Journal Entry: 9/30/17

Well, I am displaced, yet again, due to flooding.  This time, only two days after my return.  To say I would rather be in America right now is a massive understatement.  I am beyond stressed.  I just shed some tears in front of Rosie for the first time.  Kru Moosa was also there to witness my momentary breakdown, making it all the more awkward and particularly humiliating.  On a somewhat bright side, if there is one, I am slightly relieved they saw that side of me.  I am hoping it can help them to understand that this is not a lifestyle I am accustomed to and it can often be overwhelming.  Sometimes, I wonder if they remember I am not Thai.  Sometimes, I wonder if they remember I am human.

I’d be lying if I said thoughts of ETing (early termination i.e. quitting) hadn’t crossed my mind.  It’s hard (and only getting harder) to live like this when I feel like I don’t have a home or safe haven to return to.  The home I do have causes me to anxiously lie awake at night when it rains, bracing myself for the morning’s verdict.  Will I once again find myself under vulnerable circumstances, unsure of where I will temporarily be seeking refuge?  Or will Mother Nature have graciously spared me from her havoc?

Again, due to Peace Corps’ seemingly apathetic response, I am left wondering just where the safety and security of volunteers ranks amongst its priorities.  A hefty portion of training was devoted to emergency protocol and we were assured that staff would be there for us in such situations.  So why is it that when I call the emergency contact, no one answers?  Why is it that when I finally am able to reach someone, they ask me what the plan is?  Why is the only plan they suggest to make another volunteer in a nearby village, experiencing similarly severe weather, responsible for me?  Why do we practice an entire evacuation drill only to never use it in the precise scenarios it should be used for?  Instead, I find myself unsupported during the times I need it most.  I am left to fend for myself amidst the unfamiliar and completely overwhelming chaos, leaving me asking myself what I am even still doing here.

While my pride has previously landed me in some less than ideal situations, it is currently my saving grace.  If it wasn’t for my pride, I would have thrown in the towel and booked a one-way flight home at the site of villagers, once again, paddling makeshift boats down my street this morning.  At this point, I’m just curious exactly how far one’s pride can take her.

“But all these storms I know we’ll weather…” Seeking some Railroad Earth inspiration.

Weathering the Storm

I am currently experiencing my second flood within six weeks.  There was a sort of novelty to my first experience with flooding, likely due to the general lack of severity and thrill from the overall ‘newness.’  Oh my gosh!  A flood!  This is the Peace Corps I signed up for.  This is the experience I envisioned when I embarked on this journey to this foreign world.  A natural disaster runs through my rural village and I, the resilient volunteer, persist.  What a crock of sh*t.

I describe the first flood as generally not severe because, with my second flood underway, I am coming to understand just how severe a flood can get.  As I type this, I am at a friend’s house in her village about 15 kilometers from mine.  I know from pictures and fellow villagers that the first floor of my house is now completely submerged.  My house has two floors.  Although the bathroom and shower are on the first floor, it doesn’t get much other use since I was warned that my village, and particularly my housing, is prone to flooding.  I typically keep my bike on the first floor, but was fortunately able to move it to the second before evacuating yesterday.  The first floor of my house is cement, built purposefully to withstand severe weather and natural disasters.  The second floor, however, is entirely wooden with a tin roof.

I have been told that this monsoon is expected to continue wreaking havoc until the 26th of September.  With four more days and no signs of the rain slowing down, I am getting worried that the water will continue to rise and eventually reach my second floor, where the little that is everything I own is being stored.  I know that possessions are replaceable, but I can’t imagine losing the few familiar things I have when so much of my daily life is just the opposite – unfamiliar.  I’d be devastated to return to a damaged camera, soaked and illegible journals, and soggy photos of friends from home among other things.

Photo I took before the flood had escalated as I was preparing to evacuate.

I am also worried about my students and their families.  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about one of my fourth graders that lives in a tin house (though, you could barely call it a means of shelter) just across from my school-grounds.  Her family doesn’t have the luxury of two floors and when it rains even slightly, I often pass by to see them huddled on a table, seeking refuge merely inches above the dirty rainwater.  Many of these families have nowhere to turn in the face of such tragedies and I can only imagine how they are managing to quite literally weather the storm.

It’s disheartening to sit here anxiously and helplessly as I look to social media for updates and see that fellow volunteers are using my community’s misfortune as a chance for a photo op before returning to their housing that sits on higher ground.  And it’s irritating to feel that Peace Corps as an organization hasn’t done their job in assuring my safety as a volunteer.  Perhaps what is worse is that I have come to expect the latter.

For now, I will rely on the power of prayer while I anxiously await my return and the massive clean-up that lies ahead.

Photo my neighbor took and the last update I received on my housing.

Tiny Triumphs

Recently, I logged onto Facebook to see a post that a friend’s boat had won roughly $310,000 in a tuna tournament.  As selfish as I feel admitting this, my heart initially sank upon seeing this post.  I consider myself blessed to call this person a friend and have been lucky enough to witness his work ethic firsthand.  It’s admirable and pretty damn inspiring; and its often been a reminder that working in an unconventional field is by no means the wrong move, so long as you work hard and you’re content.  But while I was happy that my friend’s hard work and manual labor had finally paid off, I was reminded of the seemingly overwhelming lack of victories I have celebrated throughout my eight months here in Thailand.

While Peace Corps is unconventional in about every sense of the way, one of those ways is that I don’t earn a salary.  Per month, I am given enough money to get by on necessities, i.e. food and water.  The money that my friend won over the span of one weekend, would take me well over 100 years to earn as a Peace Corps Volunteer.  Joining Peace Corps, automatically monetary rewards are taken off the table.  I’m not often phased by this because it was part of the appeal of Peace Corps and I have come to appreciate living simply and well below the American standard of living.  I can think of a lot I would do with $310,000, though…

It’s the other victories that I am not seeing that are harder to cope with.  Since arriving at my site, I have learned just how vastly different the Thai school system is from the one I grew accustomed to in America.  This means that classes are more often than not cancelled and student and teacher no-shows are a regular occurrence, among other obstacles.  Needless to say, all of the pushback leaves little room for progress.  I struggle to understand my purpose in Thailand.  What difference am I making?  Where am I making an impact?  Am I making an impact?

After a lot of nail biting and an afternoon of uncertainty regarding my place as a PCV, I was reminded of just one victory.  Immediately upon arriving in my village, I noticed that I never saw women exercising.  Unlike America, streets aren’t littered with joggers due to the countless stray, rabid dogs.  There are occasional groups of bikers, but they are made up primarily of men.  Soccer fields are also male dominated.  But fitness has been a priority in my life since my dad first introduced me to tee-ball in the backyard of my childhood home and it was one thing I was not willing to sacrifice for the sake of integrating.  My Thai peers think I am crazy, but I purposely work out during the hottest time of day because I know it is when the most people will see me.  I want to normalize the idea that girls can be strong, too.  One afternoon, I was jumping rope in front of my house.  One of the neighborhood girls was on her way home from school as she passed me, glaring with a look that screamed, “what in the world is she doing and why is she doing it?”  I offered my most awkward smile and continued my work-out.  When I finished, I pulled the headphones out of my ear and turned to walk into my house to cool down with an ice-cold bucket shower as something caught my eye.  Just down the street, that same girl was jumping rope in front of her house.  I watched as she tripped over the red rope again and again, but persevered until she fell into a rhythm.

So while my efforts often seem futile, I’ll hold onto these little memories that remind me of my purpose.  The image of my neighborhood friend jumping rope serves as the reminder I often need that if my actions can influence even one young mind then that is purpose enough.

Somewhere Over the Pacific

On January 4th, the last words my dad said to me were, “and always remember the story of Wizard of Oz.”  What? I remember thinking.  I can’t recall if I voiced my confusion or if he merely noticed the perplexed look on my face, but my dad reiterated, “just remember the story of the Wizard of Oz.”  And then I was off, making my way to a gate in Baltimore’s airport, where a plane was waiting to depart for my Peace Corps orientation in San Francisco.

For months, I rolled my eyes at my dad’s ‘final words of wisdom.’  Mostly because I likely will do the same to my kids someday when they leave on their own great adventure.  I am, after all, a carbon copy of my father whether either of us like to admit that.  But also, because I hadn’t watched the Wizard of Oz in years and struggled to remember much more than the yellow brick road and that song about a rainbow that became popular all over again when some dude with a ukelele recreated it in 1993.  I refused, however, to take the easy way out and watch the movie to figure out the significance of my dad’s words.  Although it had been a while, I knew the movie’s message was still etched in my brain somewhere and I wanted to dig it up through my own experiences.

On June 25th, over six months since I last saw my dad , I sent me him a message that I had finally discovered the essence of his advice.  While most people see the Wizard of Oz as a timeless children’s tale, it is really so much more.  The Wizard of Oz is the story of a girl who leaves the seemingly dull life she has always known in search of something much greater.  On her journey, she makes three unlikely friends that also find themselves in a similar predicament and in search of something they’ve been missing… courage, heart and a brain.  The four friends face many obstacles on their voyage to see the great Wizard, who they believe will give them everything they have been looking for.  They overcome poisonous fields of flowers as well as an evil witch and her clan of flying monkeys.  Eventually, the group makes it to the wonderful land of Oz, only to discover they had courage, heart and a brain within themselves the entire time.  And while Dorothy learns so many valuable lessons on her pursuit of Oz, she is reminded that the grass isn’t always greener and there is ultimately “no place like home.”  The story of the Wizard of Oz is the story of my Peace Corps experience.

I left the life I had known for nearly 23 years in search of something bigger, something greater, something that home couldn’t offer me.  In just six months, I have come to know myself on a rawer level than ever before.  I’ve formed countless unbreakable bonds with my own unlikely companions along the way, all of which I can confidently say I wouldn’t have the privilege of knowing if it wasn’t for this wild ride.  But as I sit here, 9,235 miles from Maryland, I appreciate home on a much deeper level than ever before, as well.  I am so thankful for the places I have been able to see in my life and I look forward to the many other places I will go and the many other faces I will see.  But, I would be lying if I didn’t say that I am also very much looking forward to building a life stateside at the end of this journey.  Sometimes, those oases and grand journeys we dream up in our minds aren’t all they are cracked up to be.  Or maybe they are all they’re cracked up to be, but that doesn’t make the quaint small town you’ve called home your entire life any less spectacular.  There is something to be said for the backroads you know like the back of your hand and the local pizzeria that immediately knows your special order when you call in on any given night.

While embarking on this Peace Corps journey and moving to Thailand helped me realize my own courage, heart and brain… I am able to recognize that these things have been inside me the whole time.  And that is largely in part to none other than my father.  Since 1994, he has played a vital role in molding me into the woman I am today.  He helped me muster up the courage I needed as a 12-year-old, 100 pound, 5-foot-nothing softball pitcher facing batters much, much larger than me.  Then, he helped me muster up a new level of courage as a 22-year-old female college student seeking justice for relationship violence.  He helped me find my heart by telling me not to be hardened by experiences like the aforementioned and advising me to learn from his mistakes.  And he helped me find my brain by always, always, always stressing the importance of education and the value of forming independent opinions.  And, of course, he is one of my five reasons why there is “no place like home.”

Let the Good Times Roll

When I find the time to sit down and think about my recent experiences, it is always easier to write about the lows than the highs.  Why that is, I am not completely sure.  Perhaps it is because I find the release of feelings from pen to paper to be the most calming remedy.  I find myself venting about the hard times because the good times are so enjoyed within the moment, and subsequently forgotten and clouded by moments of hardship.

Last weekend, however, was one so full of joy that I can’t help but revel in the immense delight each moment brought me.  It started on Friday when my school hosted a Thai writing competition in which students from schools all over Satun came to write essays about the late king.  For me, this meant no teaching.  This also meant I was Thai-napped against my will by two fellow teachers that had only just discovered my love for seafood, steamed crabs specifically.  The term Thai-napped is derived from the word kidnapped because Thai people are notorious for getting you to unknowingly agree to random, day-long expeditions.  These two teachers informed me that we would leave to get lunch and I naively assumed that we would be heading only a few minutes down the road.  30 minutes later, I found myself sitting seaside, surrounded by wild monkeys and goats, eating steamed crabs and shrimp.  It was nearly impossible to soak in the beauty of the moment in its entirety.  There I sat, next to a table of ten or so monks, eating my favorite food (albeit without the Old Bay and white vinegar) under a bamboo hut, looking out at several islands just miles across the Andaman Sea.  It was the type of thing you could only imagine in your wildest dreams.  Except there I was, living it.  To make the day even better, the teachers surprised me with my own couple kilos of crabs to take home for dinner that night.  And at home, I had the supplies (i.e. that Old Bay and white vinegar I mentioned) to feast as if it was a summer night in Maryland.  And to top it all off, on the way home, we stopped for ice cream.  Twice.

Saturday proved to be just as fulfilling.  Some fellow volunteers and I decided to meet up at Pakbara, a beach in our province, about 30 miles from my village.  There are vans and songthaews (pick-up trucks with two rows for passengers in the bed) that run from my village to the destination, but my friend, Tiffany, and I decided to bike the 60 mile round trip instead.  I had previously decided it would be a goal of mine to bike to this beach during my service so what better day to try than the present, right?  I woke up at 7 a.m. that morning and nearly psyched myself out as I thought of the daunting voyage ahead.  But, I got on my bike anyway.  A quarter of the way through the trip, Tiffany and I realized we had underestimated the amount of hills and overall difficulty.  The way there seemed to take forever, but I experienced an overwhelming sense of accomplishment as I saw the sea inch closer and closer until we finally reached our meeting point.  Five of us spent a few hours catching up on our similar yet vastly differently experiences working in the Thai school systems and navigating the unique lifestyles we willingly thrust ourselves into.  The trek back to my village was even more exhausting, but I was greeted by the most breathtaking sunset upon my return.  Again, another perfect day.

As I have written in previous posts, the mental challenges heavily outweigh the physical obstacles.  But the beautiful thing about these hurdles, both mental and physical, is that they can be overcome with the right perception, disciplinary action and persistence.  And they are ultimately molding me into a much stronger, much better version of myself.  Each day, I prove to myself that I am capable of accomplishing just about anything I set my mind to, like biking 60 miles in a matter of hours.  Or having that two hour conversation in Thai without the help of Google Translate.  Or learning to french braid my hair, tonight’s endeavor.  And each day, I am gaining confidence in this path I have chosen, as well as the woman I am and the woman I am becoming.  To be honest, there are days when my only motivation is the reminder that I will get to meet the new and improved, far more bad ass, Liv at the end of this 27 month journey.

As a friend reminded me in a recent letter, “There’s always something to be grateful for.”  And today, I am grateful my Peace Corps journey in its entirety… the good and the bad.  Although, I still prefer the good.

 

 

Relying on Resilience

It has been exactly two months and two days since I published my last blog post.  I’ve sat down to write this post time and time again, but each time, my fingers become paralyzed as they touch the pen or keyboard.  I have hardly been able to process the wide range of emotions that I have experienced over the past two months so how am I supposed to write about them honestly and eloquently?

Moving to site proved to be much more difficult than I ever anticipated.  I was stationed in Satun, one of the southernmost provinces in Thailand.  You can see the Malaysian border from my house.  My village is predominantly Muslim.  Most of the locals are a mix of Thai and Malay and many of them speak Malay, as well.  Some speak both Thai and Malay, but many speak one or the other.  Many of the Thai and Buddhist cultural norms and customs that I had become accustomed to in my training village no longer apply to me.  I often feel like I am not even in Thailand anymore.

While I rejoiced in the accomplishment that was completing training and swearing in, I look back and laugh at my naïveté.  Swearing in felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  “I did it,” I remember thinking to myself as I assumed that the most exhausting days were over.  Little did I know that the greatest challenges were yet to come.

As an independent introvert, I didn’t expect the overwhelming loneliness that comes with being the only native English speaker in your village.  As someone who has hardly spent time at home since graduating high school, I didn’t expect the sometimes seemingly unbearable homesickness.  As someone who has always relished in the idea of living simply, I didn’t expect to miss the amenities of America that I now realize I took for granted my entire life (i.e. western showers, air conditioning, reliable access to water and electricity, etc.).  As someone who has always challenged herself and conquered adversity, I never expected to come so close to calling it quits.

At some point in mid-April, I thought I was going home.  I would sit on my bed, feet on the floor with my head in my hands, breathe deeply, and try to recall the reasons I chose to join the Peace Corps in the first place.  On most occasions, those reasons were impossible to recall, regardless of how long I sat there.  Instead, the following doubts persisted: I don’t belong here. I will never belong here.  How will I make it another two years here?  I will never make the impact that is expected of me.  Why did I throw away the beautiful life I had in America to come to… this?  I could have a career, I could be making money (literally any money at all) and be building the life I dreamed of as a little girl and thought I would adhere to until not even a year ago.  I am missing multiple weddings, some friends are having kids… Should I be doing that, too?  I felt trapped in my mind, sick to my stomach and aching in my heart as I would go through the motions of each day, looking for something, anything, to cling to that would offer me the epiphany I was looking for and desperately needed in order to stay.

Needless to say, the mental and emotional challenges have been inexplicably more difficult to overcome than the physical obstacles I face.  I still haven’t found a bulletproof way to fight my feelings.  I write, I send letters and postcards, I read (okay, I nap with the book open beside me), I take photos, I draw, I exercise… and yet, I still haven’t found that one thing that calms my anxieties and washes away my uncertainties.  And unfortunately, I sometimes lash out at some people that mean the most to me or pull away because there’s no way for anyone back home to understand.  But what I have been slowly realizing, is that for the first time in my life, I am confronting my emotions rather than pushing them aside.  All of them: the anger, the frustration, the sadness, the desperation and especially the special moments of indescribable happiness.  In my five months in Thailand, I have gotten to know myself at a rawer level than ever before, my strengths and my flaws and especially what I treasure most in life.  And for that alone, I am grateful for this rollercoaster of an experience.

I still have days where I want to go home.  I still have moments, many moments, of self-doubt and lack of clarity when looking toward the future.  But, that is all part of this ride.  This insanely beautiful, absurdly magical, entirely incomprehensible ride.