kahhhh

So I've learned a few things since I last posted.  Namely, that I have been using what I THOUGHT was laundry detergent but what is ACTUALLY fabric softener to wash my clothes for the last few months.  A cryptic distinction seeing as I don't read Thai beyond the word "chicken" and the visual aids on both packages are a woman's hands. 

Another nugget of knowledge acquired over the last 48 hours: my students do not understand the word "subscription," even though we spent roughly the last 7 weeks doing nothing but reviewing the word, "subscription."  The midterms don't lie.  

Pearl of wisdom number 3, the Ajarn I share a cubicle with (I love her) does not know her verb tenses.  She stormed into the cubicle muttering, "I killed her kah. I killed her kah" over and over while I frantically racked my brain for who she could have killed.  It took intense verbal prodding to discover the true meaning of her words: "I could have killed her (kah)."  

In Thai there are two words which work as polite endings to sentences.  Women say, "kah" and men say, "krop."  As in "Sawadee kah," aka hello.  The "kah" and "krop" weasel their way in to Thai people speaking English as well.  My morning has not officially begun until the Ajarn next to me (different Ajarn) coos "good morning kaahhhhhh" at a pitch almost too high for the human ear.  I receive e-mails that say things like, "Thank you kah" and my students routinely come up to me and say, "Exam so hard kahhhhh." I love the "kah" it is much better than the "krop."  Jason says that the privilege of saying "kah" might be reason enough to become a lady boy.  Kah.  

I killed her. kah. 

Soundtrack

There is a small restaurant with live music right next to my apartment building.  My balcony looks out right over it and the mellow sounds of the evening's songs waft up the 8 floors and land elegantly in my room.  Never too loud, never to soft.  Someone just played "Jamaica Farewell" and now they're on to "You've Got a Friend."  I swear if the soundtrack of my emotions could be played out loud this little bar would hit the note right on key.  

As time passes here in Chiang Mai I begin to feel more and more alone.  Not necessarily in a bad way, just literally further and further from everything I left.  It's hard not seeing the faces behind the words I get in my e-mails, and it's difficult not being able to see or hug the people I love.  Many of the most important people in my life are sharing a 13 mile long island right now and I am 12,000 miles away sitting on a balcony and looking out over a city that six months ago I didn't even know existed.  

It's funny the things you miss or allow yourself to miss when you are away.  I don't let myself think about 198 Rutland Road because I know that if I ever let myself really go there I would be inconsolable.  I don't let myself think about Princeton for the same reasons. 

It's the things, the objects, the places the smells that have caught me the most off guard.  I expected to cry over family, friends and love but I didn't expect to miss the subway platform and it's miserable heat and holler.  I didn't expect to miss scary nails at the grocery store and eating Chip Ahoy Reds (hello Helen) in my PJs. I didn't even think about missing clean floors, hot chocolate, summertime upstate or Miami rain.  What I miss most is comfort.  

This post makes it sound like I'm knee deep in homesickness which is not the case.  I blame the low tones of Tracy Chapman now floating up from the bar below.  

Every day here I'm filling my life with new things, things which one day I will miss.  One day I will miss being served lunch by a man in a bra.  One day I will miss eating meals with zero identifiable foods in them.  One day I will miss these sounds and smells and the soundtrack of my life being played by a Thai man with a guitar outside my window.  

If being here has taught me anything it's that all of this is manageable.  The body and the mind can carry a lot more than I previously thought.  And no matter what, the mosaic of the self can reach beyond what you thought was the limit and find a new place of comfort.  

Right on cue the singer below plays the perfect song.  

"There will be an answer let it be." 

My Hero

My students are in the process of doing presentations on their "Hero" or "Heroine." The gamete of people, animals, mythical creatures we have run is unbelievable.  Today I had two presentations back to back.  The first one was on Jesus Christ and the second one was on Steve-O from Jackass.  WWJD? 

The hands down, far and away most popular Hero is called Doraemon. (see flying cat winking)  Roughly seven people have presented on him and every time someone comes to the podium with their little Doraemon figurine there is a collective knowing sigh, as if no one in the world could ever surpass Doraemon.  Not even Jesus Christ.  Not even Steve-O. 

As I have gleaned from the presentations, (which by the way all begin "Good afternoon Teacher and my friends,") Doraemon is a Japanese animation cat who has come from the future to save the present.  "He is blue color," they all say.  Apparently Doraemon has no ears because a mouse, which they usually call a "lat" several times as I repeatedly say "a what?" until they abandon "rat" and switch to "mouse," bit off his ears.  Additionally Doraemon carries a bag on his belly.  This is where the presentation ends.  

"What's in the bag?" I ask.  "Everything," they answer.  "Everything?"

"Oh a spoon, band aids, an airplane, weapons, food, small furniture....everything."  

Then they sit down.  After seven presentations this is still all I know about Doraemon.  What I know about Steve-O is that he once "got a tattoo while driving." 

"Good afternoon, teacher and friends." 

Routine

Inspiration has been low lately.  Slowly life here is shifting a little bit.  Things that were funny just aren't funny any more.  Now instead of laughing at every English butchery, I'm nodding my head in praise when they come even a little close.  Spicy Thai food doesn't ravage my emotions anymore and instead I'm becoming used to crying in pain while I eat and accustomed to the necessary handfuls of cucumber or rice that I need to quickly swallow to make my tongue stop burning.  Even the maze of city streets doesn't baffle me anymore.  I still get lost but it's not with the same hopeless thought of never finding my way home again.  

It's weird when things suddenly become routine.  When you start judging the other white people you see for being on your street, or getting mad at Song Taew drivers for taking a route which you know isn't the quickest.  Even the intricacies of school are becoming common-place.   I am now used to the students bowing and am even a little offended when they don't.  I'm used to class starting about 20 minutes after the scheduled time and I'm used to telling 23-year-old men to stop passing notes to one another.  I expect to feel, at least once a day, like I am so hot I'm going to die, and I know that since I'm the first one in the office to use the hot water heater every morning that I have the duty of cleaning the ants out of the water.  

At 4:30 every morning the rooster outside my window starts to crow and at 7 the loudspeaker from the nearby school starts broadcasting god-knows-what.  My refrigerator moves across the floor if I don't hold it in place when I open the door and the best movies are on T.V. in the middle of the night.  

What will tomorrow bring?

Swine Flu and The Shame

I'm having a hard time with this Swine Flu ish.  Perhaps this is because of the mask I have been asked to wear at work.  (see stern photo of me and the King above.) Perhaps because the way I was instructed to wear this mask was via a handwritten note placed on my desk that read, "Ajarn Elena, Here is a mask for you to protect yourself from the flu. -Oyporn" Perhaps because of the fact that the other note on my desk at the time read, "I put your books on the chair.  Hope u don't mind. (can you see my folder?)" (I then proceeded to have a very meta argument with myself over the wording of "can you see my folder?" "Yes I can.") H1N1 is all everyone is taking about, save the sick baby panda, ("baby pandaaaaaa!" as they say.) my classroom now looks like the surgery ward, and the air conditioners have been cut off for free of "spreading." School was nearly shut down for a week for "flu cleaning." Unclear as to what they figured that would do.  

School carries on and so do the same old stories.  Today I confronted the cheats and had them all write me letters about why they cheated.  What I learned from this experience is that I am not built to be a disciplinarian. (surprise, surprise.)  I almost started to cry while I was yelling at them, their puppy eyes and quivering lips.  The letters they wrote only made me sadder.  

"I don't believe myself.  I believe you cannot do it very well.  I think like this."  

"Dear Lena, I'm sorry to make you upset.  I don't want to do that.  For the thing that I have done, it's because I think, I'll coppy some sentense to make mo detail.  I don't know what I done.  I serch for information and coppy down.  It's not good I'm really sorry.  I'll not do it again.  And I don't know that is falt.  I don't understand in the sentense that I copy so I coppy all." 

"To my teacher, Elena, I'm sorry for that.  I copy from the internet because I'm not smart in writing such as grammar, vocabulary.  On next time I wouldn't do that again.  I will practice my writing.  I promise.  And I want to tell you, I'm sorry." 

"I feel very shame."  

Maybe it's the broken English that made me feel so bad or the fact that they all turned in these letters with their heads hung low, but I really feel sorry for them.  As I promised I gave them all zeros, hopefully from now on we will steer clear of the online downloads and I won't have to hear the quiet mumblings of, "I'm so sorry Ajarn."  

Hygienic Point

"Hygienic Point." This is a sign that I saw in the supermarket.  Meaning, unclear.  What I do know is that the hospital I visited today was desperately lacking a hygienic point.  

My reasons for visiting the hospital were twofold.  1. I had to get a certificate of health in order to finalize my work permit and 2. I had to get a vaccination for Japanese Encephalitis.  After about 12 seconds in the hospital I decided it would be more sanitary if I gave myself the vaccination using needles found on dark alleyways and brewing my own homemade vaccination in stagnant water.  Long story short, I opted out of the vaccine.  

After my visit to the hospital I must say I feel more sick than well.  Chiang Mai is up in arms about Swine Flu, or H1N1 as they insist on calling it, and after my hospital experience I'm up in arms too.   Meaning, a hypochondriac like me visiting a hospital with patients decomposing on gurneys all around the waiting room is not going to leave the hospital with a feeling of health and "protection." (My conversation students learned the word "protection" today.) Also my visit with the nurse, as well as everyone else's visit with the nurse, occurred in the waiting room with hundreds of Thai people watching me.  Privacy is dead.  Privacy is especially dead since I saw two of my students in the hospital while I was practically getting my blood pressure taken.  I promise by tomorrow the entire Payap campus will know that Ajarn Elena was at the hospital.  This will then turn into a rumor that Ajarn Elena has swine flu.  I will then be approached by the miniscule head of the English Department and she will peer up at me and say something like, "They say you have H1N1." 

I'm home and appear to be well.  And although the hospital visit was mildly harrowing the entire thing only cost $1.50.  

Cheats

Before I came to Thailand the most I knew about Payap University, where I teach, was an article written by my friend Alexis.  She had held the position two years prior to me and had later written an article for the New York Times about a student of hers named Dream who fell in love with her. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/03/fashion/03love.html?scp=1&sq=alexis%20schaitkin&st=cse

Last week a student turned in a homework assignment that makes me think I might be headed towards the same fate.  This is what his homework said.  "My name is Nut.  I am 20 years old. I want to be going out with someone.  Especially Ajarn Elena because I fall in love with you.  I love you at first sight and I want to know how to flirt with you.  I am interested in your pretty face and your hairstyle.  I am a funny guy and talkative.  I want to know you more than at this time.  Finally, I want to hang out for a dinner with you."  

My comment was.  "I'm taken.  Excellent grammar."  I mean it was pretty well written.  

Today in class all of my students cheated.  Actually I should revise that statement.  Every single boy cheated.  Literally hand-written copies of wikipedia articles were turned in as their homework.  They were assigned to write me half a page about a holiday they celebrate.  Students who usually write sentences akin to "Hello, my name Jane. I have 1 sisters," turned in assignments with sentences like, "there is a marked differentiation between the Gregorian and Lunar calendars."  Everyone is getting a zero.  

The fact that they're all such cheats doesn't stick in their minds as something bad.  During our weekly Friday quizzes I am constantly shouting people's names to make them stop cheating.  "stop, Stop!" (I generally just tell Stop to stop because it's funny to say his name, rarely is he doing anything that bad.) They think of cheating as helping one another.  The other thing that they cannot wrap their minds around is that I can still see them talking on the phone during class EVEN if they cover the phone with their hair.  You would be shocked by how many people do this. 

Good day U.S.A. 

Living Alone

Living alone allows you to be the weirdest version of yourself and no one is around to tell you how weird you actually are.  

My apartment has become something of an abstract installation piece crossed with allusions to Gabriel Garcia Marquez' insomnia plague.  In my diligent efforts to learn Thai I have begun to label everything with Thai words.  My refrigerator, my alarm clock, my pencils, even my shower now has the Thai words for "to shampoo" and "to shower, to take a bath" pasted next to it.  My room is filled with blue post-its stuck to everything labeling words that no matter how hard I try I cannot remember.  

Beyond that my at-home wear fluctuates between bikinis and Abuela-style-batas.  (aka awkwardly massive house-dresses for this not in the Pozzo-Del-Shepparo-Milou-Oroza clan).  It is ridiculously hot here and my meager pay-check only allows for the air conditioner to be turned on while I'm sleeping.  So here I sit, blogging in my bikini surrounded by blue post-its on all of my belongings.  

Don't you wish you lived here too?

"I Have No Idea What's Going On Right Now"

"I have no idea what's going on right now." I think I say this phrase upwards of 100 times a day in Thailand.  And the thing is, when I say it I genuinely mean it.  

A few examples.

While we were in Koh Phi Phi a friend in our traveling group had a birthday.  Lauren, his girlfriend, surprised him with a cake and candles.  However we were all surprised by the one toothed man who showed up with a guitar to serenade us with the Thai version of Happy Birthday.  (The Thai version totally skips over the "happy birthday dear ________" part and just says "happy birthday" a lot.) I have no idea what's going on right now.  

Last night on the flight back to Chiang Mai my fear of flying was put into overdrive when the pilot left the cockpit to go and schmooze with the stewardesses in the back of the plane.  I have no idea what's going on right now. 

Again last night, we were corralled to various different desolate gates in the Bangkok airport until we were all hoarded onto a bus and driven to a strange tarmac.  Save one passenger who was escorted into a very sketchy looking van.  I have no idea what's going on right now.  

While walking on a jungle path in the dark led by a barefoot Thai man the most enormous snake I have ever seen (definitely bigger than I am) crossed the path in front of us.  The Thai man turned around and said, "good snake."  I think I blacked out.  I really had no idea what was going on.  

When the Thai people employ their absolute favorite English phrase which makes virtually no sense I never have any idea what's going on.  "Same, same, but different," they say.  What? What is the same? What is different? What does that mean? I feel like Ethel listening to one of  Lucy's half-hatched ideas.  Except the visual you should really have is me in my Chiang Mai Maternity (this is what I'm calling the line when I put it out) wear scratching my head in wonder while Thai people nod with knowing conviction.  

I have no idea what's going on right now. 

Vacation

Hello America (and a scant smattering of other places), 

I've been quiet for the last few days because I have been on vacation.  I'm actually still on vacation.  

My current location is what I would call an artsy/tiki/bungalow hut on a beach in Koh Phi Phi.  It has been the perfect getaway and is bringing me back to trips to the Virgin Islands with my parents as a little girl.  While I won't regale you with intrepid stories of our travels (I am here with 6 other people) I can tell you that Koh Phi Phi was completely destroyed by the '04 Tsunami.  Pictures of the post Tsunami island are hung in most restaurants and the whole environment keeps reminding me of the post 9-11 New York that none of us will ever forget.  In bars there are still pictures of lost friends and signs point to "Tsunami Village." It's hard to fathom my beautiful little bungalow being completely destroyed by a wave but then again it was hard to imagine those colossal towers being destroyed by anything at all. 

On a much lighter and completely different topic altogether I learned tonight at dinner of an Asian phenomenon that I had not heard of at all previously.  A group of us were sitting around when one of the guys brought up massages in the mens bathroom.  This all might sound a little Senator Craig but apparently while you are peeing in the men's room in Thailand a man comes up behind you and puts warm towels on your neck and then swings you around and cracks your back.  Then you are expected to tip him.  All of the boys at the table had experienced this.  I am considering an incognito mission to discover if this is really true. I have my doubts.