I. am. irritable.
Because the students aren't here yet, all of the classroom aircons (everyone else in the world calls air-conditioning aircon) are turned off, which means it. is. hot. everywhere. There is no relief.
I meet with students on Thursday, but I don't know which ones because I don't have my schedule yet. Because I don't have my schedule, I don't know what lessons i'll be teaching to whom. Because I don't have a schedule yet, I don't know where the classrooms are that i'm supposed to go to. The school is a maze. I haven't received any guidance on which books are appropriate for which level readers. I spent a week in this school doing nothing. I was on holiday all last week with no where to go and all the time in the world. I was here yesterday doing next to nothing and most of my day has been me trying to create "just in case" lesson plans.
Today's school lunch menu included white rice, some sort of cooked sprouts, and a lovely peppers and chicken feet dish. Chicken. feet. The girl in front of me in line identified for me "what is that?" Thankfully none of them made it on my plate. You serve yourself, thank heaven. I'm feeling fairly confident, had any of them ended up on my plate, there would have been a scene.
As Ron Burgundy would say, "I'm in a glass case of emotions."
I guess my attempts at being in the moment and not worrying about the things I can't control are working a little.. because the thing i'm most upset by today is the lunch. The fact that there were feet of chickens in a meal set out for me just really burns my biscuits. I suppose this is cultural even though i've never seen chicken feet on a menu.
When it is all said and done, I can entertain children for an hour, but I don't want to look like an idiot. The less organized I am, the harder it is to maintain control and set myself up for a successful term. I'll just keep plugging away, keep bugging people, prepare the best I can and hope for the best.
What i'm really hoping for is never to see chicken feet ever again.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Anyway, Malaysia
I am someone who thrives with more things happening in my life. When my schedule has a lot of down time, I have a tendency to spend a lot of that time... down. As in doing nothing. My school's "holiday" a week after starting my teaching gig, felt more like an inconvenience than anything. I know, i'm not normal. I did some exploring, got some more defensive driving skills under my belt, had the best pedicure of my life, and completed some domestic tasks and lesson plans. I did not write my blog post.
Here I am, awake at 7:00 am on a Sunday to watch the Clemson Tigers play. I stayed up until 3:00 am to watch my Gamecocks lose to the Vols by a field goal - what a blow. Sandy was nice enough not to call and sing Rocky Top. This year. I feel for and worry about quarterbacks after games like this one between Clemson and FSU, especially when I like the quarterback. Fans like to place blame and abandon the very people they've held at such high regard when things go don't go the way they'd hoped. Here in the land where people live and breath college football, I fear this will be a character building and skin toughening experience for Tajh. Chin up, buddy - don't listen to the nonsense.
Anyway, Malaysia.
Yep, I went there. When you arrive in Thailand, you get a stamp in your passport. This allots you 30 days in the Land of Smiles. Before it expires, if you want to stay, you have to leave the country for 24 hours. Upon return, and i'm not sure how this happens because it was taken care of for me, you can receive a 60 day tourist visa. There are several companies in the Phuket area, that i'm aware of, who will pick you up, drive you there (Panang, Malaysia), put you up in a hotel, take care of the legalities, and drive you back. Grab your barf bag, kick your feet up and join me on this terrifying, unexpected, yet fun, journey.
Pick up: Sunday, 9:00 pm at the Family Mart at the end of my street.
Must bring: passport, departure card (obtained when you land in a country and go through immigration at the airport), two passport sized pictures, and 4700 baht (roughly $151 USD).
Suggestions for packing: 1 change of clothes, pillow, some form of entertainment, any pill that helps you sleep/relax/not care that you're careening down the street at 75 mph, weaving in and out of traffic coming in both directions), and a friend who can be equally comforting and terrified in shifts, that you can lean on for "sleep time," travel tissues and hand sanitizer.
Imagine getting on a van where you're awkwardly close to eight strangers, some who don't speak English, like the lovely Ukranian woman on my right, which means you have zero communication with them. Get comfortable, because you're about to spend the next 10 hours together. The only person who directly addressed Carey and myself was an Australian who has been traveling around the world for the last year, not working, and has decided to stay in Phuket for a month to "train in muay thai" before he goes home for a little bit. Eye roll. He thinks he's going to invest in a bar here in Phuket after he gets done visiting home - not sure with what money since he hasn't been working and won't be while he's home (eye roll #2) - because so many guys who he has talked to say "they love it because it's so much fun" (eye roll #3). He's never worked in a bar, "but i've spent a lot of time in a lot of bars." Right.. that's kind of the same. Not even a little bit. Eye roll #4. The rest of our clan included three young, chatty Italians, who brought nothing but the clothes they were wearing and cigarettes. A young undetermined Asian couple, who only rode with us part of the way because they transferred to another bus so they could sit together. Originally the guy was stuck in the front passenger seat, or as I like to call it, my personal hell. There was another guy who never spoke to anyone and if he ever said anything out loud, I didn't hear it, so I can't even venture a guess.
Seven hours pass from the time Carey and I get into the van when we are jarred awake and told, through grunts and points, to enter what appears to be cattle gates leading up to a small ticket booth. This was how I envisioned a Thai prison check in to be. The entire process took close to two hours, we got back on our bus and drove the last two hours to our hotel in Panang. The bus made more stops than seemed necessary. By the time Carey and I would find a comfortable weird semi-spooning in a seated position maneuver, we would have to get out of the bus. We snagged the front row of seats, so we always had to get out of the way for the others, but that was a small price to pay for the fact that we could kick our legs up on a little bench. Being short pays off again.
Bathroom accommodations along the way are terrifying. From beginning to end, there is nothing redeeming about this part of the experience. There is no easy way around this. I have never walked into a bathroom and thought to myself, "i'd rather get back on the bus and try and make it the next unknown number of hours than pee here." From the creepy blinking florescent lighting often seen in horror movies, to the bugs and lizards trolling around, to the floor level toilets. I've peed in nicer, cleaner, fresher port-a-potties. In fact, i'll never complain about a port-a-potty again. Basically, you peed into a porcelain hole in the floor. Manual flushing involved dipping a pot/pan/tupperware container into the tub of water next to the hole in the floor and poured the water it into said hole in the floor yourself. There was rarely toilet paper (hence the tissues you pack) and occasionally places lacked sinks for washing your hands when you are done (thank you, Bath & Body works - but mostly, thank you, Mom). On the way home, after about our fourth stop I turned to Carey and explained that I "hadn't pulled the ol' squat and lean in awhile, probably not since college." Her puzzled look told me that I was doing something wrong. She didn't understand so she asked for clarification, "what is it that you are doing?" I told her I was squarely planting my feet with the hole behind me, sticking my butt out and basically doing a wall sit or a perfect form squat, "I've gotten really good at it again, I don't even touch the wall anymore." When she commended me for my creativity and offered a suggestion, of course I thanked her and listened. That day I learned you literally put your feet on either side of the hole (there are little blocks with tread) and you just squat down, much like a catcher does in baseball, or in my case like I did behind home plate during softball game all those years. Lesson learned. Next time.
Malaysia is an Islamic state, the first i've visited. After we arrived, Carey and I both wanted to lay down for a bit and it was raining, so walking around wasn't super appealing. After little sleep during our nighttime bus ride, we both ended up napping. Our wake up call was the 4:50 prayer that can be heard throughout the city because it is played through speakers for all to hear. It was unexpected, to say the least, and a little discombobulating. There was no going back to sleep after that, so we wandered. We found multiple 7/11s, true to this part of the world, and got some cash. We cruised some shops and both landed ourselves a pair of genie pants. I'd been diligently searching. It had been about nine hours since we last ate, so we stopped into Kashmir Restaurant and posted up on the front patio overlooking a central part of town. We ordered a couple buy one get one big Carlsberg beers, an order of samosa, onion naan and chicken curry. The best Indian food i've ever tasted. Because of our location, we were able to assess that traffic seems to be a little bit more structured, a lot more people speak English so signs made more sense, and there is a wide variety of culture roaming the streets of Panang. In fact, after we got done eating and we were finishing up our beers, I looked up in time to see the t-shirt a man was wearing before he passed us: ROLL TIDE. Holy. shit. So I made eye contact with him and said, "SEC?" There was no denying the look of confusion that darted across his face, so I pointed to his shirt and said, "Roll tide?" It was the one and only time i'll ever say it without a condescending hick accent. It clicked for him. "Yes," he said, "we're from Germany!" He pointed to his two very small children and his wife behind him, "We went to the college football championship last year against Alabama and Louisiana." Well, hot damn! I told him that was cool and proudly declared, "I'm a South Carolina Gamecock." Confused look again, "Have a nice day!"
The journey back was just like the one down, only in daylight, which meant seeing all of the cars we were playing chicken with was all the more easy. Here is where the ipads with movies came in handy. Any visual distraction will do. All in all, our hotel was lovely, apart from the breakfast we had the morning we left, the food was good, and we got our visas squared away. Coming back across the border was far easier and quicker than the first time. Carey and I have added Malaysia to our list of places we've been in briefly and would like to go to again with more time, right after Hong Kong. Although neither of us would like to go on another visa run, chances are we'll have to because, much like in America, government offices are understaffed, overworked, and underpaid, which means paperwork takes forever. Our school can now apply for our work permits, which will then qualify us for 14 month work visas. For now, Thailand still views us as tourists.
Next time, we'll be more mentally prepared and i'll know how to use the ground toilets properly. Growing every chance I get.
Here I am, awake at 7:00 am on a Sunday to watch the Clemson Tigers play. I stayed up until 3:00 am to watch my Gamecocks lose to the Vols by a field goal - what a blow. Sandy was nice enough not to call and sing Rocky Top. This year. I feel for and worry about quarterbacks after games like this one between Clemson and FSU, especially when I like the quarterback. Fans like to place blame and abandon the very people they've held at such high regard when things go don't go the way they'd hoped. Here in the land where people live and breath college football, I fear this will be a character building and skin toughening experience for Tajh. Chin up, buddy - don't listen to the nonsense.
Anyway, Malaysia.
Yep, I went there. When you arrive in Thailand, you get a stamp in your passport. This allots you 30 days in the Land of Smiles. Before it expires, if you want to stay, you have to leave the country for 24 hours. Upon return, and i'm not sure how this happens because it was taken care of for me, you can receive a 60 day tourist visa. There are several companies in the Phuket area, that i'm aware of, who will pick you up, drive you there (Panang, Malaysia), put you up in a hotel, take care of the legalities, and drive you back. Grab your barf bag, kick your feet up and join me on this terrifying, unexpected, yet fun, journey.
Pick up: Sunday, 9:00 pm at the Family Mart at the end of my street.
Must bring: passport, departure card (obtained when you land in a country and go through immigration at the airport), two passport sized pictures, and 4700 baht (roughly $151 USD).
Suggestions for packing: 1 change of clothes, pillow, some form of entertainment, any pill that helps you sleep/relax/not care that you're careening down the street at 75 mph, weaving in and out of traffic coming in both directions), and a friend who can be equally comforting and terrified in shifts, that you can lean on for "sleep time," travel tissues and hand sanitizer.
Imagine getting on a van where you're awkwardly close to eight strangers, some who don't speak English, like the lovely Ukranian woman on my right, which means you have zero communication with them. Get comfortable, because you're about to spend the next 10 hours together. The only person who directly addressed Carey and myself was an Australian who has been traveling around the world for the last year, not working, and has decided to stay in Phuket for a month to "train in muay thai" before he goes home for a little bit. Eye roll. He thinks he's going to invest in a bar here in Phuket after he gets done visiting home - not sure with what money since he hasn't been working and won't be while he's home (eye roll #2) - because so many guys who he has talked to say "they love it because it's so much fun" (eye roll #3). He's never worked in a bar, "but i've spent a lot of time in a lot of bars." Right.. that's kind of the same. Not even a little bit. Eye roll #4. The rest of our clan included three young, chatty Italians, who brought nothing but the clothes they were wearing and cigarettes. A young undetermined Asian couple, who only rode with us part of the way because they transferred to another bus so they could sit together. Originally the guy was stuck in the front passenger seat, or as I like to call it, my personal hell. There was another guy who never spoke to anyone and if he ever said anything out loud, I didn't hear it, so I can't even venture a guess.
Seven hours pass from the time Carey and I get into the van when we are jarred awake and told, through grunts and points, to enter what appears to be cattle gates leading up to a small ticket booth. This was how I envisioned a Thai prison check in to be. The entire process took close to two hours, we got back on our bus and drove the last two hours to our hotel in Panang. The bus made more stops than seemed necessary. By the time Carey and I would find a comfortable weird semi-spooning in a seated position maneuver, we would have to get out of the bus. We snagged the front row of seats, so we always had to get out of the way for the others, but that was a small price to pay for the fact that we could kick our legs up on a little bench. Being short pays off again.
Bathroom accommodations along the way are terrifying. From beginning to end, there is nothing redeeming about this part of the experience. There is no easy way around this. I have never walked into a bathroom and thought to myself, "i'd rather get back on the bus and try and make it the next unknown number of hours than pee here." From the creepy blinking florescent lighting often seen in horror movies, to the bugs and lizards trolling around, to the floor level toilets. I've peed in nicer, cleaner, fresher port-a-potties. In fact, i'll never complain about a port-a-potty again. Basically, you peed into a porcelain hole in the floor. Manual flushing involved dipping a pot/pan/tupperware container into the tub of water next to the hole in the floor and poured the water it into said hole in the floor yourself. There was rarely toilet paper (hence the tissues you pack) and occasionally places lacked sinks for washing your hands when you are done (thank you, Bath & Body works - but mostly, thank you, Mom). On the way home, after about our fourth stop I turned to Carey and explained that I "hadn't pulled the ol' squat and lean in awhile, probably not since college." Her puzzled look told me that I was doing something wrong. She didn't understand so she asked for clarification, "what is it that you are doing?" I told her I was squarely planting my feet with the hole behind me, sticking my butt out and basically doing a wall sit or a perfect form squat, "I've gotten really good at it again, I don't even touch the wall anymore." When she commended me for my creativity and offered a suggestion, of course I thanked her and listened. That day I learned you literally put your feet on either side of the hole (there are little blocks with tread) and you just squat down, much like a catcher does in baseball, or in my case like I did behind home plate during softball game all those years. Lesson learned. Next time.
Malaysia is an Islamic state, the first i've visited. After we arrived, Carey and I both wanted to lay down for a bit and it was raining, so walking around wasn't super appealing. After little sleep during our nighttime bus ride, we both ended up napping. Our wake up call was the 4:50 prayer that can be heard throughout the city because it is played through speakers for all to hear. It was unexpected, to say the least, and a little discombobulating. There was no going back to sleep after that, so we wandered. We found multiple 7/11s, true to this part of the world, and got some cash. We cruised some shops and both landed ourselves a pair of genie pants. I'd been diligently searching. It had been about nine hours since we last ate, so we stopped into Kashmir Restaurant and posted up on the front patio overlooking a central part of town. We ordered a couple buy one get one big Carlsberg beers, an order of samosa, onion naan and chicken curry. The best Indian food i've ever tasted. Because of our location, we were able to assess that traffic seems to be a little bit more structured, a lot more people speak English so signs made more sense, and there is a wide variety of culture roaming the streets of Panang. In fact, after we got done eating and we were finishing up our beers, I looked up in time to see the t-shirt a man was wearing before he passed us: ROLL TIDE. Holy. shit. So I made eye contact with him and said, "SEC?" There was no denying the look of confusion that darted across his face, so I pointed to his shirt and said, "Roll tide?" It was the one and only time i'll ever say it without a condescending hick accent. It clicked for him. "Yes," he said, "we're from Germany!" He pointed to his two very small children and his wife behind him, "We went to the college football championship last year against Alabama and Louisiana." Well, hot damn! I told him that was cool and proudly declared, "I'm a South Carolina Gamecock." Confused look again, "Have a nice day!"
The journey back was just like the one down, only in daylight, which meant seeing all of the cars we were playing chicken with was all the more easy. Here is where the ipads with movies came in handy. Any visual distraction will do. All in all, our hotel was lovely, apart from the breakfast we had the morning we left, the food was good, and we got our visas squared away. Coming back across the border was far easier and quicker than the first time. Carey and I have added Malaysia to our list of places we've been in briefly and would like to go to again with more time, right after Hong Kong. Although neither of us would like to go on another visa run, chances are we'll have to because, much like in America, government offices are understaffed, overworked, and underpaid, which means paperwork takes forever. Our school can now apply for our work permits, which will then qualify us for 14 month work visas. For now, Thailand still views us as tourists.
Next time, we'll be more mentally prepared and i'll know how to use the ground toilets properly. Growing every chance I get.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Beached Whale
Today a severely overweight, old Welshman, my colleague no less, asked me if any Thai people have called me fat yet. Huh? Is this a thing Thai people do? This is an insult here, right? Is THIS guy calling ME fat? Is this a real question? How do I answer that? Can I say 'no' without his feelings getting hurt? Do I even care about his feelings now?
By no stretch of my severely creative mind would I say i'm thin. In fact, anyone that knows me at all would be able to tell you that, for the majority of my life, I have worried, battled, struggled with weight. As a 5 foot-nothing athlete, who comes from a 'teapot' lineage (think about it), there has never been a time in my life, since I hit the age of realizing that not thin is viewed as bad, that I haven't been aware of the fact that i'm not. Throughout my teens I felt the pressure to try to be as thin as possible. Only my thin as possible was never synonymous to most of my gal pals', certainly not to my tall, lanky best friend from 7 to 18 years old. Those who know me well know that i've been through a barrage of feelings regarding this very truth. I meander between acceptance and pride in how i'm built, and feelings of extreme dislike, frustration, fear and disappointment.
Here I am, being as positive and in the moment as I can be, some days easier than others for the last number of months, because I believe in the depths of my heart that i've made the right choice for me, and this asshole goes and says something like that. Now, because of how I feel about this very topic, in my mind it is multiplied by a million. I get through the rest of my conversation with him and finish out my day at school. Unfortunately for Carey, how i'm feeling is written all over my face, and she can see it the minute I get in the car. It might as well have been branded across my chipmunk cheeks and McGranahan double chin because she carefully asked, "Heeeeey, what's.. going... on?" Cue the tears. Only three; one from the left, then the right, then the left, "I've had nothing to do all day!" She continues carefully, asking me to tell her about it - bored to tears can't be right. I quickly, and without much of a transition i'm afraid, begin to recount the last hours i've spent listening to the most negative man in Thailand tell me about every single bad thing about living in Thailand and the Thai people, "and then he asked me if anyone has called me fat yet." Honestly, he is the most negative man i've encountered here, I told him as much right before I asked him why he is even living here. He shared with me that i'm not the first person who has said these things to him. Also honestly, I pulled his words out of context. He was in the midst of complaining and describing all the ways he believes Thai people are rude when he expressed to me that a student called him fat in the last three months when he asked me if a Thai person has called me fat.
I did the best I could in the thirty minutes that lapsed between my final minutes with him and the moment I got into the car with Carey. However, all I could hear in my mind was FAT. FAT. FAT. It was like the bass of a song you can't really make out but you can't escape the steady boom boom boom.
In an attempt to console me, Carey asks if I want to get some cake. Bless her heart, she is trying. Of course I want cake, i'm fat, remember? But I decline. We ride in silence for a beat before she says, "I'm going to go get a massage, you want to go?" Done. My friends, let me tell you something. The Thai people know how to give a massage. Let me tell you another thing, there is NO room for modesty in this situation. I've had massages in America, but they pale in comparison. Lawsuits and modesty be damned. Take your clothes off and get ready for some e-x-p-o-s-u-r-e. So there I am, feeling like a beached whale on this table with this tiny Thai woman clinging to my whale back. It hurts, but that's not why I begin to shed some tears. Yeah, I did it. I cried during a massage. Albeit quietly and privately, my face was in a hole, but I did it. I cried because I got slapped in the face with reality today.
I cried because i'm tired of being the little gymnast who isn't all knees and elbows. I cried because i'm tired of not being the thin girl who can eat whatever she wants and not think twice. I cried because i'm still bothered by what other's think, say, and do, even when I don't know what they're thinking, I can't hear what they're not saying, and I can't understand what they are or aren't doing. I cried because there I was feeling like the fattest girl in the world (again) only this time i'm in nothing but my skivvies with the tiniest little Thai lady kneeling on my back kneading out the knots and she could care less what I look (or feel) like.. and suddenly the tears stopped. Partly because she told me to turn over on my back and I had no idea what was coming next and party because why the hell am I crying?
I know you can't run away from problems, feelings, what have you, but what i'd neglected to remember today is that even in one of the most beautiful, laid back places in the world, people are going to put their own shit on you. That is reality. And, if you share some of that same shit, it's going to hurt that much worse, regardless of where or who you are. I can't be optimistic all the time. I can't be laid back all the time. And the whole being in the moment thing applies to not focusing on what's next, but also not being stuck in what has been before. No matter how much you work on the outside or how much progress you feel like you make physically, if you're not dealing with what's on the inside, it doesn't matter. This is not news to me, but as soon as i've forgotten that, some Negative Nel comes barreling along. Everything happens for a reason. Ignoring that the weight (no pun intended) of everything is ten fold because of all the changes i've made would be negligent as well. A good friend imparted her wisdom today:
Let yourself feel it all and know that it will pass. It always does. It's just really scary coming down off the initial high. But you're being bold and living your life to the fullest, choosing to risk by doing instead of not doing. Just keep reminding yourself, "My life is not in danger - everything else is just drama." Everything you are experiencing is so normal.
Thank you, friend.
Really what I learned today is that if you're feeling fat, find a little Thai lady who speaks hardly any English and ask for a full body, one hour massage. It felt weird and I couldn't shake the raw, exposed feeling until after she'd pulled the sheet back up over my twins; but when it was all said and done, after she had seen just about everything I was working with, I left feeling light and relaxed. LIGHT. Not fat.
Thank you, tiny Thai lady. Thank you, Carey, for the massage instead of the cake.
By no stretch of my severely creative mind would I say i'm thin. In fact, anyone that knows me at all would be able to tell you that, for the majority of my life, I have worried, battled, struggled with weight. As a 5 foot-nothing athlete, who comes from a 'teapot' lineage (think about it), there has never been a time in my life, since I hit the age of realizing that not thin is viewed as bad, that I haven't been aware of the fact that i'm not. Throughout my teens I felt the pressure to try to be as thin as possible. Only my thin as possible was never synonymous to most of my gal pals', certainly not to my tall, lanky best friend from 7 to 18 years old. Those who know me well know that i've been through a barrage of feelings regarding this very truth. I meander between acceptance and pride in how i'm built, and feelings of extreme dislike, frustration, fear and disappointment.
Here I am, being as positive and in the moment as I can be, some days easier than others for the last number of months, because I believe in the depths of my heart that i've made the right choice for me, and this asshole goes and says something like that. Now, because of how I feel about this very topic, in my mind it is multiplied by a million. I get through the rest of my conversation with him and finish out my day at school. Unfortunately for Carey, how i'm feeling is written all over my face, and she can see it the minute I get in the car. It might as well have been branded across my chipmunk cheeks and McGranahan double chin because she carefully asked, "Heeeeey, what's.. going... on?" Cue the tears. Only three; one from the left, then the right, then the left, "I've had nothing to do all day!" She continues carefully, asking me to tell her about it - bored to tears can't be right. I quickly, and without much of a transition i'm afraid, begin to recount the last hours i've spent listening to the most negative man in Thailand tell me about every single bad thing about living in Thailand and the Thai people, "and then he asked me if anyone has called me fat yet." Honestly, he is the most negative man i've encountered here, I told him as much right before I asked him why he is even living here. He shared with me that i'm not the first person who has said these things to him. Also honestly, I pulled his words out of context. He was in the midst of complaining and describing all the ways he believes Thai people are rude when he expressed to me that a student called him fat in the last three months when he asked me if a Thai person has called me fat.
I did the best I could in the thirty minutes that lapsed between my final minutes with him and the moment I got into the car with Carey. However, all I could hear in my mind was FAT. FAT. FAT. It was like the bass of a song you can't really make out but you can't escape the steady boom boom boom.
In an attempt to console me, Carey asks if I want to get some cake. Bless her heart, she is trying. Of course I want cake, i'm fat, remember? But I decline. We ride in silence for a beat before she says, "I'm going to go get a massage, you want to go?" Done. My friends, let me tell you something. The Thai people know how to give a massage. Let me tell you another thing, there is NO room for modesty in this situation. I've had massages in America, but they pale in comparison. Lawsuits and modesty be damned. Take your clothes off and get ready for some e-x-p-o-s-u-r-e. So there I am, feeling like a beached whale on this table with this tiny Thai woman clinging to my whale back. It hurts, but that's not why I begin to shed some tears. Yeah, I did it. I cried during a massage. Albeit quietly and privately, my face was in a hole, but I did it. I cried because I got slapped in the face with reality today.
I cried because i'm tired of being the little gymnast who isn't all knees and elbows. I cried because i'm tired of not being the thin girl who can eat whatever she wants and not think twice. I cried because i'm still bothered by what other's think, say, and do, even when I don't know what they're thinking, I can't hear what they're not saying, and I can't understand what they are or aren't doing. I cried because there I was feeling like the fattest girl in the world (again) only this time i'm in nothing but my skivvies with the tiniest little Thai lady kneeling on my back kneading out the knots and she could care less what I look (or feel) like.. and suddenly the tears stopped. Partly because she told me to turn over on my back and I had no idea what was coming next and party because why the hell am I crying?
I know you can't run away from problems, feelings, what have you, but what i'd neglected to remember today is that even in one of the most beautiful, laid back places in the world, people are going to put their own shit on you. That is reality. And, if you share some of that same shit, it's going to hurt that much worse, regardless of where or who you are. I can't be optimistic all the time. I can't be laid back all the time. And the whole being in the moment thing applies to not focusing on what's next, but also not being stuck in what has been before. No matter how much you work on the outside or how much progress you feel like you make physically, if you're not dealing with what's on the inside, it doesn't matter. This is not news to me, but as soon as i've forgotten that, some Negative Nel comes barreling along. Everything happens for a reason. Ignoring that the weight (no pun intended) of everything is ten fold because of all the changes i've made would be negligent as well. A good friend imparted her wisdom today:
Let yourself feel it all and know that it will pass. It always does. It's just really scary coming down off the initial high. But you're being bold and living your life to the fullest, choosing to risk by doing instead of not doing. Just keep reminding yourself, "My life is not in danger - everything else is just drama." Everything you are experiencing is so normal.
Thank you, friend.
Really what I learned today is that if you're feeling fat, find a little Thai lady who speaks hardly any English and ask for a full body, one hour massage. It felt weird and I couldn't shake the raw, exposed feeling until after she'd pulled the sheet back up over my twins; but when it was all said and done, after she had seen just about everything I was working with, I left feeling light and relaxed. LIGHT. Not fat.
Thank you, tiny Thai lady. Thank you, Carey, for the massage instead of the cake.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Out on the Town?
After landing jobs we both wanted, Carey and I decided it was time for a night out on the town. Although we love each other's company and we've been getting along great, it has been the only company we've kept in two weeks. Maybe it's time to find some other people to talk to who understand us. We explored a little bit Friday afternoon between monsoons. We found a small strip between the Chalong Circle (a major traffic circle not far from our apartment building) and the Chalong Pier, full of bars. In the day light, we could see sign after sign advertising bars, drinks, massages... what? None of them were open at the time, naturally, but at least we knew where we could go and have some options.
Later that night, we got dressed and headed out on foot. Before dark fell, we decided we'd be able to find a cab to get us home and had even located a 24 hour cab service phone number posted outside one of the bars. But as we walked toward the main road we realized neither of us had considered how we would get TO the bars, "surely there will be a cab at the Family Mart on the corner." We came upon our favorite restaurant, run by The Three Ladies and they began to cat call and whistle, "Where you going?!" When we explained we were going to go have some drinks and celebrate they pointed to their little bar, stocked with a strange array of liquors, "Drinks here! Party!" Politely declining, they suddenly understood what we weren't saying, something only women could communicate without words, that in addition to finding drinks, we were also hoping to run into some male company. One of the ladies asked us how we would get to where we were going, "We're going to find a cab up here." The eldest interrupted, "I get you cab, 300 baht?" Well this was unexpected and awesome. Turns out, she meant she would get her truck and drive us where we wanted to go. Even better. So for $10 USD, we were driven by someone we "know and trust" to our little strip of bars and dropped off right outside of a bar of our choosing. I won't lie, it felt a little bit like getting dropped off by aunt aunt, but it worked.
As we strolled down the street, we weren't really sure what we would find, nor where we wanted to go. It became apparent quickly that we'd found ourselves smack dab in the middle of what seemed to be Chicago's Viagra Triangle (where old men go to find young women) and Boystown (the notoriously gay neighborhood) all mixed up together and set up on the island of Phuket. The entrance of every bar was guarded by a small herd of young Thai women (?) greeting passersby, beckoning them to come in for a drink. We headed to the end of the strip, furthest from where we entered and sat down at a bier garden. There were old men posted up at the bar, but no scantily clad women at the door. It was the least intimidating. We got two beers and sat listening to the sounds of rugby playing on the big screen. It went without saying, this was not going to be our spot beyond the one beer. We chatted, drank up and moved on.
We decided, after walking back up the street, that we should try out a spot just outside of the strip that we pass when we go to the grocer store. Onward to Froggy's Hash Bar. This bar was also free of the female greeters, but full of the other group we'd noticed everywhere: old white men. When we walked up to order our drinks, there was a baby sitting on the bar. What the hell? But there we were, ordering beers, being watched by every one in the place (per usual), so we were committed. We took our bottles outside and sat down, trying to decide if we'd try our hand at darts. An old man was trying his best when we sat down. A pool table at the other end of the space sat unoccupied. Unfortunately, neither of us are very good at pool. It wasn't long before a loud, old, man came in and placed his travel mug at the table next to us. "Where are you two from?" Carey and I aren't sure where he was from, my money was on Ireland, she believed northern England - since neither of us have ever spent any time in either place, it was really a crapshoot, much like our night thus far. The gentleman, we'll call him Tom, thought it was funny that Americans were English teachers. He was harmless and charming, in the way only a man older than your father can be. At least he's not creepy, I thought.
A Thai woman came over to chat with us, interceding herself into our conversation with Tom. The baby mentioned earlier was brought outside. The lady, and also bar manager, pointed to him, "Louie, my grandson. His dad is my daughter's husband." She regaled us with the tale of the day she was left caring for Louie while her daughter and son in law made a visa run. Apparently Louie wasn't happy about it, crying constantly, calling for his mama. She told us several times that she couldn't let him sit where there was a view of the street because, "every time black car, not truck, go by he cry mammammammamamma." She did a great imitation. She also spoke fairly good English. We also learned that she is in a running club and one day, after a race she got a call from her daughter. "Her water was breaking and coming out and she call me because she was alone here at restaurant and she say she can't reach Jonathan, and she crying saying she going to die." Grandma put on her hazards and apparently drove like a bat out of hell. Which, frankly, doesn't sound any different than the way most people drive here. The only difference I could find was that she rolled her window down to stick her arm out and scream "EMERGENCY" as she weaved in and out of traffic. I wish I could say the story stopped there, but it didn't. Keep in mind that Carey and I barely said a word, mostly nodded heads and grunted in agreement. "Only one person allowed in delivery room. So her husband with her. We could hear her screaming out of the room. Doctor let me go in too even though I not supposed to, so I holding her hand and she telling me again she going to die. When the baby almost come out, nurse said come look, come look. When me and her husband go to look she swat us away and tell us not to look. She shy." As before, she shared this portion of the story several times. We also learned about midwives, that was her recommendation to the two of us "for when you have baby." Oh. my. gawd.
Thankfully, she needed to use the restroom so she scooted on. Cue Tom Jones. Karaoke, my friends, is very popular here in Thailand, apparently. Guess who was singing? Yep, our older friend, Tom (see what I did there?). Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra, Elvis, Elton John. The list goes on. Ballad after ballad. Guess who he wanted to sing back up? Oh yeah. As someone who doesn't love karaoke - listening or participating, I can tell you this wasn't exactly a good time. I can also say that he was quite entertaining and in the end I wasn't as mortified as I would have thought. Singing "Love Me Tender" with a man more than twice my age was weird though. At some point, Grandma brought us a plate of salami, olives, and tomatoes. I have no idea how to explain this. It wasn't the kind of place I would have expected to receive such a thing, but we accepted it graciously. Here, if you don't eat something on your plate it is assumed that you don't like it. I haven't learned how to say 'allergy' in Thai yet. I just continue to insult people by pushing my spinach over to Carey's side of the plate.
We tolerated the karaoke a little bit longer than we may have in any other scenario because of our gracious host and new friends. After downing our beer, though, it was time to make moves. We headed back to the strip. We came upon a bar with a large table of farangs, ie white people. This looked as good as any place we'd seen so far. Unfortunately, as in America, a large group of young people tends to stick together. After we finished our first beer, we decided to try to find O2, a bar Carey had been recommended through an expat group on Facebook. The directions to get there included, "walk through the parking lot for some other restaurant, and follow the gravel road to O2." We'd been pointed in the direction of this place earlier in the evening, but once we got through the parking lot and saw the gravel road, we (I) decided not go pursue it. Things had not been going well all night though, what's the worst that can happen? Carey and I are two strong, capable, scrappy women. Carey also carries a knife. The directions were right. We found O2, closed at 11:00. It was 11:10. Neither of us were ready to go home, so we headed back to the bar with the table of farangs.
As we stood at the bar awaiting to place our order, a youngish white man approached us, "Couldn't stay away, eh?" Oh boy. How do you explain to someone that this is the only bar you feel remotely comfortable in because it isn't inhabited by one or three white men in their 60's or older, flocked by young Thai women dressed skimpily? He introduced himself, explained he owned the bar (for seven or eight years), and wanted to know what we do, how long we'd been in Thailand, and if we'd be available to come back Saturday night for live music, "a party," he called it. We got the 411 from him about high season, we're about two weeks away from it. Then in April things start to get pretty slow again. Good to know. We stayed long enough to watch the bar basically empty out and decided to call it a night. Very uncharacteristic of me, but what are you gonna do?
Living and learning, is how we're trying to look at it. Overall, the weekend was mildly disappointing. We went on a hunt for Burger King the next afternoon once we both were ready to be vertical. We never found it, but happened upon "Delish" which boasted "best burgers." We still don't know how accurate this is, because when we got our food home and opened our to go boxes, neither of us had a patty on our buns. A burger without a burger? To say we were perplexed is an understatement. Don't worry, we both got our burger fix today at the mall. It's difficult to get to the mall because of construction traffic, so we really have to work for it if we want it. We agreed that this is for the best. In the parking garage at the mall, cars park perpendicular behind other parked cars. We've seen this in lots of parking lots and are always curious how people are expected to get out if a car is blocking them in. On our way out today, we saw a man pushing a car out of his way, "Is that how it's done?! People just leave their car in neutral and it's moved as needed??" We agreed that we're going to try to move a car the next chance we get.
Tomorrow is orientation at school and we're both really excited about getting started, about getting paid, and about making new friends in this wacky, new, wonderful world we're living.
Later that night, we got dressed and headed out on foot. Before dark fell, we decided we'd be able to find a cab to get us home and had even located a 24 hour cab service phone number posted outside one of the bars. But as we walked toward the main road we realized neither of us had considered how we would get TO the bars, "surely there will be a cab at the Family Mart on the corner." We came upon our favorite restaurant, run by The Three Ladies and they began to cat call and whistle, "Where you going?!" When we explained we were going to go have some drinks and celebrate they pointed to their little bar, stocked with a strange array of liquors, "Drinks here! Party!" Politely declining, they suddenly understood what we weren't saying, something only women could communicate without words, that in addition to finding drinks, we were also hoping to run into some male company. One of the ladies asked us how we would get to where we were going, "We're going to find a cab up here." The eldest interrupted, "I get you cab, 300 baht?" Well this was unexpected and awesome. Turns out, she meant she would get her truck and drive us where we wanted to go. Even better. So for $10 USD, we were driven by someone we "know and trust" to our little strip of bars and dropped off right outside of a bar of our choosing. I won't lie, it felt a little bit like getting dropped off by aunt aunt, but it worked.
As we strolled down the street, we weren't really sure what we would find, nor where we wanted to go. It became apparent quickly that we'd found ourselves smack dab in the middle of what seemed to be Chicago's Viagra Triangle (where old men go to find young women) and Boystown (the notoriously gay neighborhood) all mixed up together and set up on the island of Phuket. The entrance of every bar was guarded by a small herd of young Thai women (?) greeting passersby, beckoning them to come in for a drink. We headed to the end of the strip, furthest from where we entered and sat down at a bier garden. There were old men posted up at the bar, but no scantily clad women at the door. It was the least intimidating. We got two beers and sat listening to the sounds of rugby playing on the big screen. It went without saying, this was not going to be our spot beyond the one beer. We chatted, drank up and moved on.
We decided, after walking back up the street, that we should try out a spot just outside of the strip that we pass when we go to the grocer store. Onward to Froggy's Hash Bar. This bar was also free of the female greeters, but full of the other group we'd noticed everywhere: old white men. When we walked up to order our drinks, there was a baby sitting on the bar. What the hell? But there we were, ordering beers, being watched by every one in the place (per usual), so we were committed. We took our bottles outside and sat down, trying to decide if we'd try our hand at darts. An old man was trying his best when we sat down. A pool table at the other end of the space sat unoccupied. Unfortunately, neither of us are very good at pool. It wasn't long before a loud, old, man came in and placed his travel mug at the table next to us. "Where are you two from?" Carey and I aren't sure where he was from, my money was on Ireland, she believed northern England - since neither of us have ever spent any time in either place, it was really a crapshoot, much like our night thus far. The gentleman, we'll call him Tom, thought it was funny that Americans were English teachers. He was harmless and charming, in the way only a man older than your father can be. At least he's not creepy, I thought.
A Thai woman came over to chat with us, interceding herself into our conversation with Tom. The baby mentioned earlier was brought outside. The lady, and also bar manager, pointed to him, "Louie, my grandson. His dad is my daughter's husband." She regaled us with the tale of the day she was left caring for Louie while her daughter and son in law made a visa run. Apparently Louie wasn't happy about it, crying constantly, calling for his mama. She told us several times that she couldn't let him sit where there was a view of the street because, "every time black car, not truck, go by he cry mammammammamamma." She did a great imitation. She also spoke fairly good English. We also learned that she is in a running club and one day, after a race she got a call from her daughter. "Her water was breaking and coming out and she call me because she was alone here at restaurant and she say she can't reach Jonathan, and she crying saying she going to die." Grandma put on her hazards and apparently drove like a bat out of hell. Which, frankly, doesn't sound any different than the way most people drive here. The only difference I could find was that she rolled her window down to stick her arm out and scream "EMERGENCY" as she weaved in and out of traffic. I wish I could say the story stopped there, but it didn't. Keep in mind that Carey and I barely said a word, mostly nodded heads and grunted in agreement. "Only one person allowed in delivery room. So her husband with her. We could hear her screaming out of the room. Doctor let me go in too even though I not supposed to, so I holding her hand and she telling me again she going to die. When the baby almost come out, nurse said come look, come look. When me and her husband go to look she swat us away and tell us not to look. She shy." As before, she shared this portion of the story several times. We also learned about midwives, that was her recommendation to the two of us "for when you have baby." Oh. my. gawd.
Thankfully, she needed to use the restroom so she scooted on. Cue Tom Jones. Karaoke, my friends, is very popular here in Thailand, apparently. Guess who was singing? Yep, our older friend, Tom (see what I did there?). Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra, Elvis, Elton John. The list goes on. Ballad after ballad. Guess who he wanted to sing back up? Oh yeah. As someone who doesn't love karaoke - listening or participating, I can tell you this wasn't exactly a good time. I can also say that he was quite entertaining and in the end I wasn't as mortified as I would have thought. Singing "Love Me Tender" with a man more than twice my age was weird though. At some point, Grandma brought us a plate of salami, olives, and tomatoes. I have no idea how to explain this. It wasn't the kind of place I would have expected to receive such a thing, but we accepted it graciously. Here, if you don't eat something on your plate it is assumed that you don't like it. I haven't learned how to say 'allergy' in Thai yet. I just continue to insult people by pushing my spinach over to Carey's side of the plate.
We tolerated the karaoke a little bit longer than we may have in any other scenario because of our gracious host and new friends. After downing our beer, though, it was time to make moves. We headed back to the strip. We came upon a bar with a large table of farangs, ie white people. This looked as good as any place we'd seen so far. Unfortunately, as in America, a large group of young people tends to stick together. After we finished our first beer, we decided to try to find O2, a bar Carey had been recommended through an expat group on Facebook. The directions to get there included, "walk through the parking lot for some other restaurant, and follow the gravel road to O2." We'd been pointed in the direction of this place earlier in the evening, but once we got through the parking lot and saw the gravel road, we (I) decided not go pursue it. Things had not been going well all night though, what's the worst that can happen? Carey and I are two strong, capable, scrappy women. Carey also carries a knife. The directions were right. We found O2, closed at 11:00. It was 11:10. Neither of us were ready to go home, so we headed back to the bar with the table of farangs.
As we stood at the bar awaiting to place our order, a youngish white man approached us, "Couldn't stay away, eh?" Oh boy. How do you explain to someone that this is the only bar you feel remotely comfortable in because it isn't inhabited by one or three white men in their 60's or older, flocked by young Thai women dressed skimpily? He introduced himself, explained he owned the bar (for seven or eight years), and wanted to know what we do, how long we'd been in Thailand, and if we'd be available to come back Saturday night for live music, "a party," he called it. We got the 411 from him about high season, we're about two weeks away from it. Then in April things start to get pretty slow again. Good to know. We stayed long enough to watch the bar basically empty out and decided to call it a night. Very uncharacteristic of me, but what are you gonna do?
Living and learning, is how we're trying to look at it. Overall, the weekend was mildly disappointing. We went on a hunt for Burger King the next afternoon once we both were ready to be vertical. We never found it, but happened upon "Delish" which boasted "best burgers." We still don't know how accurate this is, because when we got our food home and opened our to go boxes, neither of us had a patty on our buns. A burger without a burger? To say we were perplexed is an understatement. Don't worry, we both got our burger fix today at the mall. It's difficult to get to the mall because of construction traffic, so we really have to work for it if we want it. We agreed that this is for the best. In the parking garage at the mall, cars park perpendicular behind other parked cars. We've seen this in lots of parking lots and are always curious how people are expected to get out if a car is blocking them in. On our way out today, we saw a man pushing a car out of his way, "Is that how it's done?! People just leave their car in neutral and it's moved as needed??" We agreed that we're going to try to move a car the next chance we get.
Tomorrow is orientation at school and we're both really excited about getting started, about getting paid, and about making new friends in this wacky, new, wonderful world we're living.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Nothing of Importance
There is beauty in not knowing what the day will hold, though admittedly i'm terrible at it. Thankfully, i'm recognizing progress as I have gone from regularly asking Carey "what do you want to do tomorrow" to taking pause and keeping the question to myself. How would she know anyway? I know asking isn't a bad thing and the part of me that needs to know rationalizes that it is responsible and natural to have a plan. As i've mentioned before, the Thai people do not seem caught up in this way of life and everyone here seems to get by on vagueness. As a newbie it seems expected, through nonchalance, that I get on board and ride it out.
Though nothing of importance or self discovery seemingly took place today i've already begun to notice small changes in myself. Breakfast was a piece of delicious, fresh fruit and lunch a turkey sandwich with a handful of goldfish. I commented just a bit ago to Carey that I drink so much water here. I haven't had a canned coke or Diet Dr. Pepper (my favorite), since before leaving the states. I have, however, discovered the Italian soda which here is basically soda water with some fruit flavoring in the bottom, topped with lime wedges and fresh mint. I woke up when my body wanted me to after a long night of really weird dreams (again) and decided I should do some yoga. So I shut off my air conditioner, that I keep at just cool enough or off during the day, and opened my back porch doors. I contorted my body along to the booming voice of Jillian Michaels. Not exactly a relaxing or centering experience. Hot yoga took on a whole new meaning to me as I gazed out of the back of my apartment and sweated my ass off.
I accompanied Carey on her second interview, simply to get out of my apartment for the day. I chickened out of trying to drive. You'll get there, I keep telling myself. When we returned we donned our swimsuits and headed up to the roof to read and relax by the pool. This is how the other half lives, I thought to myself. Then I realized, nope, this is how I live now. Friends and family are miles and time zones away and I can't yet shake the curiosity of what i'm missing and the simple truth that I miss so many people so much - a small or hefty trade off, I haven't yet decided.
Every now and again I begin to wonder what i'll think of this when.. my desire to learn to truly live in the moment allows me to accept that i've had this thought without punishing myself and in the same beat it reminds me that there is not a when. This is a first for me. During high school it was when I get to college. During the last years of college it was when I can get the hell out of here. Once I got to Chicago it was when i'm done with graduate school. The years following graduate school it was when I can find a job that I love and that pays well enough for me to live. As someone who is not that old, nor that wise, I have accepted that i've lived a large part of my life, if not all of it, wondering about the next step, the next phase, the next job, the next relationship.. because none of what I was doing right then was right, good enough, made me truly happy. The insides weren't really matching the outside. I found small points of respite and i've always been thankful for who I am, where I came from, what I had, or have I? I come from a great family and i've discovered the way to establish and maintain healthy friendships (finally), but maybe the problem has always been that I haven't really been able to appreciate all of that. As someone who has never been dealt a serious blow of loss or hardship it seems almost petty and I can't shake the feeling of shame shrouding these confessions. Admittance leads to acceptance, I believe.
So today, I woke up when my body wanted me to. I ate simple foods. I chose to do some yoga and ride in the car with my friend. I laid by the pool and read a book. I thought about friends and family who are miles and time zones away and I acknowledged that I am definitely missing things and without a doubt missing them. And then, without even meaning to I appreciated where I was, who I am, where I come from, and what I have all at once. And today, without even meaning to I did something of importance. I discovered more of myself.
Though nothing of importance or self discovery seemingly took place today i've already begun to notice small changes in myself. Breakfast was a piece of delicious, fresh fruit and lunch a turkey sandwich with a handful of goldfish. I commented just a bit ago to Carey that I drink so much water here. I haven't had a canned coke or Diet Dr. Pepper (my favorite), since before leaving the states. I have, however, discovered the Italian soda which here is basically soda water with some fruit flavoring in the bottom, topped with lime wedges and fresh mint. I woke up when my body wanted me to after a long night of really weird dreams (again) and decided I should do some yoga. So I shut off my air conditioner, that I keep at just cool enough or off during the day, and opened my back porch doors. I contorted my body along to the booming voice of Jillian Michaels. Not exactly a relaxing or centering experience. Hot yoga took on a whole new meaning to me as I gazed out of the back of my apartment and sweated my ass off.
I accompanied Carey on her second interview, simply to get out of my apartment for the day. I chickened out of trying to drive. You'll get there, I keep telling myself. When we returned we donned our swimsuits and headed up to the roof to read and relax by the pool. This is how the other half lives, I thought to myself. Then I realized, nope, this is how I live now. Friends and family are miles and time zones away and I can't yet shake the curiosity of what i'm missing and the simple truth that I miss so many people so much - a small or hefty trade off, I haven't yet decided.
Every now and again I begin to wonder what i'll think of this when.. my desire to learn to truly live in the moment allows me to accept that i've had this thought without punishing myself and in the same beat it reminds me that there is not a when. This is a first for me. During high school it was when I get to college. During the last years of college it was when I can get the hell out of here. Once I got to Chicago it was when i'm done with graduate school. The years following graduate school it was when I can find a job that I love and that pays well enough for me to live. As someone who is not that old, nor that wise, I have accepted that i've lived a large part of my life, if not all of it, wondering about the next step, the next phase, the next job, the next relationship.. because none of what I was doing right then was right, good enough, made me truly happy. The insides weren't really matching the outside. I found small points of respite and i've always been thankful for who I am, where I came from, what I had, or have I? I come from a great family and i've discovered the way to establish and maintain healthy friendships (finally), but maybe the problem has always been that I haven't really been able to appreciate all of that. As someone who has never been dealt a serious blow of loss or hardship it seems almost petty and I can't shake the feeling of shame shrouding these confessions. Admittance leads to acceptance, I believe.
So today, I woke up when my body wanted me to. I ate simple foods. I chose to do some yoga and ride in the car with my friend. I laid by the pool and read a book. I thought about friends and family who are miles and time zones away and I acknowledged that I am definitely missing things and without a doubt missing them. And then, without even meaning to I appreciated where I was, who I am, where I come from, and what I have all at once. And today, without even meaning to I did something of importance. I discovered more of myself.
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