As I, In Solitude, Lay--An Ode to a Power Blackout

Every now and then, life sends us a message that pretty much says slow down. Anyone who read my earlier post about the slow pace of life in the village would probably think that I wouldn't have a problem with slowing down...after all, its pretty much a way of life over here. I would have thought so too if not for the fact that I've felt a certain sense of disconnect lately. I think this feeling has stemmed from my inability to drum to the village's beat. I've gotten so used to the mentality that just sitting down for hours on end is akin to being unproductive. "If I'm to just sit," I've told myslef, "I might as well make sure I'm being productive while sitting." Attempts to be productive have included practicing my Thai, reading whatever material I get my hands on, writing, etc. While there is nothing wrong with these, I've realized that it's also important to learn how to just sit with oneself. Not to say I haven't tried (though I can't get past 2o minutes before I start feeling like I'm wasting time.)


But, as I said, life sends us messages every now and then. In my case, it was sent through a blackout. Not just any blackout (blackouts are a normal occurance in my village.) There were other variables involved in this one. First, the moon wasn't out nor were than any stars. Because of the extreme darkness, I could not read. Next, there was a strong enough breeze that candles were useless. Since no one lit any candles, my entire street was dark. The timing was great too. I've been in my village long enough to not be a source of fascination...people no longer go out of their way to talk to the foreigner. And for some reason, all the kids in my street were gone. Usually, during blackouts, a couple of them would come over and we would make shadow puppets on my wall. Not on this particualr blackout though. All these factors made for 2 hours of laying in my hammock in darkness and silence. It was AMAZING. Granted I took out my ipod and listened to some Bob Marley and Simon and Garfunkel but it was so relaxing. I drifted in and out of sleep. I day dreamt. I sat with my thoughts and let each chain work its way through without jumping from one thought to the next. I was aware of my breathing. I slept somemore. I thought about how cool my work is...how lucky I am to have Caitlin..how awesome my family is. I was in peace. It was one of the most relaxing couple of hours of my life and I enjoyed it. So much that I was actually a little disappointed when my power came back.

Anyhow, I was aware that I had just experienced something special and before I went to bed that night, I wrote these words down.


Twas neither star nor moon
On that May night
As I, in solitude, lay.

Absent too was children's laughter
That had earlier filled the day.

Yet as star and moon and the heart of youth
Were absent from that night
I, in my solitude, embraced all their light

For the moment of peace I felt that night
As I, in solitude, lay
Was filled with the grace of heaven
And the joy of a child at play.

What I Taketh, I Giveth Back

I love rice. Anyone who knows me knows this. (In fact, my very first blog entry was, as my friend James put it, "an ode to rice.") I have at least a bowl of rice for every meal. Be it brown rice, sticky rice, jasmine rice, grainy rice...it does not matter. If it's rice, i'll eat it...and I'll enjoy eating it.

While I am indeed a proud, happy eater of rice, I am by no means a selfish eater. If it were up to me, I'd want the joy I receive (and believe me, it's quite the joy) from a nice, warm bowl of rice to be shared by all. I'm also aware that I have had my fair share of rice here in Thailand (doing the math, at 5 months with 4 weeks a month at 7 days a week and 3 meals a day...I have consumed at least 420 bowls of rice) I figured I should give back. So it was towards this end that I volunteered to help a teacher in my school plant rice in his field.

We started early, he picked me up at my house around 7, we had breakfast in his place and then we were off to the fields. No amount of sun block was going to protect me from the sun so I had to wear the only long sleeved shirt I brought with me to Thailand and a t-shirt over my face.

The day's job mainly entailed "pitching" the rice evenly around the field and then eventually having a tractor embed them into the soil. We were fairly efficient I thought, dividing up the land into areas each "pitcher" would focus on. There were sacks of rice that were strategically laid around the field--refilling stations if you will-- so we wouldn't have to walk all the way back to the truck to pick up more grain. My teacher's field is but a small section of this giant plateau which is shared by five provinces called the "Tung Kula Rong Hai" which means "The field that made the Kula cry. The Kula is an old tribe and legend has is that a long time ago, as the Kula walked along the field, they realized that there was no end to their journey. The farther they walked, the farther it seemed they had to go. The intense heat added to their despair and they all broke down and cried.

There wasn't any crying going on this day though. In fact, I enjoyed the experience tremendously. The scenery was beautiful. As far as the eyes could see, it was just miles and miles of land. No tall buildings, no smog, nothing but God's good earth, the sky and several farmers. While insanely hot, there was enough cloud cover to grant us little over cast breaks. Hearing the gentle "swoosh" of the grain as it left the hands and fell to the fields mixed with the birds was very relaxing and I soon found myself in a trance almost--as if I wasn't engaged in work but a sort meditation.

We snacked on a baby watermellons (so so refreshing on a hot day) and had lunch by the fields. I was drenched with sweat...literally...and attacked the food like a beast. The meal was a very typical Isan meal--somtam (papaya salad), gai-yang (barbequed chicken) and...drum roll....rice! We lingered over lunch a bit and it was nice getting to know my teacher's family. After some more watermellon and some durian it was back to the fields.

Seven hours in the field can be exhausting but after a quick trip home (and a nice shower) I came back to watch the tractor do its job. It was sunset at this point and only a few farmers were left. After thanking my teacher, Ajan Pusit, for giving me the opportunity to give back to the fields that have so nourished me (I will never stop romanticizing the role of rice in my life) I headed home and prepared for dinner...

Village Life

Try to recall the longest day of your life. Recall how you looked at the clock, certain that 30 minutes had gone by since you last checked only to realize the a mere 8 minutes have passed.

Now imagine reliving that day everyday for a month and a half.

You just got a glimpse into my last 45 days.

Now you might say "that's rough" and I would say "it is...sometimes."
You might say "that sucks" and I would say "it does...sometimes."
You might ask "how in the world do you do it?" and I would answer "I ask myself the exact same question...sometimes"

Over the past 45 days I've had moments where I've found the pace of life in my village to be too slow for my liking. On such moments, I've said things like "this is rough" and "this sucks" and I've questioned whether I could continue living like this for 22 more months. Fortunately, these moments have only occured sometimes.

MOST of the times, I've found myself ENJOYING my life in the village.

I've enjoyed how what would normally be a 15 minute bike ride becomes 30 minutes because I am stuck in a narrow road behind herded cattle but I don't mind because the landscape is absolutely beautiful.

I've enjoyed how the village kids will pause playing their games or riding their bikes and scream the only English they know "what is your name?!"

I've enjoyed how the village kids have invaded my home and found ways to squeeze themselves into my comfy chair to root for Manchester United

I've enjoyed playing home made board games with my neighbors using the last number from the pages of a book instead of dice because no one has heard of dice (if the book is opened to page 47...that means you can move your board piece seven spaces)

I've enjoyed all these and so much more! Life in the village, while agonizingly slow at times, has been consistently fascinating.

From watching the monks collecting food in the morning to realizing that what I first thought to be a huge block of moss turn out to actually be a lake with fish (and a few snapping turtles) underneath all the greens to witnessing a fishing frenzy like no other to enjoying festivals like Songkran (and all the water soaking) and Bum mung fai (and the funky home made rockets...one of which was in the form of a giant male organ) to the meals I've been invited to partake in to the crazy personalities I've encountered... the village life has provided for ALOT of wonderful sights and experiences.

Hmmm...maybe having long days isn't such a bad thing after all.

Some pics

1) Enjoying songkran with kids from the village

2) Nong Gong lake

3) Day of fishing at Nong Gong--the village leaders designate one day of the year to be fishing day and it's quite the spectacle. People from other villagers partake as well.

4) Lunch with some friends

5) The Rocket

6) Nong Sim lake...doesn't it look like a carpet of moss?

7) Snapping turtle...alot of excitement surrounding the capture of this one. 20 minutes later, all that was left was the shell.

Lost in Translation

The scenes were so eerily familiar--billboards in foreign script; sitting up in bed all night; trying to figure out how to work the shower; turning on the television and not finding anything sensible--that I was certain one fo two things had to be the case:

1) Soffia Coppola, writer and director of the film, "Lost in Translation", was once a Peace Corps Volunteer

---or---

2) She was familiar with the foreign.

While choice one would make sense given how much the film, "Lost in Translation" parallels scenes from the cross cultural aspect of Peace Corps life, the entire movie itself is universally applicable to anyone who has ever experienced the foreign--and thus, the answer would be #2.

I say experienced the foreign instead of simply saying travelled because in today's world of cheap airfare and tourist packages, it is quite possible to travel and NOT get out of one's element. It is equally possible to stay in place and yet be privy to something entirely new and, well, foreign. This is what the foreign is after all: an experience--be it a place, person, event, or food-- that is so new that once experienced, changes the person experiencing it by providing that person with a whole new set of eyes.

The question then is...what exactly do we do with the foreign?

Bob (Bill Murray) suggests to Charlotte (Scarlett Johanson) that they flee but in the course of their fleeing, they end up throwing themselves against the very thing they were fleeing from--being lost. In a sense, they are not really doing anything new...only this time, they let their guard down. Gone is Bob's tuxedo and on is Charlotte's wig. This, I think, is exactly what we should do with the foreign--throw oursleves against it. No doubt the urge to flee is always present in the face of something entirely new and different but whether we do it conciously or not, by putting our guard down, we develop a power that transforms this urge from a desire to flee to a desire to embrace (granted it might be easier to embrace something entirely new if you get to embrace it with someone like Scarlett Johansen.)

But why embrace the foreign? Why throw yourself against something you could easily lose yourself in? The film's theatrical trailer offers these words,

"Sometimes you have to go around the world to come full circle"

This is a common thought among travelers--the idea of finding yourself only after you lose yourself; that enlightenment comes after trasversing the full circle. "The end of our exploring" Eliot wrote, "will be to arrive where we began and to know the place for the first time."

I've always believed in the idea that traveling into the foreign is not about experiencing the "trouble free" packages offered by the tourist industry but it's about exploring the relationship between travel and travail. There is certainly alot of "travailing" when it comes to experiencing something new and it's in this travailing that we learn most about ourselves and what we are capable of. It is thus that we acquire new lenses and discover who we really are. This is why we embrace the foreign--because by embracing it, we grow in a way that only happens when we broaden our horizons.

And yet, while I am a firm believer that we find ourselves after we lose ourselves, I also like to stress that we need not always rush the finding part; that it is in fact okay to linger a bit amidst the being lost. If the viewing public did not have such a short attention span, I don't doubt "Lost in Translation" would have had more scenes of Bob and Charlotte being "lost" in Tokyo. There would have been at least 2 more photo shoots, 4 more talk shows, 7 more commercials and a dozen more nightlife scenes. 3 more ladies would have asked Bob to "lip" their stockings and Charlotte would have seen 2 traditional weddings, 1 funeral and 6 festivals. There would have been a whole lot more "lost" in the movie.

I know the next 2 years of my life will have a lot of "lost in translation" moments...I've had several already. And while I know that eventually I will become more fluent in the language and I will understand the culture better, I'm definitely enjoying these moments. Besides, some of the stories just would not be as enjoyable if I knew what was going on.

Bpai tiao mai?

Phi Mi

One of the most enjoyable things about being immersed in a place where you are just beginning to learn the language is that alot of surprises happen. The surprises aren't always pleasant--on a couple of occasions, I have been served a different dish from the one I ordered--but they always make for new, and often enjoyable, results (on every occasion that I've been served a different dish, I ended up enjoying what was served to me.)

Two of the more memorable surprises I've had so far have been trips my co-workers have taken me on. "Bpai tiao mai?" they would ask "you want to go on a trip?" Now I've come to realize the futility of asking "where" because one, I would have no idea anyway (this being my first time in Thailand) and two, I simply would not understand what they were saying. So the easy answer has always been "sure!" And that response has taken me to two absolutely fascinating and beautiful places-- Phi Mi and Phra Chedi Mongkol.

Phi Mi is a gorgeous, old Khmer-style temple ruin in the province of Korat and Phra Chedi Mongkol is this giant chedi/pagoda within an impressive temple complex located in my very own province (future visitors, if you are interested, we can arrange for a visit.)

On each of these trips I had no idea where they were taking me but, as so often happens in Thailand, they turned out to be pleasant surprises!

The pictures: 1st three are from Phi Mi, the rest are from Chedi Mongkol

No bomb that ever burned/ Shatters the human spirit

Since I've started writing about my experiences in Thailand, I have learned to appreciate the writing of other people who, like me, are also away from home and their loved ones. And while I am aware that words can never fully capture the experience of living in a foreign country under circumstances different from home, I'd like to think that the stories we share--through blogs, emails, and letters--provide a decent enough picture of the lives we lead. After all, I believe that the main reason we share our stories in the first place is so our loved ones, those we have left behind, get to stay connected to us--even in only through our writing.

It is this belief I think that stirred my emotions when I came across NEWSWEEKS' April 2nd cover story, Voices of the Fallen: The Iraq War in the Words of America's Dead.

Over the past three months, I have written about my life in Thailand, of squat toilets and bucket showers; of language miscommunications and exotic dishes. I have written about being a Peace Corps Volunteer--an experience that has been among the most intense experiences of my life. Recently, I read the letters in Newsweek, written by men and women, many younger than myself who, like me, are far away from home and loved ones and who, like me, are also experiencing some pretty intense things. And while I could relate to the homesickness and the desire to stay connected with loved ones through writing, and while I could understand what it's like to miss home, I realized that I would NEVER understand the intensity of what they were going through. Never.

But I tried to anyway. I tried thinking of what I go through on a daily basis and I attempted to magnify it if only to gain some perspective and understand what the soldiers were going though a little better. In the end, I realized it was impossible.

My single greatest daily fear is that my neighbor's dog will chase me as I bike past his house... a fear miniscule in comparison to the risk of snipers and IED's.

My single greatest discomfort is the heat of Thailand and the humidity that comes with living in a tropical country. I'm not sure what the heat is like in Iraq but I know it's pretty hot. Plus our troops can go weeks without a shower while carrying loads of heavy equipment.

I worry about the sanitation of my food. But I don't have to worry about fighting a battle with an upset stomach.

I wake up in the morning and say that "today may be the day that the language breakthrough occurs." Our troops wake up with the awareness that--as American soldier Travis Youngblood wrote in a letter--"any day I'm here could be the day I die."

"Nope," I told myself, "I would never understand what they went through and I will never understand what the other troops are going through right now."

And so I kept reading about the horrible situation people my age are going through and I read about the causes of death (humvee overturned, IED explosion, drowned, killed by sniper while on patrol) and I read about the ages of those killed (21,19, 26, 22, 21) and I found myself in tears.

As I said earlier, I have learned to appreciate the writing of people far away from home. More importantly, I learned to appreciate the writers themselves. People have a general idea of the Peace Corps and what life as a voulunteer is like. I did too. But now, as I read through blogs, I am aware that every volunteer has a name and his/her own unique experiences. Every single volunteer has people he/she misses and people he/she wishes to stay connected to. As I read the letters in Newsweek, I felt the exact same way for our troops. While I have always been supportive of our soldiers and have included them in my prayers, I always thought of them collectively. Reading their letters and recognizing the common desire to simply stay connected, the desire to let a loved one know they are missed, the desire to check on things at home, made me realize how each troop is an individual as well with his/her own set of unique experiences. It made me realize how human each troop is.

So while I may never understand what they are going through, I can certainly focus on what we share--our humanity and our love for the people we left behind. And just as I drew on my experiences here in an attempt to gain perspective into the difficulties they were going through, perhaps I could do the same in terms of their joys. For as my struggles and worries are petty compared to what they face, perhaps the things that bring me joy are things they appreciate even more. And the thing that has brought me the most joy--other than the work I am doing in my village--has been hearing from home. Nothing brightens my day more than a phone call from my family or a letter from Caitlin or a Facebook message from an old friend. And if these things can make a person who worries about being chased by dogs smile, imagine what it can do for people surrounded by the horrors of war.

Every so often, I also receive random words of encouragement. I've had people tell me that what I'm doing is something they wish they cold be doing. I've had people tell me that they are very impressed that I would choose to give two years of my life to do such work. These things definitely help keep my spirit alive. I wonder if our troops receive similar messages as well? I sure hope so because what I am doing and whatever sacrifices I'm making is nothing compared to theirs.

So now a favor. If any of you reading this happen to know someone in the armed forces, please send them a message. Be it a cousin, a friend, an acquaintance even...send them a message. Send a message out of the blue to say hello and that you are thinking of them. If possible, even send me an email address of a soldier you know and I will say hello as well.

And also, let us not take things for granted. As I read the letters, I could not stop thinking about the people I loved the most. These letters celebrated how human our troops were and what makes us human is that we are capable of loving. No matter how horrible the situation described in the letter, they did not fail to end it with a "I miss you" or an "I love you. "

I end this with some stanzas from Orwell taken from his essay "Looking Back On the Spanish War" I altered it a bit and the alterations are in italics.

Good luck go with you American soldier
But luck is not for the brave
What would the world give back to you
Any less than than you gave

Between the shadow and the ghost
Between the white and the red
Between the bullet and the lie
WHere would you hide your head

For where is Travis Youngblood
For where is Kenneth Ballard
For where is Trevor Aston
The earthworms know where they are

Your name and your deeds were forgotten
Before your bones were dry
And the lie that slew you is buried
Under a deeper lie

But the one thing I saw in your letters
No power can disinherit
No bomb that ever burned
Shatters the human spirit.

Thailand--Where Dreams Come True

In Thailand, dreams come true.

No, I'm not talking about the dreams that lead men to the seedier parts of Bangkok (thoughI've heard those dreams come true as well.)

I'm talking about those dreams innate in every person. Those dreams everyone carries around in their heart of hearts--to be a Broadway performer and a dominant basketball player. Anyone who says they never had these dreams is lying. Well okay, fine...not everyone has those dreams. In fact, not too many people have these dreams. But I do! And, in these past three months, I have made them happen.

Granted singing the Hokie Pokie in a classroom in rural Thailand isn't exactly like singing "On My Own" on the Broadhurst but after seeing the reaction of the Thai kids to the Hokie Pokie, damnit if they are not comparable!

And while I will never be Greg Oden, Kobe, or Shaq, the sheer manner by which I dominated the basketball court yesterday afternoon puts me right up there with the greats. Who cares that I played against 12 year old girls who have never played basketball before and only gave it a shot because the foreigner was playing? Did anyone give Jordan a hard time for playing against mere mortals? I think not.

So yes, I am a gifted performer and yes, I'm dominant in the basketball court. I can now check those two things off my life's to-do-list. And after two more years, I'm confident that I will check even more items from the list. Why? I'm in Thailand baby! Where dreams come true!


*On a more serious note, I did dream about doing something meaningful and exciting after college graduation--something that would allow me to travel and learn more about the world. My experiences thus far in Thailand as a Peace Corps Volunteer have satisfied that dream and then some.

"I love you...you funny man!"

"I love you!"
"Excuse me?"
"I love you!"

Great. Three months of intense pre-service training, countless hours of language learning, several sessions on cross cultural adjustment and a TEN week homestay and my first major test as a Peace Corps volunteer is this: my principal just told me he loved me.

"Mai kao jai," I say, " I don't understand"

My principal, a jolly man of 45 looks at me, not understanding why his new volunteer from the United States who is supposed to train his teachers how to teach English can not seem to understand a simple sentence. He tries again, this time slowly, "I...love...you"

"Okay," I think to myself, "my principal loves me." I mean he's known me for what, 2 days now...it's weird but I guess it's better than him hating me.

"You love me?" I ask him
"Yes, I love you..you a funny man!"

"Well that's shallow," I find myself thinking, "I mean, yeah I can be funny some times but to love me for..." And that's when it hit me! An opening...a possibility that this rather uncomfortable situation might simply be a misunderstanding...I go for it:

"You...laugh me?"
"Yes!" he says, not understanding why I am asking him again.
"Laugh? like (I put my hand on my belly) ha! ha! ha! laugh?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Oh! So you laugh at me"
"Yes! I love at you!"

He is happy that I am now getting it.
I am RELIEVED that I am getting it.

"Put an 'f' sound" I tell him, "say 'fffffffff' "
" 'fffffff' "
"Now say it, Laugh fffffffffff"
"Love fffffffff"

This will be a fun 2 years.

Who knows, maybe now he laughs at me but after 2 years he might actually love me.

Or maybe not. :-)