Connecting the Dots

Do you ever feel like there's a "theme" to your week? A message/adage that follows you around, seeps through your mind and influences your actions?

Well, this past week, my theme was "connecting the dots." It all started when one of my friends told me to watch Steve Jobs' 2005 Stanford Commencement speech. I ignored it -- too long. But then another friend from a very different group of mine told me to watch it a few days later, and I thought, "Ok, two people in one week is a pretty big coincidence." It's not like his speech is a new YouTube hit -- I mean, 2005? I was still in high school.

Suffice it to say that the speech did, as most inspirational speeches tend to do, "change my life," as my latter friend promised it would (at least, I still feel the residual inspirational effects of it!). You'll have to watch it yourself, but the main point that stuck with me was that only will we be able to connect the dots of our lives when we look back on it. Basically, hindsight is 20/20. Such a great message and reminder, especially to a 21 year-old like me, who continually struggles with the purpose behind my actions, and where my future will end up.

After feeling inspired by Jobs (such an incredible man), I retired that night and decided to pick up my current literary fling, "Marco Polo Didn't Go There" by travel writer, Rolf Potts. It's a collection of witty and post-modern written travel stories by Potts. Because I haven't gotten sun in a few days thanks to my desk job (wah), I decided to read a story based on the Mediterranean area.

"Turkish Knockout" was my story of choice, which told of Potts' experience as a victim of a date-rape drug. After regaining consciousness after the ordeal, he masochistically relives the events of the day and expresses how the each little encounter he had had with various "strangers" ultimately led to his demise (there are obviously more details to the story, but that's why you should just go pick up the book and read it yourself, duhhh!).

Sure, the end of Potts' story was not successful, as Jobs' was, but Potts did emote the same message:

"A certain 101-level existentialist (Kierkegaard, I think) once suggested that life is lived forwards, but understood backwards."

Ding, ding!

So there we have it, ladies and gents. The message of my week, indirectly told to me via two different friends and a book: connecting the dots, and having faith that our actions are all part of a master plan that will all make sense one day.

It's Not Neglect!

This post will be a short one, as I've taken to the "real world" by working the daily grind at a sort've fabulous marketing agency in West Hollywood (!!), thus leaving me with minimal time to devote to my beloved blog, aka my outlet of expression. Oh, blog, don't hate me so...

In the weeks since my last post, my home town, Los Angeles, has seen some great things. Por ejemplo, the Lakers put on another Lake Show and secured the 'ship. (For all of you who never saw "Hardball", that's the CHAMPionship.) My Lakers, my town! We won! I went positively ape. The irony was that though I'd religiously watched almost every game leading up to the nail-biter of Game 7, during Game 7 itself, I was actually in a car, driving through the mountains, en route to Vegas Wegas, hearing the play-by-play from none other than my dear mother, who, I'm sorry to report, is surely not as awesome an announcer as those on AM 710 (also known as "the radio station that loses service en route to Vegas." Hmph!).

Regardless, Mom's descriptions of the plays CRACKED me up:
"Lasol...has the ball....it's...it's...OH! WE SCORED! A basket! Go, Lasol!"

(Mom, bless your heart, but for the record, it's Gasol. Pau Gasol. GGGGGG.)

What else? Oh, our city was aflame with World Cup Fever. Viva! Viva! The beauty of living in LA is its diversity, so when worldwide events like the Cup occur, our eclectic, beautiful, colorful, mish-mash of people come out and show their pride. While driving to the mall when Mexico lost to Argentina (womp), I was so pleased to see Mexican flags billowing atop many a Ford Explorer. All of this, of course, was the day after USA lost to Ghana (blast!), whence I saw die-hard Americans with their faces painted, robed entirely, and solely, in our flag (LOL, could that be considered defamation? I mean, it's a case-by-case basis, but still...)

I had a fun time in the Third Street Promenade pub cheering our team on to...defeat...in a fraternity-like setting (because who DOESN'T enjoy getting beer sloshed all over her while getting rubbed up on by large men?!), but I couldn't help but think about all the other countries in the world who would be mourning/cutting themselves if their country had lost. My fellow frat frat brothers and I all moped about after the game, but honestly, I was happy snappy a few hours later. Thus, I must declare that should America have won the World Cup (definitely not talented enough yet for that, but dream with me), I actually would've been pretty pissed.

Porqua, you ask? Because! America is good at freaking everything, except soccer. The WORLD has soccer on US. For us to take that away - take that one sport, that one (of few?) unifying symbol of nationalistic pride and culture - for our country's glory, would be so terribly unfair. Americans do not love soccer as much as the world does. We have a long way to go from our AYSO, soccer-mom view on the sport. Trust, we have talent, but we're simply not there yet...

So, ICH LIEBE DEUTCHLAND! I hang your colors proud in my car, Germany, and I thank my 2006 experience in Europe during World Cup for that.

That's all for now, folks! And by folks, I mean all the Chinese people who are posting comments on my blog in Chinese. Who ARE you? Do I know you? And I can't read Chinese! Oy, vey!

Today's Brilliance

I subscribe to a site called "Inspire Me Today". The emails I get often help me start my day with a sense of tranquility, grounding, confidence, and inspiration. Today's was particularly nice.

Of all the things you can make in life, remember you make a difference. ~ Noah benShea

If today were my last day on Earth and I could share 500 words of brilliance with the world, here are the important things I'd want to pass along to others...

Noah benShea's Ten Tips for Tough Times

1. Being broke is not the same as being broken,
losing money is not the same as being lost,
and finding your balance is not something you can do on a balance sheet.

2. Don't confuse having less with being less,
having more with being more,
or what you have with who you are.

3. Slow down.
What you're chasing may be trying to catch you.

4. Prayer is a path where there is none.

5. Put your faith and not your fears in charge.

6. God only gave you two arms.
If you're busy hugging the past you can't embrace the future.
Don't let the past kidnap your future.

7. This too shall pass.
Change is the only constant.
In order to take a breath you must release your breath.

8. Do what you can,
but never forget that letting go is very different from giving up.

9. Break the rules that are breaking you.
Tough times don't require you to be tough on yourself.
Find the courage to suffer happiness.

10. Remember, remember, remember...
Things don't have to be good for you to be great.

Lessons from Lisa Ling

A few days ago, my best friend and I reunited at my alma mater, the University of Southern California, to hear Lisa Ling speak at a Women's Student Assembly event. To meet her was a huge deal for the both of us, considering that during our two years of living together, we'd skipped out on a handful of Friday-nights-on-the-town to instead cozy up to one of Ling's captivating National Geographic documentaries. (my favorite was "China's Lost Girls")

[Me, Lisa Ling, my friend]

For those who don't know Lisa Ling, she may simply be "that Asian girl on TV". You might have seen her on The View or on National Geographic, or as a correspondent on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Most recently, her sister was detained in North Korea but was released after a string of diplomatic and humanitarian efforts that happened mainly as a result of Lisa's public outcries and celebrity weight.

For those who do know Lisa Ling, she is an Asian American broadcast journalist, and a hero to many who share her heritage. When I joined MySpace seven years ago as a sophomore in high school, for example, and was asked who my heroes were, I automatically wrote Lisa Ling. She, Connie Chung, Lucy Liu, and frankly, Mulan, were the only female Asian faces I saw in mainstream media, and for that, I was proud of her. I identified with her and aspired to be the eloquent, brave, intelligent person she seemed to be.

[Stunning! Lisa had an unconventional, chic, beautiful wedding in March 2010 at LA's Union Station.]

Born-and-raised in Sacramento, CA, Lisa is 1,000% American, but has faced many issues that I, as a minority, have faced both at home and abroad. We've faced ignorant comments and jabs that puncture the soul, such as when Ling made a controversial comment on a 9/11 special on The View and subsequently received hate letters that reprimanded, "What do you know? Go back to China". But despite the misunderstanding and hate that comes with the territory of being a minority, widely-known, investigative journalist, Lisa has continued to cover stories.

And this is why.

While Lisa has a huge fan-base of Asian Americans like myself, she quite apparently doesn't rest her identity on that blaring racial factor that sets her apart. She does what she does not to represent Asians in the media, but because she simply LOVES journalism. And I'm not talking about cuddly, puppy love; I'm talking passionate, put-me-on-the-front-lines (even if that means putting my life in danger), expose-the-truth love. (Watch some of her documentaries and you'll see what I'm talking about. From Colombia, to America's most dangerous prison, to China and beyond, Ling has "roughed it", and that's an understatement.) I cannot stress enough how I hung on her every word during that hour-long talk -- not because she is a graceful, intelligent speaker; not because she speaks in what seems like poetic prose, but because she spoke every single word with purpose, and instills exactly that into her followers -- purpose.

So, rather than applaud Lisa as one of the Asian American community's finest, I want to instead thank her for showing us that if you believe in something, or want something so badly, your dream can come true. In her case, unveiling stories about the world was her dream. It's so obvious that honest, true, raw journalism was something she wanted so badly for not just herself, but for others, and to this day, will fight for.

Lesson learned. If there are ambitions or dreams or goals that you really want, like really, REALLY want, you can will them to existence. As Lisa said and did, "You can just will them to existence".

[What is YOUR purpose?]
_______________________________________________

The public would not know about many pressing issues if Lisa weren't here to deem them of importance and choose to report on them. Here are some of my notes from her talk:

-Lisa and her crew have been safe, despite being in very dangerous situations, because she respects her interviewees. They are all people and all came from a mother. She gives respect to get it.
-As a mere sophomore at USC, she had to miss a Russian-based final because she...had to GO to Russia to report for Channel 1. Before she dropped out of school, she had already reported in Afghanistan.
-Sexual trafficking is a topic that is of dire importance to her, especially that which is occurring in the USA at this very minute. She seeks to unveil the misconceptions we have, and the truth that many politicians try to hide: that "prostitution" in the USA is actually the trafficking of women. Americans have distaste for prostitutes because we often think they are criminals without acknowledging that many of these girls run away from bad home lives, only to be preyed on by bad men, or pimps, a culture we revere, especially in hip hop. If girls are trafficked in from other countries, we help them. But if they are American girls, they're left to fend for themselves, and they're seen as dirty prostitutes.
-She recommends spending a day in juvenile court. Witness the frailty of seemingly tough girls who have been arrested for prostitution; realize that they are just little girls.
-Child marriage happens in 40 countries around the world. In Ethiopia, girls as young as 6-7 years old are married off to older men and are expected to conceive a male.
-She's struggled with faith after witnessing so many brutalities and injustices. But her husband sent her an email, with the subject asking God, "Why? Why would this be?" to which He retorted, "Now that you know, you can't pretend that you don't. Why would this be? I made you".
-Spend a year abroad. It makes you smarter, well-versed, marketable in the job force, and educated.

Lisa Ling is currently shooting for Oprah's OWN 2011 documentary series, set to launch in January 2011.

She is a spokesperson for iVolunteer.org and is active on social media (@lisaling).

It Goes Full Cycle: Final Days

This post was written on March 29, 2010 on a breezy evening in Koh Samet. I was savoring a scoop of chocolate ice cream as I reminisced on my time in SE Asia (journeys to Burma, Cambodia, and Vietnam will later be posted)...

The full moon sits in the dark, velvety blue sky like a perfectly illuminated bronze penny – a mint coin on museum display, so it seems. It's 6pm, and I face the perfect circle as I wade alone in the warm waters of Koh Samet – my favorite island in all of Thailand – as if engaged in a final goodbye conversation with a loved one – for it is, sad as I currently am to say, one of my last days in Thailand.

I don't even know if I'm saying anything coherent to the moon, but who cares? I'm here in Koh Samet by myself and want to talk to someone/thing that understands what I'm going through. But because the journeys we (“we” being foreign teachers, volunteers, expats, travelers, etc.) go through when living abroad are so wonderfully individualized, the only entity to which I feel safe unleashing my torrent of thoughts is one that won't talk back or question or sympathize with me, because that's not what I want right now. I just want to reflect without needing to make sense, and the simple moon, with its golden reflection silently shimmering on the black waters, seems to smile kindly at me and say, “gab away, Kristina.”

So I do. The combination of the jacuzzi-like water, pampering sand, Singha, perfect night air, and Jack Johnson playing in the background jolt me into reflection mode. I really can't help it. I open the flood gates and start with the thought that has plagued and amazed me most throughout these past few weeks: “How the heck did time fly by so fast?!” This leads me down a most wallowing path, during which feelings of last-minute desperation overwhelm me. I feel the need to do and try everything that I love about Thailand just one more time before I leave. My thoughts run something like this:

I must eat suki at MK one more time. I must eat my favorite coconut yogurt one more time. I should call Madam Chong and have a final lunch with her. Is Tina in town? Is Nancy in town? Where is Nate, Reuven? I really wish I had hung out with them more. I also wish Linnea were here with me, dang she's cool. We've had some good times, haven't we? And ugh, I should have ordered a Chang beer instead of wine tonight at dinner– my gosh, what was I thinking? I can get wine anywhere, but Chang? By the way, did I buy all the terribly cheap goods I need to buy, or do I need to go shopping yet again? And why, why, moon, doesn't America have street-side fruit vendors? I'm going to gain fruit fat from all the mango I'll need to consume in the next few days...

But then, in the midst of my most petty run-on babbles, I stop, and I look up to my most patient listener, which happens to be the calming answer to all my frantic and anxious worries, and I literally chuckle out loud.

The funny thing is that my departure from Thailand coincides with a full moon, which, as I've learned, is a big deal in Asia for both religious and social purposes (see: Full Moon party, which I happened to skip in order to spend time in solitude at Samet instead. But I digress.). “How wonderful it is,” I think to myself, “that the end of my Thailand experience can be symbolized by the mark of one of nature's finest cycles.”

I stop worrying, and I am at peace.

It goes like this: the moon will always be there, as will my opportunities to find and do the exciting things I have done in Thailand, God willing. As we all know, the moon goes through routine growth changes that inevitably lead it to be complete, full, and round – an exuberantly shining beacon in the middle of the expansive night sky. We can expect this to happen before it slips away and re-starts the cycle of rebirth to full growth, on repeat.

And I suppose that is what has happened to me, and to the thousands of other individuals who are courageous, and admittedly fortunate enough, to leave their known comforts at home and start afresh and sort-of alone, abroad. As long as we throw ourselves into our experiences with as open-minds as the blank, moonless sky at the beginning of the lunar cycle, then we'll leave with a full chapter written in our life's book, as well-rounded and enlivened as the full moon. And though our next “cycles” may be unknown, we can still move forth with a conviction that shines from within. Because we know we can. And that we should. And that we really have no choice in the matter, for the next cycle is coming whether we like it or not.

Waving goodbye with my 9th graders at Amnuayvidhya School on the last day of class

A Special Sunday

As I write this, it's Sunday in Thailand. A typical Sunday it'd be, most any other day, except today marks the beginning of the end of my teaching contract in Thailand, for I have one week left. Friends back at home have been asking me how I'm doing, and I'll answer honestly: I feel weird. I feel funky.

I haven't kept up with my blog as much as I'd have liked, mainly because I had, and still have, so many feelings, observations, and reflections to express. These emotions are so enormous that rather than tackle them head-on and journal about them, I've run away from them to avoid confronting my impending departure.

It sounds like I'm about to break up with someone.

//

Now, in the early hours on this Sunday, I will write candidly.

On leaving the classrooms: I feel glad for not having to face the deafening, wildly uncontrollable classes in the future. Though the students were often rowdy because my class was an intermission from having to sit for long school hours under the reign of strict Thai teachers, that is no justification for pretending to enjoy it. In the beginning, I used to be hard on myself and attribute their unwillingness to learn on my boringness as a teacher, but after speaking to many teachers, that surely is not the case. Really, these students sit for hours and many Thai teachers are like dictators in the classroom. For me to waltz in with games to play, a sing-song voice, and a huge smile is like adding rays of sunshine and a bowl of sugar-coated Frosted Flakes to their day. Nonetheless, my ears and voice will be most grateful upon my exit. Last Friday, for example, I just stared in stumped silence at my 2nd grade class, as one boy sat in the corner by his lonesome, playing the harmonica; as three pugnacious boys and a girl were chasing and wrestling with each other in the back of the class with realistic toy guns; as two girls argued and consequently cried; as three (adorable) girls choreographed a dance near the whiteboard; as the "big girl" in the class gave piggy back rides to the boys; as the other students colored; and as students asked me if they could go to the toilet every other minute or so. Only a few, albeit an eager few, wanted to learn about animals with me. I actually ended up laughing about it...what a wild scene!

On leaving my students: But though I worked in a circus, I will miss my students so very much. So very much so that my heart aches right now just thinking about them. When I first started teaching, I was overwhelmed by the large classes: a sea of uniforms, black hair, tan skin, eager eyes, and smiles. I'm Asian myself and had major problems memorizing their faces. But personalities emerged, my favorites were picked, my attachment grew. I feel like a parent who has raised an adoptive child and has to give him/her up: I wonder what my students will look like when they're older, what they will do, if they will still be the good children they are, if they will remember me.

Many of my students have expressed that they don't want me to leave. It's pretty cute in their broken English:

"Teacher, no go."
"Teacher. America, no."
"Teacherrrrrrrrrrr! *Clinging hug, pleading eyes*"
"Teacher, you, Amnuayvidhya School, 2011. No 2010."
"Teacher, I sad. You go America, oh no!"

To which I respond: "I know. Teacher sad." Perhaps I will be a weeping mess on Friday, who knows.

On leaving my friends: It's impossible not to form a special bond with people you've relied on for support, friendship, advice, and comradeship in a foreign country. Linnea and I will forever have a very special relationship because of all the adventures we've been on together. We were just two strangers brought together by fate, but now we have Thailand (and all its mis/adventures), and soon-to-be Burma, Cambodia, and Vietnam to share, between the memories, laughs, and shocks. She and I , along with my other Bangkok friends, Jenny and Jo, would always meet up in the city to catch up over a classy Sizzler salad bar dinner (go wild). We met tonight on Khao San, and it hit me how much I will miss the regularity of these outings. It will be surreal for me to settle back at home and see their pictures halfway across the world, knowing that I was there merely weeks, months ago. I sincerely will miss them, as well as my other CIEE friends. It's never been more clear to me than now that people are truly, strategically placed in our lives for a reason. With each path I've crossed, I take a little bit of that person with me and weave him/her into my own life. If meeting these people were all I got from CIEE, then paying that program fee would have been worth it.

On leaving this environment: Hallelujah. I can't stand this pollution anymore. I also think I will go through reverse culture shock when I go home to America and see clean streets devoid of stray dogs and their living/non-living counterparts & offsets (elaboration not needed). I can't wait!

On lessons learned: So many that I will devote a post to it. But an overarching lesson would be that many things in life do not go as planned, and yet you will seriously be okay. I knew this before Thailand but truly experienced it here in the littlest mishaps that can be applied to life in general. Buses will run late; taxi drivers will rip you off; you will wander and get lost; heck, you might not be able to communicate; but make a few U-turns, wait patiently, communicate with conviction and honesty, and keep your cool, for life is still good amidst the petty problems.

Because at the end of this, I know I am fortunate to be here and experience the ups and downs of this Thai life. As Jo reminded me the other day, when thinking about the downs of our lives in Thailand, think instead about this: Haiti. Enough said.

I am very, very blessed.

The Curious Case of the Never-Ending-Childhood

When Peter Pan flew off to Neverland so he could indefinitely avoid adulthood, he might as well have escaped to Thailand. I say this based on my observations of Thai adults, whose ratios of the westernized ideology of age-to-maturity are quite disproportional. And to be quite honest, I have pondered this “curious case of the never-ending-childhood” with the most earnest intentions because I find this quality of the Thai adults with whom I've interacted to be endearing – and, I'll admit it, often amusing.

Per this mock case study, I've recounted the the following evidential circumstance, a real-life experience that is one of many that I frequently meet with a bewilderment.

Teacher's Day, a few weekends ago. Linnea and I unknowingly forfeited our entire Saturday to (her) playing in a teacher volleyball tourney and (me) sitting in the shade, watching both the tourney and a troupe of Thai teachers pound on drums and dance around in cowboy costumes as “cheerleaders.”

We arrived at 10:30am after our school's van drove us, along with five other Thai teachers, to our destination. I'd like to note that though the drive was a mere 35 minutes, K-Pop karaoke was turned all the way up and the Thai teachers were bouncing around the van, singing and laughing like banshees, and inviting us to join in the fun that they apparently don't seem to get much of during the week. And I mean that – these teachers seem SO serious at school in their uniforms, with their rulers in their hands, and their deep, disciplinarian voices. And their hair in buns, obvi. Seeing them act like tweeny boppers at a Jonas Brothers concert was like watching some twisted rendition of “Girls Gone Wild – the PG/Thai Teacher Version.” I sat in the back but was unsure whether I should be more overwhelmed by the volume of the music or that of the high-pitched teachers' voices...

The day was how you'd imagine a volleyball tournament to be. It wrapped up at 5pm when our school lost to another team (second place, not too shabby!). Then, we were informed that the banquet (“What banquet?!”) would begin in an hour. From 6pm-10:30pm, we sat amidst a sea of linen-covered-tables in the courtyard of a Christian-Thai school, surrounded by Thai teachers who promptly whipped out their Spy wine coolers, beers, and, of course, Thai whisky – the effects of which were horrendously obvious a few hours later. For example, one Thai male teacher was so drunk that he stumbled over to Linnea and wouldn't stop staring at her/whiteness, or commenting on how she is farang, or asking her to dance, or continually and almost-violently offering her a lone peanut that he had been clutching in his sweaty palm. Gross. I was starting to get squeamish with his obnoxious behavior, but I couldn't really show it because all the other Thai teachers laughed at his childish antics with such genuine heart – not like the awkward chuckles that we were giving him.

Sigh. And then one of the teachers at our school, who is the mother of a 6^th grader, proceeded to dance atop her chair for a good half of the song that some other teacher was karaoke-ing (of course) on stage. I wish my internet was better so I could upload the video I took of her, but imagine, in a banquet arena consisting of probably 200 people, a single teacher teetering on top of her chair, wildly pumping her fists in the air, head banging and thrashing her black hair around, and drunkenly slurring a song quite loudly, all the while spitting on me (because I of course got to sit right next to her...er, under her). I was a little taken aback. Why? Well, NO AMERICAN TEACHER WOULD EVER DO THAT. Not in a million years. S/he would be the first on the PTSA Blacklist, or something like that. It was so bizarre.

Oh, there were some other moments of immaturity (by Western standards). Like when L and I ate three bowls of this noodle dish, which was one of ten courses that was actually not spicy and pretty tasty, and one of the teachers looked me very seriously in the eyes and told me to “Sah-top eating. Sah-top eating.” No smile. No hint of it being a joke. Just judgement, seething across the table. Stop eating. I was told to stop eating. Ummmmmm..no. I quite enjoyed my food, so with a seemingly oblivious smile and a hearty laugh, I indeed continued on with my culinary escapade.

We played some form of musical chairs at the front of the stage, and I was convinced that these Thai adults are really just Thai children trapped in older bodies. These are games I play in my classrooms! Meanwhile, I was also wondering how on earth all of these teachers had been celebrating themselves for 12 hours. 10:30am until 10:30pm. We were just perplexed as to whether they had such things as, oh, family, or commitments back at home. I can't imagine any American person I know giving up a full day (never mind that this day was on a weekend!) to celebrate his/her profession.

So the day was long but amusing. I plopped down on my bed with my ears still ringing – you guessed it, karaoke on full-blast on the van ride home.

Prior to this experience, I had noted this culture of cuteness that Thais of all ages seem to emit, like the group of Thai women (Always in groups, by the way. They don't like doing anything by themselves.) who sat on our boat to Koh Samet the other weekend with their cowboy hats on, sucking on lollipops. I believe they were Chuppa Chubs – they're sold everywhere. I haven't had a Chuppa Chub since 5^th grade (although admittedly I bought one at 7-11 the other day; perhaps I was trying to assimilate into the culture more haha)!

I suppose in Thailand, the aphorism “Youth is wasted on the young” doesn't hold true. The adults here, mainly the women whom I've observed, giggle and laugh as if they were teenagers, smile a lot, go shopping in groups, and, at the minimum, simply LOOK young. It's incredible how youthful these women look; on multiple occasions, I've mistaken mothers for teenagers (they are stick thin!)! Anyway, this perpetual state of juvenescence, I've determined, can be attributed to either their Buddhist beliefs of acceptance, which yield tolerance of such behavior, and/or the Thai attitude of “Mai Pen Rai,” which means “don't worry about it” or “hakuna matata.” Either way, being in this kind of environment has been a 180 shift from serious, career-driven Americans back at home. It's a whole new world. We could learn a thing or two...on second thought, maybe just a thing.

Stay tuned for Thai love stories. It's a hoot.

Some of my favorite quotes

Because why should only my Facebook followers enjoy them? :)

"If you're going to be passionate about something, be passionate about learning. If you're going to fight something, fight for those in need. If you're going to question something, question authority. If you're going to lose something, lose your inhibitions. If you're going to gain something, gain respect and confidence. And if you're going to hate something, hate the false idea that you are not capable of your dreams."

-Daniel Golston

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

-Mark Twain

"Take your decisions with courage, detachment, and a touch of madness."

-Paulo Coelho

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

"She's the type who, given the choice between two paths, would rather choose a machete."

-Franz Wisner

Share your knowledge. It's a way to achieve immortality.

"He dreaded having to make a decision, but at the same time he liked being a this crossroads. He enjoyed the sense of infinite potential. He had a rare chance to reinvent himself into whoever he wanted to be."

-Po Bronson

"When the world zigs, zag."

-M.I.A.

When life gets rough, consider whether you have a problem or a "problem".

"Don't tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you have traveled."

-Mohammed

Never give priority to someone who treats you as an option.

"A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."

-Jackie Robinson

Dream what you want to dream;

Go where you want to go;

Be what you want to be,

Because you have only one life

And one chance to do

All the things you want to do.

"One of my rules is: Never TRY to do anything. Just do it."

- Anita Defranco

"On this spot in 1983/El Orlan discovered that the meaning of his life lay in learning, friendship and love, and service to others."

-Charles Baxter

" I want u to know that I talk about my RA 'Kristina' on every one of my tours and all the floor bonding we did. Little do they know I wasn't even there technically..."

-Hercules "USC Tour Guide/Honorary BK5 Member" Walker

:)

"Pretty girl laugh, make me wondering what she is thinking is answers."

-Christopher "Wan Won" Berry

"I've lost a shoe... have you seen it anywhere? Excuse me, missus, I've lost a shoe... like this one. It's like this one's fellow... it's sort of the exact opposite in fact of that - not an evil version but just, you know, a shoe like this... but for the other foot. Otherwise I'd have two right..."

-Aldous Snow hahahaha

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."

-Elwyn Brooks White

The Absence of Stars

I miss starry nights. Bangkok's night sky is a smoggy blanket that's speckled with maybe seven visible twinkles. At least last night, when Linnea, the other English teacher, Wayne, and I went to the large and active Lumphini Park to listen a free concert in the park by the Bangkok Symphony (which was lovely), we saw Orion's Belt. But normally, the light and air pollution steal my beloved sparklies away from me.

When there was a historical meteor shower in November (the name of which escapes me at this moment), the news reports said that the shower would be the most spectacular in Asia, notably in Thailand. But the sky was too smoggy for me to witness the phenomenon. Sad face.

Thankfully, when I'm at Koh Samet, the stars come out to play. It's just another reason why Samet is one of my most favorite places in the whole world.

Chiang Mai

On Saturday, January 2^nd, 2010, I was back in Bangkok after a splendid week spent in Phuket/Koh Pi Pi. I thought I'd take the next weekend easy – after all, doing nothing on a beach for a week can honestly be tiring –but five days later on January 7^th, I found myself on a bus traveling 10 hours north to the city of Chiang Mai. Cheeeeers to spontaneity.

The bus rides to and from Chiang Mai deserve a paragraph or two to themselves – that is, paragraphs of justified carping. I believe most foreigners who have traveled via the VIP buses on long-distance trips around Thailand share the same woes: that the buses are freezing cold; the drivers speed so much through windy roads that you wonder 1) if he even has a license, and 2) if you will die on this trip; and finally, that the provided entertainment is enough to make you go crazy.

Honestly, on the ride up to Chiang Mai, the air con was blasting so forcefully onto me that two layers of blankets that they had graciously provided us (scoff), plus my thin scarf and two jackets, did nothing to appease my feelings of being frozen-to-death. I felt like Rose in “Titanic” as she was clinging onto dear life in the icy cold water (“Goodbye, Jack...”). You may think I am exaggerating, but my air con vent was dripping condensation onto my legs, and the air con from the seat behind me was dripping onto my head. On top of this Chinese-torture-cell-simulation, the provided entertainment drove me insane. “Yeah, yeah, you complain too much, Kristina.” But really, YOU try sitting through hours of poorly shot Thai game shows (i.e. where two muscular men try to squeeze the juice out of tangerines with their biceps) that you've already seen on other buses before, then attempting to sleep, then being woken up at 2AM (YES) because they feel it utterly compelling and rational to wake up the snoozing passengers with some awful (and awfully loud) music videos. And I mean it when I say these music videos are AWFUL. Linnea and I even discussed our urge to vomit after having watched like, five of them in a row. I truly despised them because every single video's story line consisted of some love triangle (man loves woman who loves other man, man loves woman who actually loves a woman, woman loves man who loves another woman, etc.) that always ended up in the girl BURSTING out into tears. So it's 2am, you're trying to sleep, ice water is dripping onto you from the a/c, and your ipod won't drown out the sound of weeping/wailing/sorrowful girls. I mean, these music videos pretty much solidified my observation that Thai relationships, due to their culture of suppressing emotions, are overly sentimental to the point of obsession and annoyance. I guess my disgust with these videos stems from my own personal view on relationships, but truth be told, anyone would get fed up with the constant pitiful plot lines. But hey, at least the bus ride was significantly cheaper than a plane ticket (519 baaht vs. 1,000 baaht+).

Glad to have arrived in Chiang Mai at 3am. Had some hotel mishaps but to make a long story short, we ended up hopping around from cheap hostel to cheap hostel every night (really, 200 baaht/night, which is $6 for two people!). Had a “lazy” Friday, whence we tried out a coffee shop, per Lonely Planet, which had superb lattes. Then we got a private chauffeur (about $7/person for the whole day) who drove us to see a silk factory (cool), an umbrella factory (I got some bamboo cups personalized, yippee!), and then What Dao Suthep.

It's a famous temple situated at the tip-top of a mountain, and the ride up there proved as such, for Linnea and I were clinging onto dear life in the back of an open-air-tuk-tuk as our driver raced around in circles up the mountain, and as the exhaust from our vehicle gave me a headache. But no matter. This temple has 306 steps (again, Lonely Planet), and I was petrified of making the climb, but it was nothing. The view was pretty neat but it was getting cloudy by sunset. Night was fun as we met up with some fellow CIEE friends at a favorite bar/club hangout called “Warm Up.”

Saturday. Another day of driving, and lots of it. We signed onto one of the many advertised full-day tours that takes people, in a mini bus, from CM to some of the hill-tribes, the Golden Triangle, and other touristy sites along the way. The hot spring was eh. The “White Temple” was a joke – the inside of the temple had paintings of Keaneu Reaves from “The Matrix,” Spiderman, Batman, and even a mural depicting 9/11 on it. I think it was some allegorical illustration of the evils of the world or something. Anyway, I really wanted to see the Golden Triangle, which we did, and that was cool to have been on the Mekong River with Thailand and Burma to the left of us, and Laos on the right.

We then went to a tourist village in Laos. I mean, it wasn't anything special – just a ton of shacks with stuff to sell to tourists – but at least I can say that I've “been” to Laos, albeit for 30 minutes, and tried ginger whiskey (was too scared to try the scorpion or snake whiskey), and BeerLaos, which tastes...like a Heineken Light. After, we drove to the hill-tribe villages. I was so excited to see the Karan tribe because the women of the tribe are known for their long necks. Quite the spectacle. That, and my Mom had always told me about them when I was growing up because she said she'd always seen them as a child in Burma. Much to our dismay, however, the “village” was very set-up for commercial purposes: each woman would sit in a hut that displayed her hand-made crafts. And though she'd let every tourist take a picture with her, she'd automatically point to one of her goods and give you a price. I understand, though, that they base their livelihoods off of tourists, and I left feeling guilty for not having bought anything from them.

I'm glad I did the tour, in retrospect, because one of my goals when coming to Thailand was to visit the Golden Triangle and see the Karan women. But that mini-bus ride was equally as terrible as the VIP bus I'd previously mentioned. We squished 15 people in that mini bus – four French men who smelled of b.o. (shocking, haha, just kidding...), two Australian girls, two other French people, a Dutch lady, and some other people. At our lunch feast (kudos to that), we all lamented how our driver drove like a crazy-person – and consequently laughed at us when we told him to slow down, especially on the mountain curves – and that we had another six hours to drive. We'd drive 1.5 hours to see one stop for 20-30 minutes, take some pictures, then drive another 1.5 hours to see the next. We spent half our day in the cramped mini-bus. I guess that's the sacrifice one must make to see those sites, as they're in the middle-of-nowhere and would be hard to get to by oneself...well, at least that's what I was assuring myself towards the end of the trip. When I wasn't closing my eyes to avoid what I was sure to be my impending highway doom, I was thinking to myself, “Pretend like you're a Buddhist Monk in meditation – this is your trial. You must endure. Through the twists and turns and gut-wrenching challenges, you will reach nirvana (aka our hostel)!”; or “This really must be what it's like to be on a roller coaster to hell!”. I'm only glad I brought my ipod and educated myself with some podcasts I had uploaded. Have no idea how the others survived.

Chiang Mai's a great place, though. Totally different from Bangkok. Very laid-back, hippie-ish, and chill. I loved the Rooftop Bar that my CIEE friend, Nancy, took me to. You have to take off your shoes to get to an enclosed rooftop that's sprayed with graffiti. It has an open roof for high/tipsy/drugged (I'm sure of it) customers to peer up at the stars (so many stars!) as you sit cross-legged on the bamboo mats. I was mostly amused by the people there, what with their dreadlocks and anti-spring-break demeanor, which I have gotten used to from traveling down to Phuket and even around Bangkok. I enjoyed strolling around the Sunday market after a delicious brunch with Linnea, Nancy, and my USC Sorority sister, Chelsea, with whom I had spent the night (soooo good to see her!) because she's teaching near CM through Fulbright. Some of the vendors don't speak Thai because they're hill-tribe or Burmese people, which reminds me of the discrimination Chelsea said these people face in her remote town. I've learned that Thais are fairly open about what's considered acceptable or beautiful in their culture, and have been so to Chelsea when expressing disdain for these foreign refugees. It makes sense to me now that when in Bangkok, which is further south and more cosmopolitan than CM, I'm greeted with glee when I say my Mom's from Burma. But when I was in CM and asked a lady if she was from Burma, she gasped and said “No, no!”, and pointed to her dyed hair to prove that she could never be Burmese (the rational made no sense to me). Good thing I kept my mouth shut...

CM reminded me of Amsterdam because it has a canal running through the center, is very green, has crisp(er) air than Bangkok, and is laden with charming cafes. I'd love to go back and do something outdoorsy, like ziplining or trekking. Don't know if I'll ever get the chance to but I'm glad I went.

The Evolution of Spit Balls

A brief anecdote from yesterday's ridiculous classroom experience:

After hearing from a traumatized Linnea that one of her kindergartners literally took a crap on her classroom floor during her first period yesterday (she had to wait for the cleaning lady to come, who picked up the feces with toilet paper), I thought that'd be the pinnacle-funny-story of the day.

Imagine my surprise when, in my Pratom 3/3 class, I witnessed one of my third grade boys shove a tiny paper ball up his nose as if it were ammo, then put a pen cap up the same nostril (a missile launcher, of course), and, after taking a huge breath, shot it out of his nose.

At that point in the day (my second-to-last-class), I was utterly exhausted and was in a very frustrated mood. But that...that scene I witnessed in front of my eyes, as I watched a white paper ball, covered in little boy snot, fly across the room, just made me crack up. Kind of out of insanity.

I laughed for a good five minutes as my students looked at me, and then laughed with me (though most had no idea what I was laughing about). I mean, really, what else can you do?


Just another day in the life.

"Sahhhh-port" (Sport) Day

On Wednesday the 6^th, our school was preparing for its annual Sport Day(s), two days during which Thai students play sports and cheer for their assigned color teams. They had been practicing dances, cheers, and obviously sports for weeks upon weeks prior to the event. The class schedule was even altered to afford them practice time. Mind you, I was blown away by these practices. I watched in awe at the 2^nd and 3^rd grade girls' scandalous dances that could skirt away as cute because well, they're cute; and the fact that during these 40 minute-long practices in the sweltering heat, hundreds of students sat still as they watched their color's representatives practice their drumming, or cheering, or clapping, or scandalously cute dancing. Getting kids to sit still, as I've learned, is a miracle. But heck, if I were in second grade and saw my second grade girl friends shaking their butts and shimmying their shoulders like the Korean pop stars I'd seen on TV, then yeah, I might be a tad mesmerized...

Anyhow, it's unknown to me how students pick, or are assigned, their colors, which were purple, blue, green, yellow and pink. But I simply loved that each color was comprised of a fair mix of students from grades one to nine. Yes, ninth graders – 14 year olds mixing with five year olds. I especially loved this aspect of the teams because I have grown up around young cousins mostly all my life, and I believe that as an adolescent, this maternal, big-sister-like interaction I had with children manifested characteristics of love, patience, and a warmth that are often hard to learn elsewhere. I have seen how this interaction with children has also affected my brothers, who turn into mush and are pretty good role models when around my young cousins.

I recognized this type of a relationship as I saw tall ninth grade boys drumming out a beat and watching paternally at the five, six, and seven-year old dancers. Or when the eighth grade girls took it upon themselves to fix the little girls' costumes or line formations, clapping along encouragingly when the dancers got their groove wrong. I'll have to admit that one day I was feeling a bit reflective and emotional at the thought of leaving Thailand, and when I saw this Sport Day practice, I teared up a little bit. The preciousness really got to me, it was THAT cute.

Anyway, Sport Day was a huge event. After walking the town, representatives from each color paraded into the school, led by an elaborately dressed girl in traditional Thai wear, as the rest of the students sat in their decorated stands and as proud parents huddled in the shade with their cameras poised and ready. Linnea and I took far too many pictures, but it truly was a spectacular sight to see the entire school in the courtyard, a colorful mess of Skittles, cheering and dancing and waving flags as the sun peeked out under the clouds. I was scared it might rain.

But by noon, the sun did not only peek. It shone down hard. With beads of sweat dribbling down my forehead, soaking through Mr. Wayne's white turtleneck (he chose to wear a neutral color so as not to upset the students by declaring a loyalty; I, on the other hand, threw on the most decent shirt I had, which was pink. Go pink.); and threatening to turn many of the girls' heavily made-up faces into Picasso paintings, I watched groups of students perform dances in the middle of the courtyard, facing the headmistresses and other top admins.

I mention this lattermost fact because these admins are like, in their 60s and 70s. But some of the ways in which these kids were dancing were not fit for grandparents' eyes. Hip Hop breakdancers (dressed in horrendous gangsta attire that even Dennis Rodman, I'm sure, wouldn't wear) and slooty cheerleaders – some of whom were token lady boys (I KNEW one of my students was a lady boy, by the way, and seeing him in his team yellow's cheerleading dance confirmed my suspicions) – entertained us for a good few hours until the games began (one of the Scrabble Club champions, dressed in a track suit, even ran into the school with a torch in his hand as he lit the oil cup on fire – total Olympic style, very legit). We stayed around for a few hours to watch the girls play net ball, which actually seems pretty fun and I'd like to learn it sometime, and as the teams were about to play soccer. The whole time, each section was drumming, dancing, and bobbing along in the stands to their team's respective cheer.

I remember in elementary, middle, and even high school, participating in school plays and thinking I'd had the biggest responsibility in the whole world to do my part well, like when I was tasked to be the first dancer in a line of an ensemble to the “Chinese Tea” act of my elementary school's play, “The Nutcracker” (I wonder if I was asked to be the first dancer because I was short or really because I was the only actual Chinese student...hmm...)., which is why I understood why Sport Day was just so special to these kids. Now, when I see some of my students (Sport Day dancers, by night!), I ask them to teach me their dance. Lately I've learned Team Yellow's dance, which requires me to do the John Travolta and slide peace signs across my eyes as I shake my hips. Oh, and sing/mutter a Thai song about mythical fish – at least that's what I've gathered from the limited communication and my third grade students' elicitations of “Nemo! Nemo!”

So that was the first half of Thursday. Sport Day went on for all of Thursday and all of Friday, but Linnea and I were told that we could take off early on Thursday and skip Friday if we wanted to. So we did.

By Thursday, 2pm, we were on a 10 hour bus to Chiang Mai.

Ha-Pi Pi & Phuket New Year!

Written in my journal on January 1, 2010 on Long Beach, Koh Pi Pi, Thailand:

Time spent here on Koh Pi Pi is like a slow, tender crock pot roast: tons of flavors thrown together on a steaming island to create something colorful and comforting. Like soul food. It's something wonderful. Here, you'll find farangs of the world: Asian groupies with their matching red hats; gorgeous Aussie bromancers who audibly recount the misadventures of last night for all to hear; blonde Swedes with tans so dark, one can only chuckle at the mismatch of their bodily hues. Add a dash of the Thais for spice – they're more outspoken and wild down south than up in Bangkok, what with their banshee-like cackles as they weave frenetically on their dirt bikes through the tourist-ridden alleyways and quaint cobblestone streets. They remind me of American frat boys on spring break (or not). For a final touch, add a couple of couples. No, scratch that. Add a ton. Pi Pi screams romantic getaway.


Paralleling this eclectic mix of tourists is the food selection. Open-air Thai, Italian, Indian, and Mexican eateries light up the alleys with colorful stringy lights. There's a beautiful linguistic hum in these venues, a symphony of accented English, European, and Asian dialects woven together with Thai vendors in the background calling “Same, same!” or “Boat, boat!” to overwhelmed passersby, whose hands have been stuffed with club advertisements and deceptive flyers for “free buckets” (but the buckets only come with mixers – no alcohol. I speak from experience.) by club promoters, who are mostly 20-something ex-vacationers-turned-expats.

The island is bigger than I imagined. Though there are no cars and most every attraction is within walking distance, don't be fooled – the hills make you wish you could hire a motorbike to save the small amount of energy that the sun hadn't zapped from your sun-stroked bod as a result of lounging out the whole day.


The nightlife pulsates and rocks the island to its core. Fire-throwers and fire limbo and fire jump roping taunt, dare, and tease tipsy tourists to try them out. My heart was pounding as I tied my hair back to fire jump rope with my friend, Jenny, while at the beachfront Ibiza bar. It's something you'd think only young and stupid vacationers (ding ding) would get themselves into, but we witnessed many a balding farang join in on the fun – er, “fun.” That is, Jenny landed on the gasoline-drenched rope when I fell (...on the first jump. What, the sand was uneven and I was terribly nervous!). It burned her and left a welt. When another friend Emily tried, the jump rope landed on her shoulder and in her hair. Talk about FAIL – but amazingly, we all walked away unharmed. How a maternal person like myself would engage in such a risky act is beyond me, but the thought, “When in Thailand...” ruled. Anyway, Mom and Dad, I'm alive. Hair's still here. Don't ferry out to come fetch me. Oh, and for the record, I was sober (I know, I know, I'm such a BAMF).


The ferry that we did take to get to Pi Pi, however, was preceded by a one-hour plane trip from Bangkok to Phuket via Orient Thai Airways. Linnea was worried about flying with them because she found out that they're blacklisted by the EU for breaching safety regulations – which is probably why the flight was so cheap – but it was honestly fine. We stayed a few nights in Phuket on Patong Beach before reaching Pi Pi, and in all honesty, Patong is one of the trashiest places I've ever been. I might have enjoyed it more if I were interested in dirty clubs, packed streets lined with Lady Boys, and a mediocre beach with water activities that broke my puny bank, but unfortunately none of the aforementioned apply to me. At least the hotel was nice.

(they love the glow-in-the-dark paint on Pi Pi!)

For that accommodation, we should thank the Tourist Authority of Thailand, or TAT for short. I'd heard about a discount on all bookings via TAT from a stranger who saw that I was looking for a travel agency. TAT booked our flights, all hotels, most breakfasts, ferry trips, and other transportation from Bangkok to Phuket to Pi Pi and back for $375 USD for 7 days. Pretty sweet? We saved 30-44%, so the man said.

I only wish we could have checked on the Pi Pi hotel reservations before booking with TAT, which placed us for four nights at Maney Resort – which was not a resort by any means whatsoever. People tend to think that everything at vacation destinations are nice, but that's not true at all. We had to walk up dark hills and climb dangerous steps, through the thick of island vegetation, to get to Maney, its tagline of which was inscribed on its wooden sign that plead: “Come here please” (Imagine our nervous chuckle when we read that). Our bungalow was perilously perched above a dirt mound, the stairs to the entrance of which were wooden planks haphazardly shoved into the unwilling earth. Once inside our bungalow, we were greeted by mosquitoes (courtesy of the crappily made wooden door) and a semi-outdoor bathroom that wrecked of burnt sewage. Our friend who stayed with us there for a night even saw a mouse in the bathroom. Isn't that cute.

Despite our conditions (which apparently weren't too horrendous, according to our friends who stayed at a different place – “You have A/C?!”), nothing could have spoiled the absolute beauty of the island. Though I wasn't fond of the tourists, Pi Pi shines in its aesthetic splendor: majestic and somewhat frightening rocks jut out of the perfectly turquoise water. Schools of baby fish swim by your feet. Book an all-day boat tour, like we did, and you'll get the chance to explore seven highlights that surround the island, including an incredible, incredible cove; Maya Bay, which was featured in the movie, “The Beach”, staring Leonardo DiCaprio; and a monkey island (which we weren't too impressed by, considering our Lopburi adventure. Geez, we're getting spoiled by exotic animals. In fact, as a lady was parading her leashed sloth around Pi Pi, Linnea and I just rolled our eyes, as if to say, “Enough, lady. Been there, done that.”).


True, I was very disappointed by the snorkeling and the boat trip was a tiring, all-day event (though cheap!), I am still glad to have had the opportunity to see these sights. As the perfect ocean breeze whipped through my hair, I stared out into the ocean throughout the day and thought about how some people only dream about visiting these slices of paradise, and here I was in this wooden boat, zipping around the fabled islands of Thailand without much care in the world. I felt so blessed to be there, as time stood still and I was put in my place by Nature's wonders.


New Year was spent on the beach at Ibiza bar with other CIEE friends. I had the time of my life, dancing barefoot in the sand, under the full moon, with fireworks lighting up the sky and reflecting in the endless black ocean. I thought about how this past year, and throughout my life, really, I have traveled so much and have had many of these nights, where I'd felt like I couldn't be happier in life than in that present moment in time. And in the days that followed, as Linnea and I lounged on Pi Pi's Long beach, or as I blissfully surrendered to an oceanfront coconut-oil massage, I tried so hard to focus my thoughts on the present; to soak in and appreciate all the simple pleasures of the moment: the mountain peaks; the fresh coconut shake in my hand; the colorful shells I had collected when I went kayaking; the simply but classily written Hemingway book I was reading; the new Israeli friends we'd met on the plane who we'd ran into and played games with on the beach; the sunsets I'd witnessed. Oh, the sunsets. Forever will these images, thoughts, and sensations stay imprinted in my mind.


Look, Pi Pi isn't perfect, and I realized that with the help of our terrible accommodation, but what can you expect from an island that has been rebuilding itself after being positively destroyed by the tsunami five years prior? If you've read my previous posts, you'll know that I'm in love with an island called Koh Samet, which is closer to Bangkok, about four hours away by bus. I adore Samet because it has a this welcoming, non-menacing, soft vibe. Its beauty is like the girl next door. Pi Pi's beauty is different, though, with its jaw-dropping scenery, making it like some sort of an intimidating goddess that you're afraid yet compelled to approach. In mythology, it'd be Helen, perhaps. Or the Sirens. Like, so beautifully captivating, but entirely capable of destroying, or worse, being destroyed, if its power were unleashed. I sure hope Pi Pi doesn't fall to the hands of extreme tourism.

Anyway, thanks for reading this long one. Pi Pi was good to me.

Forgotten Reports

Dinner on the Chao Praya with Linnea this evening was less-than-charming. The setting of these river-eateries seems romantic, as its diners sit cross-legged on the floor and eat off knee-high tables, heartily laughing as the outdoor kitchen staff produces wafts of freshly grilled seafood that stop passerby in their tracks. Their faces are aglow from the candlelight and the majestic bridge in the background, which changes colors every 30 seconds or so...kind of like a Disney Electric Parade (oh, how I miss Disneyland right now)! Moving on.

I've wanted to try one of these nearby diners ever since I moved to Phra Pradaeng, and on the first day back to school from our island vacation (which I'll write about later), this seemed like a perfect idea.

Except my legs fell asleep sitting cross-legged. And mosquitoes (the ones I'm afraid I'm severely allergic to) swarmed around me – so much so that I used L's large map of the USA, which she had used in a tutoring session earlier – as a blanket to shield my legs from the bloodsuckers. And “homeless children” came up to us in groups to beg for money. And a desperate vendor selling nuts wouldn't stop pestering us to buy something from him because his profits were down (we held our ground).

Dude, all I wanted was to eat my Tom Yum Goon in peace (oh that, by the way, was NOT mai phet (not spicy), as we had requested. So in addition to the aforementioned, our mouths were on fire).

However, despite the minor disturbances, Linnea and I had some good conversation regarding every day life here that has become so normal that I've forgotten to even report about it. So here goes an abridged version of our ramblings from the night:

1. The cockfight. In Kanchanaburi, Linnea and I were bike riding and passed by a shady-looking-house with a bloody, white sheet draped across the entrance to its backyard. In front of the sheet were about 30 motorbikes, and as it occurred to us that the scene was, indeed, quite shady, we heard masculine cheers and jeers – along with the squawks of chickens in the background. We kept riding on. Cockfight for sure.

2. Thais are obsessed with people, and in turn, lack a lot of the social etiquette that's valued in Western countries:

   1. For example, the lunch lady, Pi Aoy, who is very fond of Linnea and me, called Linnea a good eight times while we were on vacation. Eight times. In consecutive days. We can't even understand what she's saying when we talk in person, and we don't know why she'd call when she knew we were on vacation. Today at school, she said she called to see if we “ENJOY!” Pi Pi. Yes, Pi Aoy, we enjoyed it.

   2. Linnea made a friend on the plane over to Thailand who has leaned on L for English support and friendship. She called L the other day to ask her if she'd like to go down to Phuket with her the day following to help her with a job interview. When L said no (Ummm, it's called work!), the girl called her again twice the day of to see if she'd still like to go (No!).

3. Soap is nonexistent. Schools and public restrooms are arguably the most important places to preach and practice cleanliness to snotty children and dirty strangers. But our school doesn't provide soap in the kids' restrooms, and I haven't seen soap in public restrooms, either. Nor have I seen toilet paper. Isn't that great? People drip-and-dry and then fail to properly wash their hands. Then they handle our food...

4. Health codes? Nada. Too many stories to tell about vendors preparing food with their grimy hands and oily utensils (as L and I watch in horror), but this one sticks out the most: Tash, one of our CIEE teacher-friends from New York, was at her birthday celebration eating Pad Thai. Luckily she looked down before she gobbled up none other than a SCREW. So she called over the waitress who looked at it, nervously chuckled, and PLUCKED the screw out Tash's dish with her bare hands. And then Tash watched as the waitress went to the kitchen and the staff went looking for the machinery that the screw had fallen off of. This type of story would make headlines in The States.

5. Kids here are not critical thinkers. I had been told that during training, but I see how true it is as I teach them. Kids in America are encouraged to use their imagination and creativity, which I believe has led many of our children, and thus, society, to become independent, free-thinkers, who are not afraid to speak out and rebel (given the fact that our democracy allows such actions). In Thailand, however, kids learn by memorization. Facts are drilled into their heads and they repeat what's taught to them. In the morning they all chant the same Buddhist prayer. All of Thailand honors the King at 8am and 6pm, promptly and respectively. When I give students an assignment to draw something, I've seen girls whip our their book of templates, find the picture of, oh, Santa Clause, let's say, and copy it exactly as is. This type of learning is a problem when trying to learn languages, I feel, because though my students may know how to respond to basic conversational questions, like “How are you?” (which is always “Aaaahmm fine, thank youuu, and you?”), or “How old are you?” or “What is your name?”, they have grave difficulty answering other, more specific types of questions. Like “what is your favorite fruit?” will yield “what is your favorite fruit.” (It's very frustrating when this parrot-like-response occurs) They all know what the word “fruit” is but they don't understand sentence structure or composition.

6. The values are skewed. Female teachers are scorned if we wear too-short skirts, or if our sleeves reveal too much bare shoulder (the thought!). But our school is practicing for its Sport Day (two days during which there are no classes but only sports and team spirit, rah rah), and let me tell you, the way these 2^nd and 3^rd grade girls dance would make American parents' jaws drop! Some would probably try to sue the school! As the girls dance to the beat of the drum and the rest of the school sits in an assembly hall, I stare in the corner at their provocative shoulder and booty shakes, hip dips, and freaky-dance-moves that I couldn't even dream of doing. Other teachers and I have discussed this and we're all equally puzzled by the fact that these uber-conservative Thai admins and teachers smile, clap along with, and conduct these choreographed dances, during which some kids at my friend Nate's school, perform sensual acts, like dancing on top of chairs (think strippers)! It'll be interesting to see how Sport Day actually turns out...

7. Faces and appearance. Thais are impeccable about their appearance, and this means not only in the fashion-sense, but also in the business sense. Our school prides itself on its English program, and so they've so far used Linnea in multiple brochure pictures that are sent out to parents to prove that their money is truly going toward a greater English-speaking future for their wild children. Funny enough, the pictures were all staged, where L is pretending to teach children as Thai teachers were really the ones making the kids laugh as the picture was snapped (genuine happiness, isn't it great?). There was one picture where apparently they kids were posed to lean their heads on L's shoulder! Anyway, she's not the only teacher to have experienced this kind of bizarre, newfound fame. Other teachers – white, blonde-haired teachers, that is – have had to undergo similar photoshoots (or should I say, exploitation?)

All for now. Today was kind of tough getting back into the swing of things, but I must keep in mind that I only have eight weeks of teaching left. Time has really flown. HAPPY NEW YEAR!