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.

Embracing Unexpected Inspiration

Ramadan has come to an end and I am taking a moment to reflect on all that the past month has taught me.  While I did not participate in fasting for various reasons, I was fortunate to experience most other traditions and was able to soak in the essence of this holy month.  I won’t pretend to wholly understand Ramadan because I truthfully do not.  I don’t know much more than that it is a month of fasting in honor of the beginning of the Quran, which was initially unveiled to Muhammad from the angel Gabriel.  For the first three weeks of Ramadan, I, personally, was largely unaffected.  It was very difficult to find food as most vendors were closed for the month and the energy of both my fellow teachers and students was lacking, but that was about it.  During the last week of Ramadan, I was able to indulge in some delicious feasts and break fast with some authority figures within my community including the head of the Islamic Committee of Satun, which was admittedly pretty cool.  Did you know that when Muslims break fast, they begin with dessert?  I didn’t either.  Then, of course, I celebrated Eid al-Fitr, the end of Ramadan.  On Eid, I joined some of the locals in going house to house and being offered food, food, and more food.  It was wonderful for someone who loves eating as much as I do.  And I even got to wear traditional Islamic wear, hijab included.

So there’s a synopsis of my Ramadan experience.  What is more important for me to talk about, however, is all that Islam has taught me during my first three months of service in Satun.  One of my favorite things about my village is that it is predominantly Muslim.  When I initially applied to Peace Corps Thailand, I did not have the slightest clue that there was a possibility I could be placed in a primarily Muslim village.  One of the things I was most looking forward to about coming to Thailand was gaining a better understanding of Buddhism because of my love of yoga.  It wasn’t until about midway through training that I discovered there was a very slight chance I could be one of the five volunteers placed in Satun.

But Islam and the devout Muslims I am surrounded by have done more for me in my first three months of service than I could have ever anticipated.  The women have become grandmothers, mothers and sisters.  The men have become fathers and brothers.  They always make sure I am fed and if I don’t finish the food on my plate because im lao  (I am already full), I am told that I am in fact not full and need to finish my plate.  And then subsequently told, “gin kao yut yut” (eat a lot of food) as more rice is thrown my way, just as any of my Italian family members would do, only with pasta (gluten free for me, of course).  They genuinely worry like my own mother would when I have so much as a stomachache or migraine (two things that happen a lot).  They invite me to their family dinners, teach me to make local dishes like som-tam, bring me smoothies and/or fresh fruit almost daily, accompany me to the local market and some even like me so much that they ask me if I am interested in being introduced to their son because they’d like me to marry him.

But most importantly, Islam has brought me closer to my own faith.  A very select few of my friends know just how much I have struggled with faith in my lifetime, particularly over the past eight years.  While it is true that I have rediscovered my relationship with God in the past two years, I still experience moments of reluctance and hesitation.  The hardships I have endured have often left me wondering how there can a God that would not only allow me to experience such pain in the first place, but watch me continue to suffer and not intervene.  I’ve come to learn that God doesn’t throw anything our way that we aren’t equipped to handle thanks to experience from previous trials and tribulations.  But realizing this doesn’t make actually believing this any easier when I’m feeling distressed.

Witnessing the devotion of my Muslim friends, however, has not only peaked my interest in Islam itself, but inspired me to reconnect with my own faith on a much deeper level.  Throughout my 23 years on earth, I have struggled to willingly make it to church for one hour 52 days a year while these people find joy in praying five times per 24 hours.  I find it difficult to do so much as not eat meat on Fridays during Lent.  And don’t even get me started on what it’s like for me to give up candy for a full 40 days.  So during Ramadan, I was awestruck by their commitment to fasting, regardless of external factors like climate or physical exertion.  I am continually amazed by the undying dedication.  Their faith isn’t a chore and it isn’t tedious.  It is their way of life.  And it leaves me asking myself… what more can I do for my faith?  For my God?

While I don’t have all the answers… well, do any of us ever have all of the answers?  Anyway, while I don’t have answers, I am grateful for the inspiration my community has offered me to dig deeper into my relationship with God, to ask those internal questions that are often easier to evade and to be at ease with where I am in regards to my faith.  Another lesson I have learned is this: the reason it is often so hard for me to turn to God is because of the guilt I feel when doing so.  I feel selfish because I only talk to God when I need Him, when I need His help.  But I feel guilty because I am unable to fathom the forgiveness that God has in His heart for all of us, for all of His sinners.  God doesn’t begrudge me for struggling with my faith as I have.  God forgives, God understands and God is patient.  Three things I surely need to work on and some of the virtues I am hoping to improve upon throughout my service.  My faith is a work in progress, but I am grateful for the daily inspiration I receive from my community members for bringing me even one step closer to where I want to be.

 

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.

 

 

Fight Like a Girl

The past couple weeks of training have caused an extraordinary amount of anxiety to arise within me.  I have felt that anxiety from the moment I get up to the moment I go to bed nearly everyday for the past week and a half as I prepare to receive my site assignment this Tuesday.  Although training is coming to a close, our workload only seems to increase as time to complete that work winds down.  Lately, I have felt as though I lost sight of why I came here in the first place.

It wasn’t until I opened a letter from my younger sister that I was reminded.  While there are many reasons why I chose this unconventional path, one particular reason was the driving force that compelled me to take the plunge and apply to Peace Corps last spring.  I am a relationship abuse survivor.  In February of 2015, my on-again-off-again boyfriend of nearly two years put his hands on me for the first time, resulting in a black eye and a week spent at home during my second semester of junior year at University of South Carolina.  In November of 2015, after countless months of both emotional and physical abuse, that same boyfriend put his hands on me for what would be the last time when his irrational anger escalated to the point of strangulation.

While suffering from an abuse this extreme was inexplicably horrifying in the moment, the months following proved to be even harder.  After confronting a police officer that night, I began the process of holding this boy accountable and pressing charges.  I was forced to relive that night over and over as I had to tell my story to investigators, police officers, victim advocates, etc.  I had massive panic attacks just walking to my classes, out of fear that I would run into him.  I avoided restaurants and bars he frequented, and even refused to drive down his street, the main street in Columbia, because the flashbacks were too intense.  I was embarrassed to tell most of my friends what had happened so when they would take his road, I would shut my eyes to avoid seeing his car and apartment that triggered the unpleasant memories.  Then, I lost many friends once I confided in them.

The worst part of it all was the way I was treated by local law enforcement.  I didn’t understand why the police officer didn’t decide to look further into the situation the night of the incident.  I was even more confused when he took me home that night and almost drove off without giving me a copy of the police report, which I needed to pursue legal action.  It then felt like pulling teeth to get the lead investigator to meet with me to discuss how to move forward.  And once I was finally able, I will never forget the feeling in my chest when he muttered, “yeah, well, most of these cases tend to be vindictive girlfriends who get upset when they see their man has moved on.”

To say that the months following were anything short of hell would be an understatement.  I was immensely paranoid, anxious and depressed.  I didn’t sleep for months because I was kept up by flashbacks of what had happened and in of fear my ex-boyfriend suddenly looming over my bed.  I reached a low that I didn’t know was possible.  I had almost hit rock-bottom when I had an epiphany and shifted perspectives.

I am a middle-upperclass American who, at the time, was about to complete her college education.  But I am a woman, and that was my handicap.  Still, so much of my background seemed to outweigh that one detail.  Then it suddenly hit me.  I am an American woman with access to what many would consider to be the ‘best’ resources in the world to assist me through this trauma.  It pained me to think of fellow women living in less developed countries and entirely misogynistic societies suffering from the same abuse.  It pained me even more to think of the young girls and daughters in those households, witnessing (if not suffering) the abuse and growing up to think that mistreatment of women is okay.

Although Peace Corps had been on my radar since I was 16, it was this experience that solidified my decision to join.  And it was this experience alone that made applying to a position that incorporates Let Girls Learn so appealing.  Let Girls Learn is an initiative instated by Michelle Obama and Peace Corps plays a vital role as LGL volunteers coordinate girls’ education projects.  My involvement in this initiative is one of the things I am looking forward to most about beginning my two years of service in just a couple weeks.  As both a woman and a survivor, I am confident in my ability to be an empathetic resource to the girls I encounter in Thailand.

And so I am reminded of my reasons for being here.  When I signed up for this, I knew I would have moments of doubt.  But as my sister so eloquently reminded me in her letter, “fear is not a weakness or a sign that [I’ve] chosen the wrong path.”  In fact, it means quite the opposite.  Anyone who chooses to do anything worthwhile is bound to experience hardship along the way.  And as I have learned over the past year or so, how we conquer those hardships is what truly matters and molds us into the people we are destined to become.

P.S.: Happy International Women’s Day!  Although, let’s be honest, 24 hours isn’t enough to celebrate the amount of ass we kick everyday.

P.P.S.: I am including the forgiveness letter I wrote (but never sent) the aforementioned ex-boyfriend.  If my words can provide hope for even one person who finds themselves in a similar circumstance then the vulnerability of sharing this letter will be worthwhile.

A Day in the Life

5:30 a.m. – 5:45 a.m.: wake up to the sounds of our roosters crowing from beside our house and the cultural music blaring from the many local temples

5:45 a.m. – 6:40 a.m.: lay in bed with my pillow over my head, failing to attempt to fall back asleep

6:40 a.m. – 7:10 a.m.: get dressed, wash my face and brush my teeth then dtuum chaa (drink tea) and gin gloi nam-vaa (eat a banana) with Mee

7:10 a.m. – 7:20 a.m.: kii jakrayan (bike) from my house to my language-learning school

7:20 a.m. – 7:55 a.m.: typically chat with some of the younger students who want to show off their limited English skills then make calls to my family and friends from America while waiting on class to start

7:55 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.: change into my formal clothes in an extremely hazardous and unsanitary hong-naam (bathroom)

8:00 a.m. – 11:45 a.m.: learn Thai with Ajaan Norhayatee in a group with three other TCCS trainees

11:45 a.m. – 12:10 p.m.: change into biking clothes and ride to a food vendor closer to Anuban TaChang, otherwise known as the ‘hub’ (the school in which teacher technical training is held)

12:10 p.m. – 12:50 p.m.: eat lunch with fellow volunteers, typically try to avoid rice and sugar although it is nearly impossible

12:50 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.: bike to the hub

1:00 p.m. – 1:15 p.m.: attempt to cool off before changing back into appropriate clothing i.e. ankle-length skirt and ironed blouse (Thailand is in a year of mourning until October in honor of the late King so colors must be muted out of respect)

1:15 p.m. – 4:30 p.m.: two sessions of teacher technical training in which we essentially learn various strategies to be the best English as a Foreign Language Teacher we can be; I also have to try not melt as afternoons typically reach 100 degrees these days

4:30 p.m. – 5:00 p.m.: SDL, Self Directed Learning i.e. work on lesson planning and technical skills with fellow trainees or practice Thai with an Ajaan

5:00 p.m. – 5:30 p.m.: play soccer or Frisbee with the Anuban TaChang students

5:30 p.m. – 5:45 p.m.: bike home

5:45 p.m.: – 6:00 p.m.: sit on the porch and eat a snack with Mee and Knong Broht; typically my ‘cousin’ Im comes over, but she is too shy to interact with me

6:00 p.m. – 7:00 p.m.: go kayaking with Paa who coaches some of my students and other neighborhood kids (if I don’t go kayaking, I typically take the opportunity to snag some alone time, explore and taai ruup [take pictures])

7:00 p.m. – 7:45 p.m.: GIN KAAO (eat dinner… and yes, they speak it as you probably just read it) at Megan’s baan, the house of another volunteer whose Mee is my Paa’s sister

7:50 p.m. – 8:45 p.m.: bike home and ap-naam (shower)… finally!

8:45 p.m. –  9:30 p.m.: get in bed and take some time to write letters to friends or in my journal, read if my brain isn’t too friend, talk to family back home, etc.

If I am not asleep by 10 o’clock then it is a late night for me!  No day is ever the same and each day presents new challenges, but this is a fairly accurate (and extremely brief) depiction of a standard day in PST.

Learning to Live Outside Your Lens

 

Well, I am now 48 days into this wild ride. Today is my first day off since being in Thailand and it feels pretty well deserved. The concept of a day off is relative here since I am always representing something larger than myself (America, Peace Corps and PST Group 129). There are quite literally no days off, but today is the first day in which I don’t have any obligations. Curious how I am spending my one and only day off? I biked myself to an internet cafe with air conditioning, and that’s likely where I will be until my curfew of 6 p.m.

48 days into training and the momentum is only picking up. I realize the irony in writing that on a day off, but it’s true. As the days go by, training gets more dense and the anticipation of truly beginning my two years of service gets more intense. While leaving the comfort of Sing Buri, which is only just starting to feel like home, will be bizarre, I am excited to start exploring where I will call home for the next 24 months and begin what I came here to do.

Today, I am finally able to reflect on all I have gained in such a short period of time. I am discovering myself on a rawer level than ever before. But I am also uncovering a rawer perspective of humanity that I was blind to in America. Nearly 50 days into this journey, with 754 days left, and my faith in humanity has not only been entirely restored, but is at its peak.

I think I am fairly well traveled for a 22 year-old. I have been to Ireland, France, Italy, Spain, Puerto Rico, Mexico, most Caribbean islands, many states and even lived in Australia for a brief amount of time. I like to think I have seen a lot of what this world has to offer. Until recently, however, I wasn’t aware that I have always experienced things with an ‘American lens.’ By American lens, I mean that I was sometimes blinded by my background and hindered from absorbing all that my experiences had to teach me. I’ll never be able to lose my American lens, but I like to think that as I explore more of this world and its various cultures, it is gradually being chipped away.

I found cynicism to be a sense of security in America. In the individualist society that America is, it was easy for me to believe that others had only intentions of self interest. I’m not proud of it, but it became easy for me to believe the worst in humanity. And American media surely didn’t help. My desire to remain informed on current events was constantly at war with my conscience, especially within the past year. I think that is partly why I was drawn to Peace Corps in the first place. Among other things, Peace Corps was my opportunity to “be the change [I] wish[ed] to see in the world.” Ironically, since being in Peace Corps, I have slowly realized that the world isn’t the hopeless, self-centered abyss I had falsely believed it to be for so long.

Not only have I been on the receiving end of immense generosity from Thais, but I have received boundless and unimaginable support from home, as well, since being here. I feel like I wake up everyday to an unexpected, but encouraging Facebook message from someone I haven’t seen in years. I have received several letters from friends. I received a particular letter from a college acquaintance. Although this acquaintance and I were never necessarily the closest, I had always admired her genuine compassion for others. After receiving her letter, I can’t express the admiration and appreciation I now have for her and her compassion. Her eloquent words lifted me up on a day when I was at my worst and needed it most. And I will never be able to repay her for that.

I received a package from one of my best friends with a journal that we will be able to send back and forth, keeping each other updated on the details of our busy lives. Sisterhood of the Traveling Journal, perhaps?  As my most challenging week of training was coming to a close, I showed up one Saturday morning to a thoughtful package from a good friend’s mom. The package included a kind letter and a cross-body water bottle carrier. Ironically, all week I had been envious of another volunteer for the water bottle carrier she crocheted for herself. Remaining adequately hydrated in the 95 degree heat of a Thai ‘winter’ is essential, but nearly impossible when your only forms of transportation are your bike or your legs. This gift will make that task even slightly easier and I am so unbelievably grateful.

© Megan Ziegler

In summation, humanity is far from nearing its end, like I had believed for so long before this journey. If I have learned anything during my time here, it is that happiness isn’t conditional. Happiness isn’t dependent upon other people and it sure as hell isn’t situational. I am reminded of this on the rare occasion I am able to catch myself in the mirror these days and I see a smile so big it is nearly unrecognizable. I am happier than ever under circumstances that have presented more obstacles than I’ve ever had to conquer. Life, and your happiness, is entirely about perspective. So as I sit here, basking in a rare moment of accessible air conditioning, I am extraordinarily thankful for my newly gained perspective. I challenge anyone reading this to chip away at their own ‘lens,’ whatever it may be, and rediscover themselves and the goodness of humanity. You don’t have to move 8,600 plus miles away to do so. It is truly life-changing.

 

Will You Be My ValenTHAIne?

Admittedly, I am not a Valentine’s Day enthusiast.  Although, also admittedly, I don’t have a past of disastrous valentines to deter me from the ‘mushy’ corporate holiday.  I’ve actually had fairly enjoyable Valentine’s Days.  It’s strange to think that I spent last year’s hallmark holiday at a Widespread Panic concert in Columbia, South Carolina, and this year, I am in Thailand.  Anyway, I’ve digressed…

In contrast to my history of satisfyingly average Valentine’s Days (sorry feen gao… ex-boyfriends), this year’s was an absolute train wreck.  For the past two weeks, I have been teaching prathom one and two and prathom three at a local school, roong-rian wat Sopa.  While my students have not been angels, by any means, I’ve been able to maintain my sanity.  This past Tuesday, however, I lost that sense of mental stability and broke down.  My students were replaced with the spawn of Satan.  Regardless of any and all classroom management methods I tried, the tiny Thais manipulated my classroom to the point of absolute anarchy.  After an entire morning of feeling like an unpaid babysitter for nearly 50 kids, I felt miserable.

For the first time, I felt undeserving and unqualified to be in Thailand as a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I felt defeated.  After struggling to hold it together in the classroom, I walked out in silence at the end of my lesson to cry alone behind the school.  All I could think about was boarding a plane to return to the comfort of America.  I imagined how I would use the several flights of the 72-hour journey home to catch up on sleep.  I fantasized about my mom picking me up from the airport and taking me home to Bellechasse Road where I would curl up on the couch with Layla, my furry sidekick, and watch reruns of Friends.  In that moment of defeat, the thought of an American return seemed incredibly appealing.

After moments of attempting to gather myself and dry my eyes, I felt a warm and firm hand on my shoulder.  It was a fellow trainee that I have become particularly close with.  She had observed my classes – rather, failures at classes – earlier that morning.  Dismissing my feelings of immense embarrassment and discomfort with my vulnerability within that moment, my friend wrapped me in a hug which I myself did not even know I wanted.  Through tears, I told her how unqualified I felt.  She responded with a laugh and reminded me that my students’ behavior was not a reflection of my ability to teach, but that my resiliency and willingness to push through to the end was a reflection of my ability to be a PCV.  Her validation made me feel silly for contemplating giving up just a few minutes prior.

Valentine’s Day was my most difficult day of teacher training thus far.  Everything that could have went wrong… went wrong.  Immediately following that dreadful morning, I biked to a lunch date at a street vendor we PCT’s frequent.  The food took so long to make that we didn’t even get the chance to eat before we had to bike back to a four-hour Thai language session.  Of all days…  But the next day, when things did go right and I did get through to my students, it was more fulfilling than I ever thought possible.  Yes, there are moments when I cannot remember why I gave up the life I was accustomed with to shower with a bucket and pee in a glorified hole in the ground.  But in America, I was constantly looking to the future, daydreaming of the next adventure.  I was never truly present.  In Thailand, however, I am living the adventure everyday.  I am wholly present in every moment, a concept that was unfamiliar to me in the states.

I want to end this post with a quote a fellow PCT shared with me today: “All excellent things are as difficult as they are rare.”

P.S. Don’t let this face fool you…

Full Belly, Fuller Heart

I am coming up on my sixth week in Thailand and fifth week with my host family.  My krop-krewa koong Thai (Thai family) consists of Mee (mother: Bpuu), Paa (father: Pie Roht) and knoong-sao (younger sister: Broht).  I have known these people barely 30 days, yet they have taken me in as one of their own since day one.

Upon initially moving in, I had made myself at home under my mosquito net and was ready to sleep on the floor using a glorified mat as my mattress.  Having been well aware of what I signed up for, I was at peace with this new environment and ready to take on the challenges it would present.  Mee and Paa, however, were less enthused.  Within an hour, and after disregarding my insistence that I was okay, they had moved out of their only room, replacing their belongings with my cluttered suitcases.  After just one hour of knowing me, they sacrificed their own comfort for mine.  Four weeks later, Mee, Paa and knoong-sao are still sleeping on the floor under the mosquito net that was originally mine.  Although this act of hospitality initially made me uncomfortable, coming home to a private space I can call my home has allowed for often needed alone time and some essential decompression.

Although each new day presents several new challenges, I am comforted knowing that I not only have my American family to lean on, but I have my Thai family to come home to, as well.  Not a lot is certain of my daily routine.  In fact, it often feels like I don’t have a daily routine.  And the little routine I do have is not under my control.  What I can count on, however, is coming home to Mee with a beaming smile on her face asking if I am hungry. “Gin kaao?” she will say, which loosely translates to, “ready to eat?”  Although moments of hunger are far and few between (Thai people will never allow you to go hungry), it is nearly impossible to say no to the perfectly sweet bananas picked from the trees beside my house, fresh eggs from the chickens in our backyard and steamed rice picked from the lush green field that our kitchen overlooks.

In Thai culture, you will often hear the phrase “nam-jai.”  Nam-jai literally translates to “water heart.”  If a person has nam-jai, that person will go above and beyond for their friends and offer generosity to strangers.  My Thai family epitomizes what it means to have nam-jai.  Not only are they a phenomenal representation of the Thai community, but they serve as my daily inspiration to act with kindness in even the smallest of tasks.  In just one month, Thailand has not only become my second home, but has given me a family to share that home with.