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
