulfilled my plans to eat my way through Penang, so I’ll just sprinkle a little of that tasty garnish in this post…
Nasi Lemak- a Penang Favorite
Plopping down with PiA fellows Alex and Agnes in their cool apartment complete with huge gorgeous swimming pool downstairs, I set up camp for an unexpectedly extended stay in Penang. I stepped off the plane into the absurdity that is the Penang transport system. That is, crazy bus lines that wrap and wind around the city, a dearth of taxis, and as per non KL-Bangkokian SE Asia style, no subway, womp, womp. :) No bigs. I lugged my oversized bags onto the nearest bus and proceeded on a nearly three hour journey utterly lost (of course I’d be lost) around the city. No cell phone in sight, I had no way of reaching Alex and Aggie so I just went with the flow and managed to make friends with an elderly Chinese woman who convinced me I would be going on a Buddhist temple retreat with her later in the week (complete with cell phone numbers, addresses, and emails) and an Iranian photo-journalist and graphic design student who asked me to be a model for some of his latest work. Sweating, dragging at least my weight in luggage; that was the last thing I was expecting at the end of my incredibly long journey. The last thing, but perhaps the best as he had once lived precisely where Alex and Aggie do and unlike the scores of university students and bus drivers who had no idea what I was talking about when I asked over and again for directions (you know, panting, dripping, heaving bags) and dropped me and my entourage off right at their doorstep for free! Sometimes it does help to play up the damsel in distress card occasionally ;) (More on that thought in Indo…)
Their Pool!!
If you haven’t noticed already, Penang and Malaysia in general is a HUGE melting pot of peoples. That’s what explains the overabundance and variety of great SE Asian eats there. The major population divides of Malaysia are among the Chinese and Indian populations and the ethnic Malay. In Penang, that’s amplified with mixtures of Acehnese, Thai, Burmese, and pretty much a healthy dose of all the culture SE Asia has to offer. Which means barrios of all sorts, shops of every kind, and listening to a conversation that starts to you in English, turns to a friend in their native tongue, and asks a question of a fellow Penangite (sp?) in Bahasa Malaysia. But I digress, back to the food.
Me with Hokkien Mee
During my stay, I managed to make it through about nine of the twelve top dishes of Penang including Char Koay Teow (Chinese fried noodles with seafood, eggs, etc. and my favorite of all the dishes), Hokkien Mee (Hokkien Chinese soup with spices, meats, and boiled eggs), Laksa (the deliciously creamy fish-ball curry-esque soup and my second favorite), Mee Goreng (Indian fried noodle), Mee Rebus (Indian sweet noodle soup with boiled egg), Nasi Kandar (Indian Muslim rice and curry and meat), Nasi Lemak (a Penang favorite of rice, boiled egg, and meat), Maggie Mee (Ramen-type noodles fried and perfect after a night of drinks), and of course some Mango Lassi to top it off. And I can’t remember the rest. And I barely tipped the iceberg. It was like hopping through Asia on my plate. I’m salivating as we speak. Ok. I’m going to stop. But the noodles, I’m telling you! Orgasmic, really. My first full day there, I did all the highlights of Georgetown, Penang’s downtown district and hub. I went to Little India, Chinatown, the Esplanade along the sea (Penang is an island btw, how did I not realize that before?), famous Hindu temples, famous mosques, the Khoo Kong Si Chinese clan house, St. George’s Church, home and museum of the man they call the Rockefeller of the East Cheong Fat Tze, and the Penang State Museum to name a few.
Exhibits of Nonya Culture at Penang State Museum
The State museum was my favorite spot because of the plethora of exhibits of Penang’s ridiculously rich cultural legacy. I’m somewhat addicted to anything that screams heritage, racial/ethnic legacy, pretty much all that anthro-type stuff we learned in the fine halls of Princeton ;) So the museum was a huge hit with full on displays of Penang’s many groups, when they came, their courtship practices, food background, opium dens, arranged marriages, etc. Loved it, loved it.
Hands off the Balls
Next day, I plopped on several buses and made my way to the most beautiful temple I have ever seen, purportedly the largest in SE Asia. The Kek Lok Si Temple, or the “Temple of Supreme Bliss,” is known as the Temple of the Thousand Buddhas for the thousand plus statues of the Buddha that dot its terraces, walkways, and peaks.
Kek Lok Si Temple Complex
It is also home of the enormous statue of Kuan Yin, of whom I purchased a large fold out wall hanging for her uncanny resemblance to the Virgin Mary standing on the serpent Satan while Yuan stands on the back of a dragon, halo adorning her porcelain frame. The temple complex is also known for the composition of its highest temple peak which has Chinese, Thai, and Hindu architecture from base to crest. Breath-takingly beautiful and inspiring. I could spend hours just hanging out up there and did, looking over the city as the sun sank low in the sky. ::sighs:: Oh, Asia.
Offering Tiles at Kek Lok Si
When I wasn’t engorging myself on noodles, rice, and curries or hiking my way up to sacred ground, I was bopping around on buses, indulging in the icy refreshing flavor of Jazz beer, having cheery dark-skinned Indian men laugh and point at their skin, shouting “Same! Same!” to me, and conscripting a fellow partner in SE Asian crime to follow me. My fourth day in Penang, Dylan flew in to spend a couple more days with me soaking up food and fun.
Our first stop was SoHo bar and pub where we danced till we were breathless to the tunes of…Footloose? In Asia? WHAT! Reliving some high school glory days of golden pumps and jean skirt cut-offs, I rocked like I was had been back on stage belting “I Need a Hero” yesterday. Oh we brought it all right. Perhaps to our chagrin, had we cared enough to notice, the entirety of the bar saw just how well (or hideously)we brought it complete with air guitars, squeals, and choreographed dancing. Move over Kek Lok Si. That was a sight to behold.
Cheesy Nan Deliciousness
As if the sunset over the thousand buddhas wasn’t enough, indulging in Dylan’s love of all things that go boom and vroom, we decided his second day there to catch an ancient furnicular to Penang Hill, the highest look-out point and retreat in the city. Swept northward by its cool breezes, we climbed into the rickety cars and managed to make it to the top just in time for the sun to unfold its rays of fiery reds and fierce oranges over a perfectly blue blue sky. Cameras could never fully capture the magic in that, the skyline of Penang beneath us.
Penang Skyline from Penang Hill
The Hindu temple, mosque, and night time fire-show made the long trip up and back more than well worth the journey. Much more worth the price of admission than the horrifying gated two building compound down near the Esplanade that they call Fort Cornwallis. Ooh, not worth the money, energy, anything. Had the feeling not quite of fading glory, but glory that never was with carny costumed “soldiers,” a megaphone that boomed the time to the backdrop of anthem music and something like a twenty-one gun salute. Kind of like a mini theme park gone awfully wrong.
Dylan in Prison at Fort Cornwallis
But most of the trip to Penang was just right. Exactly what was needed after the stresses (and beauty!) of Vietnam and the commercialism (and comfort!) of Singapore. Perfect slice of SE Asia topped with a little bit of sunset for flavor—delectable.
Monday, November 9, 2009
In Honor of a King.
Today's Thoughts...
Today in class there was a rare moment. I got choked up, almost to the point of tears. Naturally I shrugged and tried to make light of it, but for once I couldn’t. You see we were talking about American icons and so I showed a video of MLK (Martin Luther King Jr.) giving his “I have a dream” speech when it occurred to me that my students had no clue what Civil Rights meant, what the 'dream' was about, or why it was and is so incredibly important to our country and to me. I don't know when the last time was when I thought about what it really means to me and for... me. When I told them that not too long ago people like me couldn’t drink water from the same fountains as others and that we were barred from even going to school with other children, they were all in shock. ‘You mean teacher because you look Black?’ Well, because I am Black. Something about watching MLK stand at the foot of the Lincoln Monument, explaining the inspiring significance of Obama in the White House, and watching the recognition dawn on their faces about their own exuberant ‘Obama, Obama!’s’ here in Thailand… it hit me somewhere deep. And I wasn’t expecting that.
Update: For the quiz that week, I had my students answer some questions on segregation and the importance of the dates 1863, 1963, and 2008 in American history (obviously with regards to race and the racial divide). I got back some wonderfully heartfelt responses from my students at the bottom of their quizzes and here was one of the notes to me:
"We could not jude the book by is cover, your heart and your skin are not the same. You're very kindness, gentle, lovely. We love you because your behave and good things you have don. Love is Color Blind. [insert drawing of a crying baby]." You know, these kids constantly find new ways to touch me.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Twisted
Today's Thoughts...
Well, it’s November and I’m asking myself when the heck I let that happen. Chiang Mai is cold (was that possible?!) and of course by cold, I mean 60 Farenheit which after five months of skin boiling heat waves, leaves me shivering on my bike as my skirt flies up time and again sending goosebumps up my thighs. Ah well. So funny story. I decided it’d be cool to try changing up my hair a bit. I was getting a wee bit tired of rockin the fro so I did up a bunch of twists all over the place one night and rolled out without a thought. Well by the utter commotion caused in the coffee break room/kitchen at work, you would have thought I’d gone out and shaved my skull. Me, five teachers, and ten hands in my hair pulling, tugging, trying to unravel the tight spirals, and murmuring in approval when they sprang back into place. Everyone was utterly transfixed by my deadlocks. Yes, deadlocks. So after two or three teachers remarked on how cute they were, who did it for me, WHAT you did them yourself, can I have some, oh of course now how silly my hair could never do it, WHAT it can! (you get the picture), I was contemplating three things. Do I tell them they word they were searching for was dreadlocks, not deadlocks? Do I try to insert some knowledge about how they’re now called locs, not dreadlocks because it sounds awful? Do I try to convince them that I in fact do not have deadlocks or dreadlocks or locs, but twists? Well, I settled on the latter as that took more time, thought energy, and vocabulary than I thought I’d ever had for the plush and woolly coils on my head. Suffice it to say, the change was something of a curious hit. I can’t wait to see what’ll happen when I show up Monday with…cornrows? Good god!
More on the updates of October vaca in Penang and Indo and the recent ridiculousness of the Loi Krathong Festival coming ASAP ;)
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