This Provincial Life @thanthisprovinciallife - Tumblr Blog

Christmas

"What Christmas actually is is a rescue of immigrants and refugees and a call for us to start to live Christmas lives that help set the world free from oppression." -Tim Ritter

I loved this quote from a Reality SF podcast I listened to today. It's been more difficult this year than other years to be in a Christmas spirit, but as I've been thinking about the things that have been happening around us, I'm realizing that the response I want to have is to be more thankful for each day that I have here and not to cling desperately to safety in the hopes of prolonging life a little longer as if that would make my life fuller.

I hope that advocacy for justice and for safety continue- but not at the cost of loving and caring for others, and rescuing those suffering in oppression. Each day we have is a gift and we can't control most of the things around us, but what we do have power over, is our response.

As an aside, this is something I need to work on telling myself.

Nearer to Thee

There let the way appear, steps unto Heaven; All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to thee

One of my resolutions this year is to write more. Self-reflection is not easy for me, and writing in any form requires some confrontation with one's self: first comes an acknowledgment of the things unresolved whether it be feelings, questions, or information, and second comes an expression of either confusion or a resolution. As a perfectionist, more often than not, I wait until the resolution comes before I put anything down on paper (or tumblr), and I've realized that I am missing out on the process, and the journey.

My dearly loved and beautiful grandmother passed away in January after many illnesses, including diabetes and pneumonia. Her passing, preluded by a sudden downturn in her health around Christmas, was sudden and difficult for my family. In the beginning, as I heard the news by word of mouth through my relatives that she had been falling down in her small apartment, it was easy to ignore the severity of the situation. We pride ourselves on being resilient and optimistic people, and I've noticed that my relatives often only note the positives in each and every experience they face.

So it was a shock when two days before Christmas, before my family went out to dinner, my Dad told us all to meet at my Grandma's house before going to the restaurant. Grandma was being admitted to the hospital. All of the cousins and my brothers and sisters and I, along with my aunt and uncle and my parents huddled around Grandma who was visibly shaking and muttering incoherently. She looked wildly around, until she found my Dad sitting next to her and rested her head on his shoulder and held his arm. I moved away from her and sat in a recliner in the corner of the living room so that everyone wouldn't see me cry. It seemed like such a desperate and yet loving gesture for her; she had never been a very affectionate person and she had never needed our help before.

And thus began our rotations through hospitals: Good Sam, Arcadia Methodist, San Gabriel, Delta Rehab. Grandma did better after getting some fluids and nutrients and antibiotics and was moved to Delta Rehab several weeks later. We were excited by the place, as the staff and the patients were all very cheerful and caring. One other patient, an outgoing african-american lady was really attached to "Nai Nai", as she called my Grandma, and called the nurses over constantly to make sure they didn't forget to give Grandma food. There was talk of teaching her to walk again. My sister and I visited the day she was going to go back to college, and we left the place in high spirits after Grandma had combed her hair to take a photo with us and eat lunch.

The next day, I came again with my Mom to Delta to visit. We watched her work with the OT to move her arms and roll over. All these things were very difficult for her, but she did it with great effort. We fed her breakfast and talked to her. She didn't say much, but she could shake her head and nod. We left again feeling like she was in good hands.

It was later that night that we got the call: Grandma had had a second stroke, a serious, severe stroke. I was crushed. I had seen her that morning, and held her hand. I couldn't believe that this was happening. Although she didn't show it, my mom was broken inside as well; she had shared about Jesus with my Grandma but hadn't asked her if she wanted to give her life to him. She went about the rest of the house heavy hearted that she hadn't asked. All of us felt inside that we hadn't said goodbye properly.

The in-and-out of the hospitals continued. Each time we visited, she was unresponsive. She didn't open her eyes, no matter how loudly we called or how tightly we squeezed her hands. Her arms and legs swelled from disuse. Still we visited, holding on to hope.

One Saturday, January 24, 2015 my Dad and my uncle planned to meet to discuss my Grandma's coma. At my uncle's suggestion, they decided to meet at my Grandma's bedside to check-in before they made any decisions. My Dad arrived first. Grandma was sleeping as usual and as it was morning, my Dad walked over to the blinds to open the windows.

As the light reached her face, her eyes opened. My Dad was amazed. My grandma squeezed his hand and even began wiggling both of her legs. Her left side had previously been paralyzed by the stroke. It was truly nothing short of a miracle. My uncle arrived, and then my mom. She was alert and could shake her head no, and squeeze their hands. After some time together, my mom shared the gospel with her one more time and asked her the question. She squeezed my mom's hand. Being a skeptic at heart, my mom asked again, and was met with the same response. Overjoyed, my mom texted all of us at once, praising God. I was driving with my brother to pick up some Portos and we couldn't believe it. It was one of the happiest moments that we've experienced as a family.

My Grandma was only with us for one more week. She passed away on January 30, 2015 in the early evening. Her passing was hard on all of us, but I thank God for his mercies for us: that we were able to say goodbye and that she was able to know Jesus on earth, if even only for one week. I had prayed so long for it, and my faith had faltered. Yet, God was gracious to us. I can't be any more thankful.

For the longest time, I have been at a loss for words. I neither feel happiness, nor true anger, but a permeating heavy emptiness. Everything I think I need is so forced and fickle.

"Write!" she said. It will help you. You will know yourself. You will know how you feel. You will be validated!

The pages of my notebook sit sticky and heavy together. I open it, hoping to find inspiration pouring out like I did once before. The words do not flow. The rambling waves of emotion that once dominated that story seem repetitive and old.

No one wants to read a description and a feeling. They want a story. A beginning and end. A climax! A resolution.

Your life is a beautiful story, they said.

The times of transitions in your life are the most challenging. Be gentle on yourself. You're growing, stretching, and learning more and more everyday. And it's hard because now there are no distractions. There's only focused introspection. You're learning to live with yourself. Not the person you were, or the person who does, but the person you are.

Today on the 4 hour bus ride I randomly sat down on an empty seat next to an old Thai man who was reading a book. I noticed that the book was a devotional in English and, speaking in Thai, I complimented him on his English skills. I asked him where he was from and he replied that he was from phitsanulok. Later, he asked to switch seats with me and asked me where I was going and where I was from. I told him I was from America, and then he replied in perfect English, "I thought you were Thai!" Thus began a conversation that lasted the remaining two hours of the trip. It turns out that he used to be the Vice President of payap university in chiang Mai, the very place I was going to meet my friend Karen the next day. He grew up in northern Thailand, went to chulalongkorn university in Bangkok for a degree in political science and then won a scholarship to study in America in Tennessee. He chose to live among americans in the college dorms so that he could learn english. A church family adopted him and taught him about american culture, Jesus, sports, and most importantly, how to make fried okra. Along the way, he met and shook president lyndon b. johnson's hand in a tennessee vietnam war parade and joined the Presbyterian church leadership. Since then, he has worked as a volunteer English teacher for schools across Thailand. After a spirited discussion about faith, food, family, and English grammar while snacking on steamed red bean buns, we shook hands and promised to pray for each other. As the bus pulled into the chiang Mai station, he said to me, "I am very thankful for your country and your people. They shower me great kindness and hospitality during my time in America. And I am always very grateful for all the people who helped me in Tennessee so many years ago. I mean it." I wanted to say something to him about Thailand, but I realized that anything I said would seem trite after his eloquence. I nodded and I hoped he understood that I felt the same way about thailand. With one last look at Khun chuwit, I wai'd him with a sawatdee kha as we went our separate ways. He departed with his hand raised and a smile on his face.

Skirts and Bikes Usually there is no problem with biking in a skirt in the Dit. The cars zoom by on the highway and not enough force is created to cause any harm to any lady riding her bike to the market. Unfortunately this week, a large truck full of bales of hay zoomed by one Fulbrighter as she was biking back from buying som tam and created a current of wind that made her skirt fly up right in front of a sohng teaw full of people. She thought no one saw anything and continued on her way, glancing away as she past a motorcyclist relieving himself on the side of the highway.

The next day, a Thai teacher took her out to dinner and as Thai teachers are bound to do, began to give her the lowdown gossip on every female teacher at the school. She began, “Oh! You know those Chinese teachers!” Teacher Som replied, “Oh yes. They are very girly this term.” Thai teacher Kruu Rosarin replied “oh yes, they like to dress very fashionably this term. But they need to be careful about what they wear to the market.” This sparked Teacher Som’s interest and she innocently asked, “why? Did somebody see something?” Kruu Rosarin replied, “Oh yes, ka, somebody saw something on the highway and told Nared the driver, who told Teacher Darak, who told me, to tell you, to tell the Chinese teachers to be careful of what they wear when they go to the market.” Som’s eyes widened. “Yes, Yes, I will make sure to tell them,” nodding her head vigorously.

Flying Kites on the Bed Last term, Teacher Som tried to teach her 7th graders in 1/1 the past tense. They had just returned from an overnight scout camp, so she had them write what they did that week at camp.

Little Mark jumped on a chair and screamed, “Teacher poot wa arai?!” (How do you say this?” and began dancing in a thrusting motion on a chair. Som had to think quickly on her feet. “Oh! That is called flying kites.” Everyone in the class laughed. Unfortunately, the week previous, Teacher Som had taught them prepositions. The boys immediately began chanting “FLYING KITES! ON THE BED! FLYING KITES ON THE BED!” And flying kites became the new favorite hobby of many sentences and games in the class. This term, Teacher Som gave a speaking test that involved giving an excuse for why they could not come to a party. The board read this:

ARE YOU FREE AT 6:00?

I’M SORRY, I USUALLY ____________________.

Many of the students filled in the blank with ‘go shopping’ or ‘do homework’. However, Mark, who is not so little anymore, bounced up to teacher to take his test. As usual, Som asked “Are you free at 6:00?” Cheeky little Mark answered, “I’m sorry Teacher, I usually fly kites.” Som paused for a moment and then she laughed. Little Mark was very naughty, but way ahead of the other kids when it came to clever puns and creativity. “I’ll give you 11/10!” she exclaimed, and sent Mark on his way.

An Odd Conversation An unusual exchange occurred between Teacher Som and her 1/5 girls last week. (All took place in Thai language). “Teacher, what subjects do you study in America?”

“Uhh, English, Math, Science….” “Wow! You study English too?” “Well, Yes.” “So, you know ALL the English words?” “Well, Yes.” “Wowww teacher.”

Mr. Snake An unwelcome tenant moved into the zookeeper’s house last week. The creature was very long and thin and had yellow and black stripes. It saw a vacancy sign on the exterior piping that led to the kitchen sink and decided to move in without asking permission.

As it lay coiled on the ground, it lazily moved it’s tongue around until Teacher Som came home and went to wash her hands. At first, she thought it was a rope her roommate had left on the floor, but then realized it was alive. “I can’t deal with this!” was her first thought, and she slammed the screen door and in true Thai fashion took a pic. When her roommate Gift came home, she screamed. Poor Gift. Som had no chance to warn her. They called Mix, in M. 6/1 to come clear out the snake which he did with a broom and a lot of stamping and screaming. The next day, they moved the kitchen stove inside so that they wouldn’t have to pass the sink everyday when they cooked food.

A Room with a View

There are many days when I am frustrated. The lack of critical thinking among my students still continues to shock me. When I pose “Why?” questions to them, they stop, look confused, and then repeat back to me what I have asked. This has happened many times to me, but a few instances stand out in particular. I ask why the school club “To Be Number One” is called to be number one. They stare blankly at me. I repeat the question, and say (in Thai) “isn’t it about no drugs and no smoking?” I already know for a fact that this is the reason for the existence of the club. “No teacher” they reply, “it means to be number one”. “In what?” I ask. “In everything!” they reply again. Things I could have figured out without asking them.

Another instance was when I asked them what a popular Thai pop song called “Sticker” meant. In the song, the singer sings that his car is black but he wants to change the color to pink, so he puts on stickers to cover his entire car. I ask my 17 year old students, “Why does he want a pink car?” “Prowaa See Chompoo dee gwa (Because pink is better)” “I understand that, why is it better?” The students are stumped. They look puzzled and glance around at each other. The symbolism is lost on them.

Is this culture shock? I have been retreating into myself even more than usual to think about these things. I find that when I am with foreigners, my venting just makes me more angry and frustrated, rather than cathartic. It is time to get off the dance floor and get on the balcony again.

A lot of thinking and reading have persuaded me that changing my attitude will change my perspective on Thai people. I finished “A Room with a View” by E.M. Forster this week, and even though the settings couldn’t be more different, the themes of society and people stay the same.

The protagonist in the novel is named Lucy Honeychurch. She comes from a middle class Edwardian English countryside family and has recently come back from a trip to Italy. After seeing the cathedrals, the art, and meeting Italian people, her eyes are opened to the world around her. She then struggles to find her place in English society: is it with the learned and the well bred and read? or is it with the caring and simple-minded people of Windy Corner? She thinks she has fallen in love with a pedantic gentleman who always talks about books with others to compensate for his lack of charm and athletic abilities. But there is something missing in their relationship; he only wants to be adored by her.

On Lucy’s suitor’s perspective:

“He saw that local society was narrow, but instead of saying, ‘Does this matter very much?’ he rebelled, and tried to substitute for it with the society he considered broad. He did not realize that Lucy had consecrated her environment by the thousand little civilities that create a tenderness in time, and that though her eyes saw its’ defects her heart refused to despise it entirely. Nor did he realize a more important point- that if she was too great for this society, she was too great for all society, and had reached the stage where personal intercourse would alone satisfy her. A rebel she was, but not of the kind he understood- a rebel who desired, not a wider dwelling-room, but equality beside the man she loved.” (p. 108)

I read this passage several times to let it sink in. I really do love Uttaradit, its’ people, the nuances of friendships, and the collection of life stories that have been entrusted with me from students and teachers at the school. “Though her eyes saw its’ defects her heart refused to despise it entirely.” It is something I wonder about, is it wrong to teach the kids to want more when they are already so content with their sheltered lives?

“If she was too great for this society, she was too great for all society, and had reached the stage where personal intercourse would alone satisfy.” I remember my senior of college, I went to talk to my sociology professor during office hours. “What do you want to do after graduation?” he asked “I think you would do great in any job you tried.”

I thought about it for a moment, and then replied. “I don’t know Professor, I don’t think I’m ready. I think I need to read a lot more, and maybe even get another degree before I do anything in the real world. I don’t know enough yet.”

Dr. Dumka smiled, and said to me, “You know Stephanie, I think you put too much trust in books. Maybe it’s time to go learn out there; you’re more ready than you think.”

And this society has revealed to me more about the state of my head and my heart than I could have learned in America. I struggle between humility and disdain, frustration and elation, strength and brokenness. The greatest classroom has been learning from my students about strength through broken families. It astounds me how willingly they love even though so many people have left their lives.

Take Amm. He is the cutest and most hardworking boy in 2/2. He loves to speak English and always comes up to me in the halls to practice. His mother left his father for a Frenchman and moved to Paris when Amm was only 4. His father then left his family to work in Bangkok. Amm has never seen either of them since. He lives with his grandparents and his sister in the nearby village. He was one of the students who met me in the city for my birthday and cleaned my house last term with the Saturday Club kids. His heart is the biggest and so genuinely kind and every time I see him smile I can’t help but smile back.

I’m not one for thinking too much about fate, but I feel very blessed to be here and to have met my little students like Amm. As E.M. Forster writes, “It would seem that the whole earth lay before them, not as a map, but as a chessboard, whereon they continually behold the changing places as well as the squares. Anyone can find places, but the finding of people is a gift from God.”

Returning to the Dit

It’s been a while since I’ve last posted, due to the fact that until very recently, I did not have any internet after school hours. My dear mother has been urging me to post some record of my doings in Uttaradit, probably to prove that I am alive and well. If you are reading this mom, you can picture me in my posh hotel in Bangkok typing on my bed as rain is coming down in sheets outside my window.

I have returned to my beloved Uttaradit to continue teaching at the high school and this term, I am teaching all of the 7th and 8th graders and doing English club for 10th through 12th graders. It is easier to plan lessons, but managing 7th and 8th graders involves a lot more screaming and jumping up and down because sometimes it seems like all 30 of the kids have a polar magnet to their chairs that prevents them from staying in their seats for more than 30 seconds.

A lot of things have been going on recently at the school, which gives me little time to wallow in loneliness at the house. Usually I come home exhausted from the day, and fall asleep while reading Harry Potter or some other novel before waking up and realizing that I need to cook dinner before all the mosquitoes come out to play.

Home visits (as in TUNU kids visiting my home)

The Thai idea of the community as a family is very challenging for a foreigner to adapt to. I love it when kids visit my house to drop things off to say hi. I usually give some snacks and chat with them before sending them off again. But what do you do if they don’t want to leave and you really want to take a nap? Or worse, they walk through your unlocked door during breakfast and you are in your PJ’s? There was one uncomfortable incident when I walked downstairs after an afternoon nap to the kitchen and found three backpacks on my dining table. Three 12 year old boys were hiding in my bathroom, waiting to scare me.

I learned my lesson very quickly at the beginning of this term with my 7th graders. They are sweet little nugget boys with no idea about the privacy western culture prides itself on. In the beginning, I treated them the same as I treated my Mattayom 2 (8th graders) from my Saturday Club. But then they came back every single day, begging for snacks, begging for yogurt and saying things like “Teacher Santa Claus!”. Well, we couldn’t have teacher being Santa Claus. I began locking my door and telling Gift to tell them that I was sick. I felt terrible about it, but I had to stop them from breaking and entering and eating all my breakfast food. Graeng jai is the Thai word for guilt when you cannot help others, or when others help you too much and you can’t repay them. Well I was feeling very Graeng jai, and my little brothers were not feeling any graeng jai.

So sadly, I had to give Nong Top, Nong Shone, and Nong Nat a little bit of a hard time (especially when they broke my screen door out of enthusiasm for entering my house) and explain that teacher was a little upset for real, and that she had a lot of work to do (I was studying for my GRE). Luckily, they understood!

Blue in the face

Lately, kids have been misbehaving quite badly in class, which is probably a result of my reputation as the quirky farang teacher. Before last week, I had never gotten genuinely angry at any class, but 2/4 (eighth grade) was being quite rude by disregarding instructions to copy the board and to stop playing on their phones. I shouted at them quite a bit, and confiscated their phones. I felt badly about my discipline, so I gave it back to them 20 minutes later and they shamelessly started playing on them again. This is when I lost it. I started saying ARAI WA?? Which is the equivalent of “What!!” in english I think, and started turning blue in the face, which made the kids laugh even more.

I was finding very little to laugh about in this situation because I was so frustrated. I took a couple of deep breaths and continued teaching, but people kept pointing at my face.

I cracked. YES! TEACHER’S FACE IS BLUE! I shouted. And then I trolled all of them and drew on my face with the blue whiteboard marker.

Of course the whole class erupted into laughter, but I ignored them and they finally stopped shouting/playing on their phones. And strangely enough, my mood got better as the class went on. It was by no means my best lesson, but a relationship with the class was definitely salvaged that day.

P.S. A lot of negativity this post, but I promise that there is more positive community news to come!

Night in Hong Kong. There's a duality of vibrance and emptiness in this city. I love Hong Kong for its tension of traditional culture, colonial roots and modernity in its own unique identity. I was in Hong Kong the past few weeks visiting family and generally enjoying a fast paced modern city. It was refreshing and energizing, but sometimes I stayed home simply because I couldn't decide which restaurant to go to for lunch. It was a bit overwhelming for this provincial girl. I enjoyed the art and culture of the city and spent some time catching up on the pop culture and visiting museums. My favorite was the Hong Kong Museum of Art, which was showing the Andy Warhol exhibition. I gained a deeper understanding and respect for the artist who unashamedly flaunted his mercenary art. My favorite was a print of a zebra that he did for a children's home.

Chinese Orphan Outreach with the MedArt Team in Suzhou, China

The beautiful city of Suzhou.

Almost immediately after arriving in Suzhou, the team of 17 began seeing the children in their wards. The names and faces of the babies I had only seen before on charts became real as I saw their smiles, and heard their cries and laughter.

I walked into the small ward to see the team’s first patients. It was then that I first saw little HH Zhen. She was so small, a little cuddly ball of a baby with feathery light brown hair, bright attentive eyes, and a shy disposition. Her little legs and arms peeked out from the sleeves of a pair of hospital-issued blue and white striped pajamas. Drowning in her oversized clothes, she was perched on a pink hospital bed meant for adults. Her sweet fragility of a 14 month old was accentuated by the giant bed, making her seem even smaller than she actually was.

She laughed and giggled with what little noise her small body could make. Her nanny from the children’s home found the keys from the hospital, some humble toys. They would suffice for this baby’s short weekend in Suzhou. Auntie tossed the silver hospital keys up and down, higher and higher. Little HH Zhen squeaked with delight, her brown hair flopping softly in the air as she bounced up and down with the jingling of the keys.

The team came over to examine her and as they lifted up her shirt, I saw the burning red marks where she had had her colostomy and vesicostomy. These procedures had been done because she had been born with only one kidney and an imperforate anus, meaning that theseopenings from the large intestine and bladder were needed to constantly remove waste from her body. On closer inspection, some of the redness was attributed to skin inflammation from the open wound. As one who is neither medically trained, nor accustomed to being around babies, I winced and glanced away. I guiltily looked back again, ashamed of my own weakness in looking at a reality that the babies faced everyday.

Looking at these children, I saw so many things they faced daily that they couldn’t control. Not only could they not eat, they couldn’t even go to the bathroom on their own. They are shuttled back and forth between painful and sometimes misguided medical procedures without a voice to say no or cry for help. These little babies' health is at the mercy of the choices of the adults whose care they've been placed in.

The weekend was long and stressful. Important decisions had to be made, and very quickly because the babies only had the three days with the MedArt team from Hong Kong. Sunday arrived, the last day to do operations and surgeries on the children. I came back from a brisk walk in the chilly March air outside the hospital and saw a woman pacing nervously back and forth in the waiting area outside of the operating room. It was HH Zhen's nanny. She looked up from her pacing, distracted, and then smiled as she recognised me from before. 明天你回去香港嗎？I panicked for a second as it had been so long since anybody had spoken to me in mandarin. I managed to choke out a 對啊 and asked her about her baby. She explained that they had come all the way from Beijing for this surgery. She smiled again, but this time she was unable to hide some of the anxiety on her face. Every time the door to the operating room slid open, she jumped a little and looked expectantly at the door. It's already been 4 hours she said, glancing again at the door. I nodded, unable to give her more comfort with my limited potonghua abilities. We sat quietly in the waiting room together, both thinking of the little child lying on the operating table whose life hung in the balance.

I returned to the doctor’s office and I saw my uncle, Dr. Ngan, slowly walking back from HH Zhen’s surgery. It had taken a very long 4 hours to operate on her because her treatment needed to be accelerated. A snap decision was made to perform another operation that normally would take place at a much later time, for the baby’s future health. It was a high stress environment; most of these babies would not get another chance to receive this kind of care.

It was the end of a very long day. Unlike the hustle and bustle of the beginning, the end of the weekend was a quiet and reflective silence in the office.

It would be easy to overlook these babies. But working with Medart was different than anything I had experienced before. MedArt actively searched for these children and assembled a knowledgeable and caring team with expertise in these childrens’ particular cases. Most of the babies had complicated and rare conditions that only specially trained doctors could treat. So often lost in the shuffle of adoptions, hospital records, and orphanage rosters, these babies’ names and cases are insignificant to most. I saw MedArt give them a chance and show them and the babies’ communities that they are not forgotten.

let it go - the smashed word broken open vow or the oath cracked length wise - let it go it was sworn to go

let them go - the truthful liars and the false fair friends and the boths and neithers - you must let them go they were born to go

let all go - the big small middling tall bigger really the biggest and all things - let all go dear

so comes love

e. e. cummings

This past month, a MedArt team of 17 members travelled to Suzhou, China to treat 21 patients and perform surgeries at the Children's Hospital of Suzhou University. MedArt is a nonprofit organization that addresses the needs of orphaned Chinese babies with severe medical conditions who require special medical treatment for their complicated conditions. Highly skilled medical doctors, nurses, PT's, and volunteers travel to China several times a year to provide treatment and care to these orphans. I was privileged to be with such an inspiring and dedicated group of people. To see more of what MedArt does, please visit MedArt

Hong Kong sketch

The crowd moves almost as if in a choreographed dance. In a synchronized pattern, the packs move with each other to avoid other oncoming packs. Most seem to have practiced this dance many times. However, once in a while, a person will stray from the pack and stare at the map on the wall. It is difficult to move out of the pack. The stray will often have to push their way through the oncoming group because they do not stop for him or move out of the way. He must struggle against the current. Occassionally the packs will almost crash into each other as they move to different train platforms. In these cases, there are often words exchanged angrily or politely depending on the personality of the parties involved.

This is a subway station in Hong Kong. People talk on their phones as they go up and down the different levels of the platform and mostly avoid eye contact with other strangers. The escalators are filled with people standing on the right and walking on the left. Children and the elderly are accompanied by the able-bodied and these pairs tend to walk slower. Compared to these pairs, the pace of the suited businessmen and women of Hong Kong is much faster. However, they will walk slowly behind these groups until an opportune moment comes to overtake them so that they may continue on their marathon days. There are no qualms to a slight push from one of these suited people to another. But the elderly and children seem to have a protective bubble around them that is respected.

Sundays. I am always tempted to stay in bed longer and spend the day at home. But God is so good to me every time I go. People at Holy City Uttaradit Church have invited me into their lives, despite my spotty attendance at church and initially reluctance to plunge headfirst into Thai culture another day of the week. .... now this, this is true fellowship and family.

I initially was just hanging out at church and just walking around awkwardly talking to whoever looked friendly. But then word got out that I knew how to read music so I went to play with the band, who was preparing for a wedding starting in two hours. The violin P'Fai was playing was old and the bridge was out of shape. The bow hadn't been rosin'd properly, so the horsehairs were a sticky oily mess of dark yellow strings instead of the silky white bow hairs I am used to. Nevertheless, with some vibrato and strength, music was coaxed out of the old instrument.

P'Fai excitedly showed me the songs they wanted to play and then started singing me a song. She wanted me to transcribe the song into chords in the key of G for them so that they could play together. The song was Mendelssohn's wedding march and they sang the song again and again until I wrote down the whole song using the keyboards and the violin to figure out the puzzle. I never considered myself good at music, but I loved helping in a small way to make the wedding special for the church couple.

It was so nice to be in that state of mind again. It brought me back to the countless hours I spent in my house at home when I was a teenager, practicing in a dimly lit room alone with my music and improvising songs. People at the church would come up to me and ask "Ngaao mai?" are you bored? I wasn't bored at all.

Music is the socially acceptable introverted escape from community culture in Thailand. The Thai's love music and when it is time to socialize, a musician is an instant star. But when it is time to be alone, the Thai's understand the need to practice by oneself quietly and respect the space of the artist.

My church loves music so much that they invited me to sing special music during service without any knowledge of whether I had musical abilities or not. I would say that is grace freely given.

Nong Bow and Nong Manow were my little shadows the whole day. The wedding was spent entertaining them in the sound booth and feeding Nong Manow the sweet and sour fish, always making sure her plate was never empty. On the way home in the car, I asked what english songs they knew. The choices were limited and the time was short, but we sang Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Barney and Friends' "I love you" all the way home.

"And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more in knowledge and depth of insight"- 1 Philippians 1:9

It never felt so good to be part of a family.

English Camp at my fellow Fulbrighter Teacher Sandy's school, Triam Udom Suksa School of the North in neighboring Phitsanulok province.

Show up

I finish teaching and drag my feet down the hallway to teach my last class of the day. My stomach sinks in my chest when I see the empty classroom. The entire class didn't come for the second week in a row. But then I see one boy sitting on the bench outside, and I can feel a big smile spread across my face. I think that he is the "hua yai" or the prefect, who has to sign the books to show that the teacher has taught the class that day. But after my abbreviated one on one lesson with Nut and our practice of the dialogue, I ask him for the attendance notebook. He replies that his friend has it. Meaning that he came by himself of his own accord with no other prerogative except to study english. My smile gets even bigger, if that's possible. He shows me his flashcards on his laptop to study english. I learn that he used to be in the top class in school, but that he dropped two classes down because of bad grades at the end of last term. I ask him what he wants to be when he grows up. He hesitates, and I'm not sure if it is because he is thinking of the word, or of his future. Finally, he answers that he wants to be a policeman. To become a policeman in Thailand, you don't need to attend university; you just need to pass an exam. I know he is capable of more, because I've seen him fixing my wifi at my house, and programming things on his computer. I encourage him to study and be a computer teacher or an engineer. He stays until the end of the class period, teaching me Thai, and studying english. He has such great potential. I know he hasn't given up yet. There's a quote that says that the world is changed by people who show up. And not only for the students, but teachers need to show up to these classes ready as well. If one kid wants to learn English, I need to be there for them.

Let's all pile onto Teacher's bed!

I volunteered to teach an extra class on Saturdays to help my students practice conversational English. After class, Nong Jib asked me if they could play at my house. I said my house was very dirty, and he said "teacher, we will clean for you!!" So they all came over and invaded my bungalow, went through my fridge, chastised me for not throwing out expired bread, and lovingly rearranged everything in my room.

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