Christmas is Crap

It's December and I'm sure if I were in the States, I would be suffering the monotony of Christmas carols and the eyesores that decorate this overrated time of year. But I'm in Thailand, right? Alas...though I am entirely across the world, I am actually required to teach this 'Joy to the World' crap to Buddhist children. Why? Well why not, says my boss, when- afterall- the school has this Western artifact (read: me) who must love Christmas. I'm from America, right?
Sadly, I cannot fully escape the Holidays as I had hoped. Everyday during my music lesson I must brainwash the children into singing carols with a smile. It's getting worse, too, as my boss has somehow caught wind of a baneful ritual known as a "Christmas Pageant" and- huge shock-guess who's the director? Christine "Merry Christmas!" Murray. Otherwise, school is going well.
On a much happier note, Alison and Cori and I are going to Khao Sok this weekend, which is the oldest naturally preserved jungle in the world. I owe this mini-holiday to the King, since his birthday is on Monday and thus the country shuts down completely. It will be a good chance to clear my head and breathe a little.
Lex, my sweet Lex, as a much delayed response, Steele all the way. And thanks for the birthday invite. Maybe I'll take some anti-dysentery meds with a few birthday candles in your honor. And Bartberger, you're in Japan?!
I'm reading over this post and realizing that it sounds pretty negative. I should elucidate, as it is, my tone. Everyday here is challenging. There isn't any time when I can just let go and slide through the motions; or rather, for my former co-workers at the Drake Institute, there is never an opportunity to let myself slip into those Alpha brainwaves. Sometimes I get really frustrated and want to yell at anyone who is near me. Sometimes I do, though that person is always the unfortunate (but understanding) Alison. The more I'm here, which is now going on a mere four months, the more I lose the distinction between Americans and Europeans and everything in between. The world I'm living in is so different and surreal, and communication so foreign. 'Lost in Translation' is an understatement yet also a plague, especially when necessities are tangled in the hazy intricacies of semantics.
None of this, however, changes how I feel about my experience here in the slightest: Shitty at times, maddening at others, I love every minute and wouldn't change it or make it easier. I'm not even close to being ready to think about returning home, nor do I wish that I were somewhere else, even when I think I'm going to explode. Not to mention, there are times-especially on good days- when I am completely blown away by the fact I live in such a beautiful place.
Also, if you didn't know, I don't like Christmas.

Sign in Myanmar 

Ketamines and Vomit

From the title, you might infer that I made another trip to Myanmar this weekend. If so, you would be correct, since it was indeed time for another run to the border for my Visa. Per usual, upon stepping off the boat I was met with the pleas to buy drugs and smuggled alcohol. This time, however, I was bombarded with young boys hissing, "opium?" and "golden triangle... you like." I'll be perfectly honest: there was a point when I thought it would be part of the experience to try opium- it's such a staple within the culture- but I changed my mind. Even though I'm not actually considered a tourist, Tourism is supposed to be an alternative economy to the drug trade here in Southeast Asia, not a boost to it. The local teenagers want to emulate the Westerners, even though they shouldn't, and the example we set can be dangerous. For us, it's a one-off experience to be recounted in emails to impressed friends, whereas local kids start visiting the opium dens daily. Our selfish irresponsibility ends up fueling the trade, which amounts in more deaths here than I can imagine. It's similar to the cocaine trade in South America: when there is such a demand for a commodity, and that commodity happens to be illegal, what do we expect? I know that over 20,000 Colombians die a year over cocaine, but I guess out of sight, out of mind... Our drugs are coming from a war zone and we don't even realize it. And now, because of the demand, there is no incentive to produce anything else, so the staple economy circulates outside of the law, making it more and more deadly.
Was that a 'don't do drugs' lecture? Shit.
Last Friday was a glorious day to be a teacher. First, Gigi comes up to me with her arms outstretched, saying, "Teacher, Teacher." This is an indication that something has upset her and she wants me to hold her. As I'm picking her up and stroking her hair, Bel comes over and announces. "Toilet, Teacher, toilet... pants..." and it's at this moment that a peculiar smell triggers the realization that the girl shat herself. As I'm thinking how to go about solving the shit problem, Gigi starts heaving in my arms and subsequently barfs all over me. Covered -completely covered- in vomit, I try to soothe the crying Gigi and the awkwardly hobbling Bel while cleaning up both messes (including myself). To delineate the mess, I was so covered in barf that it looked like I had webbed hands since the mucus was so thickly draped between each finger.
All ended (relatively) well. Shit happens.

Thanksgiving... What?

I just realized today is Thanksgiving. I don't really care for the holiday or what it stands for, and it doesn't help, I'm sure, that my options at the table are cranberry sauce and potatoes. Still, it's weird that it just dawned on me. I'm sure I will do nothing to celebrate, and I'm really happy with that.
Last week I got in a motorbike accident. I wasn't going to post anything about it, particularly since I didn't want to scare my family, but the fact is- it's beyond my comprehension why I'm alive. It was a freak collision with a pickup truck, in which my bike was completely run over. I have no idea how I was not run over as well, except that I was thrown from the bike enough to miss the truck's tire by about a foot. The bike is destroyed, and I had to trash my clothes because of blood, but all in all I'm ok. I was lucky for so many reasons: I didn't die, first and foremost, Devlin and Ali were behind me and were there to help, and if I did need stiches- which I probably did- I'm healing well regardless. I think I'm posting this mainly because I can't believe it. However, though I really am careful, and though I need to drive a motorbike to get to school (it's not an option) I'm ok with- actually looking forward to- the inevitable diatribes and reprimands becuase I probably need them. Mom, please don't worry or freak out, though.
Bottom line: I'm ok.
In light of Isaac going home to the States for a week, there are certain things that I'll admit to missing from home. Primarily, I miss indoor plumbing and toilets. True, you can find toilets here if you try...hard... but the number of allocated holes in the ground far outnumber such a luxury. I miss healthy dogs, good toothpaste, the unappreciated splendor of perusing a bookstore and reading books I can understand. I miss thinking moderately creepy old men were just moderately creepy old men and not horny potbellied sex-pats who are out to bludgeon and wed any poor little Thai woman they can beguile. I miss movies that weren't recorded on a video camera in a movie theater. And that were in English. I miss good coffee. Toilet paper.
I still love it here.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Charlie the Gibbon and Me, Kok Chang

From Christine's Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/user/absinth143

There's Nothing Funny about a One Eyed Bunny

On my way into class this morning, I passed a mother, who had presumably just dropped off her child, coming down the stairs. On her shirt was emblazoned the urgent question, "How do you like your pussy?" Agape, I slowed my step and examined the woman more carefully. Her face was sweet and her hair tied back politely; her shoulders and knees covered, as is customary for women.
I don't know why I was shocked. T-shirts of the sort abound here, mainly because no one understands a damn word they say. English seems a chic accessory to embellish one's attire, and understanding the meaning is evidently a moot point. I know this is a trend everywhere- not just with English- as Americans seem to love French and Italian phrases stitched into their clothes. Add a le or an amore and suddenly you're supercool. 'What, you don't understand le francais on my shirt? No matter, I am unburdened by your lack of understanding. I am a cultured enigma in this tres cool shirt.' (I would liken this to those annoying tatoos of Japanese symbols that no one-not even the stupid bearer- understands.)
Nevertheless, I feel slightly awkward when I see a little girl wearing a wee tank-top that reads, "Pornstar." I know it might as well say, "Cute Little Bunny," but the fact remains: It doesn't.
Moving on.
I've accomplished something of which I am incredibly proud. Alexis, you too should give me kudos for this: I can eat spicy food. I should make it clear that in America I had no tolerance for spicy food, even though I wanted to. I just couldn't do it. Here, however, since I have no choice, I have finally grown accustomed to it. My crowning moment happened last night when, after ordering my food and tasting it, I dumped the bottle of chili sauce all over it and was subsequently pleased with the result. How about that?
I'm sitting here in my purple polyester uniform, looking like a stewardess, and I think it's time to go eat lunch.
p.s. If you are dying to send me something- I mean can't control the urge- please, dear God, make it books.
p.p.s. Emily, while you are called "Buffalo Teacher," Alison is known as "Teacher Elephant." Also, if I ever see a map, I think the same thing. I am far, far away from home.

Loi Krathong and Fleas

Every afternoon I walk my Kindergartners to lunch, during which time I serve them their food and water. This being my lunchtime as well, I eat a bowl of rice with them (since everything else has meat in it). Today, however, I noticed my rice jumping. Yes, my rice was jumping and at first confused, I squinted at my bowl and lowered my head in order to take a better look. Turns out my leaping rice was in fact a small colony of fleas bounding around my bowl, though by this time I was to assume that the majority of this colony was, unfortunately, in my stomach. Not sure what to do (vomiting on the table seemed somehow unacceptable behavior for a teacher) I cleared my throat, stood up and dumped out the rest of the rice, which, seeing how little fell into the bin, made me a bit more queasy. Regardless, I made myself shrug it off, wait for my students to finish, and walk them back to class. On the way, I attempted futile justifications of my recent flea consumption. More protein. Good to try new things...
Fuck it. Today I ate fleas.
Aside from marking my first meal of live insects, today is also Loi Krathong, which is a religious event that happens every year on the full moon of the 12th lunar month (first full moon day of November). Thais buy or make a 'Krathong,' which is a wreath of banana leaves filled with flowers and a candle. At night, the Krathongs are released in the water, which traditionally symbolized the act of excusing oneself to the spirit of the river and to release one's sins. Tonight is supposed to mark a new beginning for the Thais, somewhat like our new year, though they have that as well. (Sidenote: in Thailand it is the year 2548).
Time for class.

Immunity Be Dammned

Lisa Hardy started a blog. Oh. My. God. It's the Korean influence, isn't it?
I posted some more pictures of my little munchkins as well as a couple of Foxy Girl.
Anyway, big surprise, I got sick again. Just a bad cold, but I was sent home today for fear that I would infect my students. Since I felt at least moderately well, I went to Wat Chalong. Though this is incredibly close to our house, today was my first day actually entering the temple. Incredible.
I'm speeding though this, but I hadn't posted anything for a while so I thought I'd fly through some of the proverbial shit.
Monsoon season should be ending next week. This means no more flooding, though it also means rising temperatures. Mom, this is particularly for you: what you are hearing about on the news regarding the turmoil in Thailand is still to the South of where I am living. Like I said a while back, I'm not going to be an idiot if I need to leave. We are constantly abreast of the Insurgency and we do not take it lightly. Don't worry.
I know this is short. In a nutshell: I'm well and happy and am at present, still Malaria free.
(Trainie, sweet Trainie, I love my little Trainie. Choo Choo!)
Pics: http://community.webshots.com/user/absinth143

Milk Was A Bad Choice

Bam-Bam wet herself again. I don't know how the girl does it, but it's like someone opens a fire hydrant in her pants- which, of course- results in a torrent of urine all over her, the other students and the classroom. Excessive urine was hardly the mini-catastrophe du jour, however, as a sudden outbreak of fleas overtook the scalps of my wee students. After apologizing for touching their heads, I went to business picking through their hair like a monkey, until the flea epidemic was under control.
Some days I feel like I'm losing my mind. It's essentially a race (against myself) to learn Thai in order to communicate with my co-workers and assistant. I might as well be blind and deaf, since neither sense seems to help me whatsoever (I mean completely blind, not just legally blind as I am). My only useful sense seems to be touch, as I force myself back to sanity with routine smacks on the head. I love this job, but it wears on me more than anything I have ever done. More than being a Neuropsychological Trainer, a Suicide Counselor, a subject in Pain Experiments... even more than being Linsey's roommate freshman year.
I am, however, looking forward to an additional role that I might be taking on next month as the music teacher. It will increase my class load to Kindergarten, Second Grade and Music, but luckily music is mainly Italian and numbers, thus rendering the war (that exists in my head) between Thai and English practically moot.
Switching themes, Alison has a friend, John, coming to visit next month from America. This means one thing to me: toothpaste. Thailand has a grand array of toiletries, including over-the-counter birth control and morning-after-pills (though sex toys and porn are illegal), but the toothpaste selection is maddening.
It's still hot as balls. Hotter and hotter by the day. I think I'm about to start sweating on this very keyboard.

Hot Hot Heat

It's November, which means it's getting hotter and hotter. Alison and her chronic sweating problem emerge from class everyday soaked through two shirts with perspiration to spare. Our Monday uniforms are polyester, which is probably the worst fabric to wear during this heat, though our constant sweating is not limited to the teachers. I never knew children could sweat so profusely, nor did I realize that they had the balls to wipe their sweaty faces all over my stomach. December will be even hotter, followed by a blistering January.
I finally posted some more pictures. The monkey on my lap is Charlie, who hordes affection like Alexis hordes knickknacks. You scratch and scratch his little head, and as soon as you stop, he grabs your hand and places it back where he thinks it belongs. Not that I mind at all. He's a Gibbon, which is sadly the only protected species in Thailand. The other pic of me on the elephant was a surprise (that silly bugger) but incredible.
I broke my phone. This is the third phone that has met its demise due to my irresponsibility coupled with some form of liquid. This one in particular was left in the rain. I swear it is an implicit attempt to rid myself of phones since I hate talking on them so much.
I have to get back to class. Isaac, those are the most glorious pictures of me I've ever seen. Same with Alison. We are both flattered that you would choose to remember us in our natural states. And that you decided to share them with cyberspace. Ass.