A lot of words, but saying little... (a post on communication)

Well, after my last post had settled with me I felt a little obnoxious. If people are interested in reading my blog—why, thank you. I’m flattered. I spoke to Jenny on the phone today and she mentioned she’s been catching up on my blog and I immediately apologized for the post… I hadn’t realized she was still reading and it was just a reminder that I may not know exactly who is reading my blog, and furthermore, the people I’m writing my blog for are all people who I care about, and who care about me. So, while this is ultimately for me, it is also for those who care enough about me to keep reading. It is for those who think that what I write is interesting, and for those who it speaks to in some way. Perhaps even in a way that I personally could not, or that no one can at this point. So I suppose it’s time to stop belittling myself and this very self-serving writing and accept that it has been a wonderful and therapeutic thing for me and the friendships that have grown as a result of it (whether I am fully aware of it or not).

Whew, now that I’ve got that aside. Thailand. What’d it do for me? What’d it do to me? And where does it leave me now? Okay, so the where it leaves me now is a bit much for a blog post, and thus this is going to be entirely reflective: What did it do for me?

It changed me. A lot.

I know I mentioned that I have fallen back into some of my earlier mind traps now that I’m home again, but I have also learned to deal with those traps much better. I’ve gained a more open understanding of those around me and of how I interact with them. Forgive me if this is redundant because I’ve mentioned it to a number of people already and may have touched on it in my blog, but Thailand changed me primarily in two ways: it changed how I interact with others and it changed how I view the path I see ahead of me.

I’ll focus this post on interactions. Well, I never posted that language post I’d been crafting, although I’m sure I still will at some point. So briefly, being surrounded by so many other languages was absolutely thrilling. It was more than that, it was exhilerating, it was contradictory, it was rewarding, and it was damn hard. Really, really hard. Speaking French with Miléna was SO much fun, but it took me until our last dinner together before I felt comfortable conversing only in French, and even then I still brought in the occasional English phrase. It’s hard and it’s scary to be stuck in a language that you don’t know. It took me a while to realize what it felt like for the Burmese people I worked with to speak in English. When you are struggling with a language so many people look at you like you’re less intelligent and just plain dumb. I would say more on this, but I have déjà vu about a blog post where I made the connection between dumb (eg: stupid) and dumb (eg: literally unable to talk), so sorry if I’ve said this before. Well to put it simply, succinctly, and as always, eloquently: that feeling sucks. It is so frustrating to know that you are as (or more) intelligent than someone, but just lack the vocabulary to get it across. This realization took me a while to come to, but now that I have grown aware of it I find that it translates in many different ways.

Namely, this inability to best express oneself has nagged me visciously in my own tongue, and no one is free from the trap of having words come out wrong. But this realization has developed in me, very basically, a greater acceptance of others. This is not to say I won’t point others out on their contradictions, because I will, but I will not (generally) hold these mistakes against them.

Yeeeeet, I feel very contradictory saying this because I find that while I now place more emphasis on the intentions behind words when listening to others, I still at the same time realize the importance of words and how particularly we must craft them in order to be most accurately understood. I suppose I can expand on this conundrum most clearly by laying out two examples.

When I was in Thailand I received an email from someone I know and respect, but whose words I had never seen in writing. While reading his email I was surprised by his misspellings and occasional grammar mistakes but realized that my admiration for him mixed with my newfound appreciation for what lies behind poor grammar (ahem, decoding Burmenglish emails) kept me from judging him on them. However, I realized that had I read this email in a different context, I may have thought lesser of him based on this one skill. And how ridiculous is that? Yes, okay, the ability to write is in many ways an indicator of intelligence. But… what kind of intelligence exactly? The writer I’m referencing is, as I mentioned before, someone I greatly respect and admire, and I have to say, pretty freakin intelligent in my opinion as well. So why should his writing, something he never was given the chance to cultivate (or he never saw as necessary to cultivate) alter my view of him? Well, in this case, it absolutely shouldn’t. And, thanks to some view-changing experiences, it doesn’t. That said, it does not lead me to think my own writing skills are unimportant. Just because I grant him those concessions does not mean that I expect others to do the same for me.

My second example is shorter to explain, though in experience much deeper. And that one is my relationship with Miléna. She and I began as shy friends, me speaking quickly and nervously in English (I was a bit of a spazz-case when I first arrived at FED, I will admit it…), her nodding occasionally and responding in slow, methodical English, responding to maybe ¾ of what I was saying (a good percentage, I would soon realize). Now, it is true that our relationship grew from one of acquaintances to one of quick and comfortable friends thanks to our increasing ease with our positions at FED, the copious amounts of time we spent together, and her rapid improvement at English (not to mention rainy late night post-bar bike rides, ocean romps, and countless wonderful conversations over green curry, fried rice, or just our singha water bottles in the spider-webbed volunteer room) but I would be remiss if I did not attribute a large part of why we became such close friends to a growing acceptance in each of us for the unspoken words lurking behind apparent miscommunications. During many of the aforementioned conversations there were many moments of potential misunderstandings, but at the end of the day each of us understood the other’s intent, and whether we agreed or not we were each still able to grant the other the acceptance and understanding needed to keep the conversation going.

This acceptance comes from a realization that not only can words sometimes not fully express something, but that even if there were words that could completely, perfectly express a point, we can still easily make due without them. This is not to say that I feel I don’t need to express myself any better (in English or French), but merely that even though the majority of us can’t express ourselves as well as we’d like, miscommunications are not the end of the world. If we face others with a little more acceptance, we may realize that beneath these miscommunications we aren’t really being misunderstood after all. During many arguments I have often been known to roll my eyes and say, “it’s only semantics”. Now, that’s a cowardly way out of an argument, particularly because those semantics do often matter, for example, in politics. But truly, when it comes to life and our day-to-day exchanges, underneath those petty matters of semantics we’re basically all saying the same thing anyway: “I want to be understood, and I want to understand you.”

So that’s big lesson #1 from Thailand. It’s okay if you let little “misunderstandings” slide by, as long as there’s agreement on the underlying message. (And now I will end this post before my counter-argument threatens to bubble over a few more pages… this is a nuanced topic, so don’t think I naively believe it’s settled just because I choose this as a closing)

Starting again, a little past square one.

“as for me, i’m as changed as a girl can be

can’t you see
that i’ve flown to the edges of the earth and home i’ve flown
from your chair i can tell you can tell it from there that i may have been everywhere
but i’m back, back to the starting square”

-Lucy Wainwright, “starting square”

The number of blog posts I’ve started and then hung up for weeks (and months) is inordinately high, and I find with every new post I start that I am further and further from something coherent as some unplaced anxiety develops from the pressure of being home and having to, once again, start life from scratch. Granted, “scratch” today means something more substantive than what I was working with last June, but after three months of galavanting and effectively putting working life on hold, I am back home with somewhere around $4,000 fewer dollars than when I left in July, and nowhere closer to a job.

I am also… back home. After all that fuss about home, I am surprisingly anxious about escaping the dreariness of Lake Placid weather and the depressing life I see in its bars (oh well, perhaps my response isn’t surprising at all). I came across the above quoted Lucy Wainwright song by following a link to another one of her songs, “October”, which was posted on an email thread about the month we’re currently ensconsed in (or so says the calendar).

October. The reason I came home early. Of course, I forgot that leaving Thailand in the middle of October and slowly making my way home from there wouldn’t get me back to Lake Placid for another ten days, leaving me with only a week or so of Lake Placid October to revel in.

And then, I arrived home ready to tackle that one full week of pumpkins head on, only to realize that Lake Placid seems to think that November has already come, ten days early. However, others have told me that were I here in the beginning of October I would have found that what I was really looking for was September, which provided the North Country with the crisp autumn weather I was dreaming of a month early (as well as a spectacular, barn-heaving hurricane to break things up in the middle).

So I missed October, boo hoo. But I cannot say that’s the biggest burden my tense shoulders are currently bearing. No, as I’ve mentioned before—the need to solidify my still very loose “plans” has me hyperventilating with a growing awareness of all the competing forces facing me right now. Namely, how can I escape Lake Placid asap while still making sure that everything is organized and settled where I’m headed next? Furthermore, it takes time to think about why I’m making the decisions I’m making, and what I feel if I successfully separate all of the factors playing into my decision (entirely impossible, but I’ve got to at least give it a real fighting shot). And time, at this point, is something I feel I cannot afford, particularly if it is spent in Lake Placid, NY.

This post is not an apology to the obstinately dedicated few still reading my blog for my long vacance of a few weeks (I'm sorry, but what word is better than obstinate to describe this un-prodded dedication??). I wrote that post yesterday but it needs some oomph’ing before I can post it. Formulating my thoughts on how to close this “travel” blog takes time—it is hard to distinguish writing for myself from writing for the few people still reading. At the end of the day, this blog is propelled almost entirely by a graphomanic obsession with exposing my thoughts to an unknown readership; however, knowledge that my readers are not unknown makes it a bit challenging to that whole “writing for me” thing. Yet for some reason I am stubbornly clinging to the idea that I must write a closing post that is for me, and (to the best of my subjective heart’s ability), only me. Therefore, expect a most personal closing to come, and to those of you still interested—please excuse me for leaving you (at least explicitly) out of the post.

Not all 7/11s are created equal...

Surprisingly, Thailand’s biggest store chain and the provider of at least 1/3 of my food here has not warranted a blog post. Until now!

“Seven”, as the locals call it, has provided me with the opportunity to test many tasty Thai/Asian snacks, and as my time here winds to a close I’ve made it a point not to buy something I have already tried. Which is why tonight, when all I really wanted was a panini’d ham and cheese croissant or something “sandwich-y” and the seven-eleven next door was completely cleaned out, I instead opted for one of the filled buns from the hot case next to the cash registers. The case, filled with many dim sum-esque buns, was something I avoided my first couple weeks here, but finally I caved and have since tried a couple of the buns—veggie (only offered during the veg festival!), pork, and tonight… rabbit cream. Yeah, I know. I told myself that, in my partial venture away from vegetarianism, I was totally able to handle bunny cream.

I think that’s where the problem began... I called it bunny cream. I wouldn’t have been so tempted to try it, but the saleskids made such faces when I inquired about it one day that I thought I must try it just to prove to them that a Westerner enjoys eating rabbit cream! But then, breaking into the bun, I thought of it as bunny cream. And how the hell was I going to eat a creamed bunny!??! 

I bit into something that tasted, well, creamy. No bunny flavor anywhere. But the damage was already done. All I could think was, “there actually is a bunny hidden in here somewhere!” Nauseated, I couldn’t finish it, and even typing about it now I feel a bit like I’m going to vom up the creamy bunny that is currently floating around in my belly. Poor, poor bunny!

This experience is just one of many that leaves me with no doubts that I will happily return to vegetarianism when I’m back home. It’s not (usually) that I feel for the animal I’m eating, but mostly that I simply do not enjoy eating it, and I find that I always pick around my meat (usually chicken) for the often scarce veggies anyway. One of the biggest struggles, however, is justifying myself to others. It sounds so silly, but I have had trouble confidently adhering to my own morals and beliefs while here. Ashamedly, I must admit to being influenced by others in the oddest, high school girl kind of way in my time here. Of course, I have been true to my biggest beliefs and goals, but I’ve found that through many tiny transgressions every day, I had lost feel for who I am. I recently started working out again and with it came a flood of emotions… I hadn’t even realized that strong emotions were so profoundly missing for much of my time here.

I have a lot more to say on this flux of morals and the ‘tuning out’ that precipitates it. I am currently crafting posts on these thoughts as I consider what the past few months have been and as I prepare to leave Thailand. From wishing I was more actively curious about the culture around me to reflecting on how much change I truly have undergone despite my immersion shortcomings, I have lots to share.

WWBD?

 I found myself reaching for words as I sat kneeled on the ground, incensed ash falling on my wrist, camera swinging in the smoke, and my mind all a flurry. I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to concentrate myself into a deep spiritual experience when there are a bunch of ladyboys in shimmery little dresses dancing to Lady Gaga behind me. Not only that, but I feel a bit guilty even trying to conjure up some sort of religious feelings when (I kid you not) Gaga’s singing about being a “holy fool”, fighting BB guns and fire crackers for our ears' attention. The irony was too much; it was so over the top that my feelings of contamination and confusion evaporated a bit, lost in this place reeking of hypocrites and smoke. So I thought, to hell with it. Gaga, ladyboys, the Thai Navy band full of teen boys in skinny white pants and gelled hair, people walking across coals, and little kids eating snow cones? This is a carnival, not a religious event, and I might as well enjoy it for what it is.

Miléna and I saw the waitress from our favorite place on White Sand Beach at the Festival yesterday, and she approached us again today, supplying us each with a pack of incense, two candles, and three pieces of paper with a simple red and yellow design on the center of each piece. She then explained to us how we could go into the temple (shrine?) and make three prayers at each altar. 

 After happily traipsing barefoot through the mud to a number of different altars we bade farewell to our waitress friend Moogee and went on to see what all the fuss was down by the carnival games. Big stuffed animal prizes, that’s what!! I got excited, and decided to wisely invest 20 baht in throwing darts at balloons. I would have tried harder had I known 7 hits got me a big furry lion instead of the lollipop my 4 hits got me, but hey… for the first carnival game of my life, not too shabby.

After taking in the spectacle, Miléna and I gathered with a bunch of people to patiently wait for the coal walking to begin. Anyone can join in and walk on the coals, but it is mainly just those in trances who participate. Ranging widely in size, age, and gender, the number of entranced individuals grew vastly, as they stood shaking and trembling gathered behind the coals. After an hour of impatient waiting they began running across the coals, as you can see in the video below.

While we were waiting  guy around our ages came over and befriended Miléna and I. Obviously wanting to practice his English, he gladly answered all of my dumb questions about the festival while in exchange I learned that he was a university student in Bangkok, majoring in English and social linguistics. Hence the whole working on his English thing. He is a practicing Buddhist, but from what I could gather he only meditates occasionally, and will someday maybe do a monkhood for a period of time (an act which is actually quite customary for Thai men approaching adulthood). He shared with us a little bit of information about the Festival and the entranced individuals (his aunt was one of them, bedecked in sparkly pink), but the most interesting information I felt would be impolite to ask, particularly after he told me that “religion is sensitive” for Thai people. Okay, got it.

As we were leaving Miléna said, “you could write a whole thesis on this!” I responded that I had just been thinking the same thing. How does a custom like this one develop? I mean, something that was started by a troupe of Chinese actors is obviously going to be more smoke and mirrors than substance anyway, but who are the people that participate in this festival? Who believes in it? And who are the people in trances? What are their personalities like? And their socioeconomic statuses? Their education levels? What motivates people to believe in witchcraft in the first place? What place does this old tradition have in today’s Gaga-ed, techno-crazed, consumer-driven world? The meshing of ancient mysticism and current pop culture is amusing, but really not that unsurprising to me. Both are rooted in the allure of sensationalism, and so perhaps I would be hard-pressed to find any true spiritual meaning behind this Festival at all.

Of course, that does not in any way mean attending the Festival was unfulfilling. We accepted it for what it was and thoroughly enjoyed the scene, even getting a bit caught up in the frenzy as entranced individuals with rolling eyes lunged madly at our section of the crowd. So, does it matter if it’s real or not? Maybe, if I were in Widener or looking at a brain scan of one of the entranced individuals, but tonight? Not at all.

What Would Buddha Do? Not much, I would guess. Sit and smile at all the little people in his Buddha way, probably. And something tells me Buddha would smile at how the Festival stirred questions in us. At how we wonder aloud what’s so purifying about deep fried vegetables and syrup-y tea. At the act of broad acceptance and non-judgemental questioning. Mua-ha... at the risk of becoming too contradictory, I'll stop now.

Sunshi-i-ine (and entranced veggies)

Waking up to see the sun streaming through my window made today perhaps one of my most glorious mornings in Thailand. I also slept in later than I have any morning since I’ve been here (9:04, for the inanely curious among you), so that might have heightened the feeling of glory. Bombing out of bed I shot Miléna a facebook message and then high-tailed it to the beach. I feared the sunshine wouldn’t last long, and both of us wanted to take advantage of what little we had.

Today was just a reminder of how rejuvenating a sunny Sunday can be, and I was amazed by what a little bit of sunshine can do for your mood. Riding our bikes down random side soi (roads) in search of new beaches, Miléna and I accidentally (re)discovered the road that Matt and I walked down on our first day at FED. Not much later, we also accidentally discovered the trance-brigade traversing the same soi.

Let me explain… Or at least try to. This past week I’ve been witness to one of the more interesting local festivals, The Vegetarian Festival. The festival was started by Chinese Buddhists living in Phuket in 1825. During the 9-day festival, participating individuals wear white and abstain from eating animal products,  garlic, and onions. The motivation behind this is loosely that this period of time is one of spiritual cleansing, which is aided by a physical cleansing as well. The vegetarianism has obvious Buddhist roots, and apparently garlic and onions are commonly included in the list of no-nos because they are strong flavours (I don’t know where spices fit in). Khuek Khak’s Festival is centered around a shrine that is not far down the side road near FED, a convenience which has resulted in my taking a number of afternoon breaks for tempura taro and other veg treats, as well as exposed us to many of the festival’s more interesting aspects.

The festival, which is most famous, attended, and outlandish in Phuket is known for ritualistic body piercings (so far I’ve seen one man with a sword-like thing through his mouth), the ceaseless throwing of firecrackers, and most interestingly to me—individuals who are in a trance for nearly the entire duration of the festival. From what I got out of Daniel there are nightly ceremonies during which individuals enter the trance. If you enter the trance one year you are then required to participate in the annual festival for the remaining years of your life. The trance-entering ceremonies are apparently quite interesting, but can be long and somewhat boring as well. Seeing individuals who were entranced today has me more curious about watching them enter the trance, and if the weather agrees I’ll hopefully see one of the last ceremonies of the year tomorrow or Tuesday (when they will also be walking on coals, apparently).

As we left our first beach stop of the day Miléna and I found our bikes inaccessible due to a number of dancing individuals, swinging what looked like a mini-temple resting on a pole between them as they threw firecrackers (ya know, those chalky balls that snap and create sparks and smoke…) at the ground beneath them. The noise is unbearable and the smoke and heat must be awful for the men dancing over them, particularly given their bare feet. Finally making it to our bikes, Miléna removing an empty firecracker box from her seat, we hopped on and incidentally followed the convoy of trucks to new locations as they unloaded at various houses and resorts. Each truck carries a number of white-clothed individuals and one person in a trance. It seems as if the individuals accompanying the entranced person are family members and friends, and at every stop they get out and steady the entranced person, not robed in white but often covered in barbed wire, holding swords, and in various states of undress. They are usually shaking their heads, eyes rolling around, bodies trembling as they are led to an altar in front of a house, resort, restaurant, etc.  at which the residents or resort employees, etc. kneel, bowing and reciting incantations directed at the Gods that have taken control of the body of the entranced individual.

Besides their medium-like role, I have absolutely no idea what role the entranced individuals play in the festival, or how their significance developed. I do not understand why or how individuals are brought into the trance, nor why all but two whom I saw today were men (you can see two women in the video). It’s an absolutely fascinating tradition and the trances themselves had me at first rolling my eyes at individuals who are searching for some way to gain attention (many that we saw were teenage boys), but mostly left me frustrated that I did not have enough info to make any conclusions about what I saw because I knew nothing about these individuals, their past, the duration of the trance, and the gravity with which locals viewed these phenomena, among other things. Hopefully by asking good questions I will be able to learn more over the next few days.

For more info/background on the festival: http://www.phuketvegetarian.com/index_eg.htm

Also, because I haven't posted pictures but am currently feeling ambitious/untired:

                     Some goodies I picked up at the Saturday Market in Bang Niang

                                    My new home (see my motorbike out front!)

      Me and my ride :) (don't worry, I always wear the helmet when it's moving!)