Living the Brave Life

Yesterday I went to Khok Kloi with 3 FED employees and two Thai individuals from an NGO in Chiang Mai. NiNi (whose role it was to translate when needed to ease the language barrier between the other Burmese FED employees and the Thai women from Chiang Mai), Ach-Chan (probably a butchering of his name, but since it really has no english translation anyway…), and I sat in the bed of the truck as it rumbled an hour or so towards Khok Kloi. Many moved around to provide room for me to sit in the front of the truck, but I convinced them that I would truly rather sit in the bed of the truck, as opposed to cramped into its air-conditioned cab. This seemed hard for the others to believe, but by the time I had to climb into the cab on the way home they fussed about with what seemed to be fear of a supposedly earlier expressed claustrophobia on my part. No, I just like the wind in my hair and space to stretch my feet, not to mention better access to the beautiful view.

After stocking up at the 7/11 with water and gasoline Ach-Chan gestured towards me, speaking to Nini in Burmese. She giggled back, and when I looked at them with an inquiring face she translated, “you’re cute!” I laughed and responded, “so are you!” which broke the ice and allowed us to be in each other’s company with the wind roaring through our ears, subduing the pressure to have more conversation; exchanging cute smiles all around would do. However, after we dropped a health worked off at the first learning center not too far from KhuekKhak Ach-Chan moved to the empty seat in the cab, leaving Nini and I alone in the back. With only two of us there was somehow more imperative to chat, something we easily began. And so begins the story of how a little piece of my heart remains in the bed of that truck with the dizzy snail, aggressive centipede, and my memories of an earnest girl with enough passion and curiosity to take her anywhere, if (and this is a big if) she ever wants to leave.
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After she’d learned enough french to satisfy her Nini began to tell me of her family. Her mother is ill with diabetes and from what I can gather something more serious as well. Her father is either 34 or 64 (again, from what I can gather) and working on a rubber tree plantation, or at least he was in the past. I learned that Nini means Brave and Win means Life, her favorite colors are blue and green, she’s never been out of Thailand, she’s fluent in Burmese and Thai, and better at English than most people I speak with here. Talking with a wide-eyed eighteen year old like Nini inspired all sorts of poorly guided philanthropic thoughts in my (retrospectively naïve) head as I soon found it my imperative to figure out how to get this girl to the states; I wanted to share with her maple syrup and autumn leaves and lakes and snow and… my home. When she asked me what snow felt like I was overcome with more emotion than I’d felt since being here. I cannot explain the feeling because in fumbling to overcome it I lost the ability to comprehend it. It was like the weight of the world had been emptied onto my shoulders but it wasn’t something I needed to wriggle out from under either; it merely left me feeling hollow and confused. In hindsight, perhaps it was the unconscious realization that Nini would likely never get to see snow, though at the time it may more accurately have just been a personal revelation that not everyone’s childhood was like mine. However, my sadness that she had never been exposed to snowball fights or snow angels or Christmas vacation is obviously biased towards the assumption that I am from a luckier lot, a complicated assumption that is also obviously not entirely complete.

Later on I felt guilt rise to my face when I had little response to Nini’s, “when you go to Canada, what do you do there?” besides that I stayed in nice hotels and ate good food. However, my life did not strike her as more fortunate than hers, just inconceivably different. The differences between my life and her’s were so unfathomable to her that they seemed trite and amusing, rather than something to take heat about. Full awareness of her attitude didn’t hit me until I asked what she would like to do after working at FED and she responded with a big smile and shrug, “I think I would like to work at FED always!” My heart sank… maybe my rapidly developing ideas of showing her around LP and finding someone to fund college for her in the states were a bit ambitious after all. Seeing her innocent certainty and comfort with forever at FED reminded me that she is not like me. She’s not seeking the American dream. She’s completely content and more than happy to learn new languages just because. To take interest in the people around her and the things she’s doing… just because. A college degree means nothing to her, and her interest in religion (“sometimes I ask—why they so different? How they become so different?”), languages (similar musings), and other people are just… interests. For curiosity’s sake. In that curiosity I still see a child looking to be shaped into a bright and inquisitive adult in ways similar to how I was shaped, but I think her development will take a much different form than mine. Growing minds are a beautiful thing, but what is the worth of an intellectual’s mind in KhukKhak, she seems to be saying with her smiles and pleasant approach to life. I, of course, would argue that an intellectual’s mind is something worth cultivating so that someday one could see a life beyond KhukKhak, yet here again I run into the argument of whether I think something is better for someone actually means it is better for them. I don’t have an answer to this and I don’t think I ever will.

This could easily devolve into a back and forth between Alyssa the right and Alyssa the compassionate, and while that’s a conversation worth having I hope to save it for now and have it with others besides myself—both Westerners and Burmese alike. If anyone has a thought on this conundrum of outside “help” and the difference between ignorance and genuine contentment, please please share it with me. It is something that I will be thinking about a lot here, measuring my impact and that of the NGO and my fellow volunteers. I know some of my readers have had third world volunteer experience, and I hope to hear your opinions someday soon. Furthermore, it is an issue that I think everyone can relate to in their own lives as well. For instance, many women run into this dilemma in the work/family juggle. Is one seen as too complacent if she chooses to raise a family over pursuing a promising career? I think we may just settle on: it depends on the person; everyone will have different opinions on what’s best for someone, but in the end it is up to the individual to decide and then respect her decision. However, to end with one final argumentative thought—isn’t the issue of opening one’s eyes to ‘opportunities’ different than the personal choice to pursue a certain life path once one has been afforded those opportunities?

The Federation for Education and Development (FED)

Since I haven’t said much about what I’m doing in KhukKhak, maybe now on my involuntary day off (they had nothing for me to do yet at the office, so here I am at home at 11 AM on a Friday with plenty of blogging time!) I can actually provide some insight into FED.

I am volunteering at the Federation for Education and Development (FED), based in KhukKhak, Thailand. The organization was originally formed in 2000(ish) under the name Grassroots Human Rights and Education (GHRE) but when it became a Thai organization in 2005 the term “human rights” had to be edited from the title for legal reasons (a fact I found quite interesting, but could not get much more info about when I asked). After the tsunami hit in December 2004 GHRE moved from it’s previous location in northern Thailand near the border with Burma (now Myanmar) to the southwestern coast of Thailand to aid Burmese migrants living in this coastal area. The organization remains in KhukKhak today, and they have developed a considerable presence in the Phang-Nga province over the past 6+ years.

Interesting information about FED will come out bit by bit in my blog as I become more situated here, but for the time being I will just include the link to their website: http://www.ghre.org/en/. (The first two articles you see on the home page were clumsily edited by me on Wednesday-- from very broken English into slightly more fluent English (to the best of my ability given the illogical phrases I was handed), my first and as of yet only job at FED)

FED does some really interesting work with Burmese migrants, and most knowledge I have thus far on this work will show in my next blog post about my community visit to Khok Kloi and surrounding areas yesterday.

New Joy.

I woke up in the middle of the night, not sure what from and not with a start as I’ve been waking up. But just with this song clearly and repetitively running through my head. I could only remember the chorus, though it’s a song I was listening to a lot before heading to Thailand.

“you’ll sing day by day, old jo-o-y comes back to me”

It took me a couple slow moving hours to fall back asleep (though in that time I lay awake and listened to the rain come down, the first rain I’ve experienced since arriving at Pakarang) and when I finally awoke at daybreak I had been dreaming of skiing at Whiteface in perfect conditions, but as my consciousness crept back in I found myself in the Whiteface outhouse and hearing a voice tell me a story of what came after a recent phone call (it involved odd things like ‘Noni’s buffalo chicken’). But undeterred by my pressing bladder and shaky awakening I opened my computer to listen to “old joy”. The lyrics are actually more applicable (to my life, etc) right now than I’d expected.

…

There is more in the world to be found

Than dreams.

And you’ll sing day by day

Old jo-o-y, comes back to me.

And you’ll sing day by day,

Old jo-o-oy comes back to me.

Forget the things that get away…

Don’t dream of yesterday.

Oddly, even though I’d listened to the song a number of times before, I’d never taken in the lyrics until this AM. I guess things will stumble across you like that sometimes. Noah and The Whale have many songs that fit nicely into the grooves of my current hopes and uncertainties. But more importantly, they have a way of soothing the anxieties that creep up when I least desire them.

Hey Sweety, Nice Ride!

“Running?” the woman on the motorbike exclaimed more than asked me as I walked into the 7/11 this afternoon post-jog. “Yeah,” I responded. “Too hot!” (I have no idea why that, of all Thai phrases, is one that I have not picked up yet). While getting blasted by the AC upon entering was nothing short of orgasmic, the lube I nearly accidentally bought was not quite what I was looking for today. No, rather I’ve finally caved and decided to buy deodorant. It took a while to find as it was under the toothpaste and all of the bottles happen to tout “whitening” as their prime function, but it definitely was deodorant (ya know, the whitening kind. Duh). And the most chemically fragrant deodorant I’ve ever laid hands on at that. Now I know what kept knocking my nose off when I ate dinner with Milena my first night here. While the stuff threatens to quelch my already meager appetite I think it’s something I have to do. Yes, “sweety” for ages 12+ (complete with a free pair of nail clippers!) is going to become my new best friend (or help me actually make some!).

--INTERRUPTION. INTERRUPTION. Very important news. This blog post was cut short by a mandatory motorbike lesson on the beach. Beep beep! I now know how to drive a motorbike.

Yes, and drive it I did. Yeaaaah babyyy! Okay, but in all seriousness—this was something I was (and still am a bit) terrified about. The road here is quite busy and so far I only have experience driving on (the wrong side, oops!) of a deserted road. Myat Thu, who has already been more than generous with his time, brought me to the beach tonight to teach me how to ride a motorbike. Well okay, scooter. Matt teased Myat Thu about his bike today, which is in all ways the motorbike equivalent of Dad’s old purple truck. It’s the same color fuschia, and while it doesn’t have purple streaks down the side it does have cartoony dogs on the foot mat. However, I 100% approve of Myat Thu’s pink scooter and applaud him for being man enough to drive it (he has a sweet baby face and is a couple inches shorter than me, but driving a pink scooter—definitely a man! And I mean that with complete sincerity).

While I was hesitant to ride a motorbike (despite it being the absolute first thing I did upon arriving here), necessity called. Yes, I could ride that rusty dinky “push” bike 5+ kms to work every morning in the blistering heat or monsoon rain. Yes, I could sit home on the weekends when my friends went to the beach. Yes, I could skip lunch while everyone else bikes there… etc etc etc. Or I could grow a pair and realize that an activity’s potential for painful outcomes hasn’t stopped me in the past (eg: intoxicated pool hopping, rollerskiing on forest home rd, etc…), and if I’m cautious and concientious, I should be okay.

No real moral to this story, though many thoughts have stirred in my head today. Soon to come: a clarification blog post for yesterday's (it was two pronged and I don’t think I specified my message well enough). Until then—bonne nuit. I’m headed to bed (at 8 PM: down with the sunset and ‘skeeters, up with the roosters) to rest up for a long day tomorrow when I will be accompanying the health workers on a community visit in Khok Kloi, an hour or so south towards Phuket.

KhukKhak and Pakarang (for now, home)

I could talk about how I’ve been brushing my teeth in the foot bath (I have no sink), using bugspray as deodorant (someday when I have cancer will I be able to trace it back to the month I sprayed DEET on my armpits, against all label cautions?), or how I’ve been sleeping in a raised glass/screen cage (seriously, I’ll share pics), but as I sit down to write the details about how everything about my situation is different than it was a week ago (chillin at Richard’s house in weather that was a wee bit cooler than the 86 degrees + 82% humidity I am currently experiencing), I realize little has actually changed.

I’ll try to elaborate on a thought I was having while on the bus from Nai Yang (beach resort area) to Ban Nyang (middle of nowhere). Simply stated: Wherever you go, you are always you. Wherever you go, other people are always, well people. People with the same universal human needs. We want to be fed, sheltered, loved, and appreciated. We have desires, wants, grievances, music, smells (oh do we ever)… and the list goes on. We all have a common desire to be understood and respected, and in that way we all share a common language despite the struggles that show on our tongues.

However, despite that common desire our ways of meeting our interpersonal needs are vastly different, that I realize. Yet again, that variety is as dynamic and hard to pin down in San Francisco as it is in Pakarang (my current home as written in an email to me: “they call it Pakarang across from 7/11”, truer words were never spoken). On my first day at “work” I see myself back at ACP, struggling with my first day in the D.C. air-conditioning, although this time listening in on the staff meeting provides no knowledge of what the NGO is actually doing not to mention zero insight into the Burmese language. But all the feelings are the same: hesitant, well aware of my new kid status, and eager to please but somehow always falling short of satisfactory.

I have also begun to find in my short day and a half here that the NGOs I have had experience interacting with/learning about are in many many ways, the same. Strapped for cash, disorganized, and doing a lot of tiring work for seemingly small gains. Now to be clear, that is a very harsh critique of an organization I still know very little about and I am very strongly hoping I am able to turn my opinions around in the next few weeks. Despite hearing similar feelings of disillusionment from my other fellow volunteers, again, I hope my feelings will change.

Furthermore—I ask myself how much of the disillusionment I see around me is cultural and personal. How much of it is particular to the individuals who voice it and the culture they grew up in? Is it something that one can overcome, or something that should just be accepted (ie: NGO work just ain’t for me)? These thoughts run much deeper than just volunteer work and recently I have been asking: why did I choose to come here? What am I trying to accomplish? These questions don’t stem from the belief that running off to Thailand was a foolish idea, but I think their origin lies nearby.

Those who know me (or have ever eaten a meal with me in the d-hall) know that I am very, very indecisive. Chronically, and at times even debilitatingly so. I question every decision I make and every situation I find myself in, so it is not unnatural for me to question “how on earth I ended up plunked in the strangest room above a garage on a busy highway in middle of nowhere Thailand”. But in the process of writing this I’ve realized those thoughts do deserve space in my troubled and troubling psyche. Because if framed in a constructive way they could truly help me better understand why exactly I am here, what exactly I do want to accomplish, and how I hope to proceed as a friendly, forward-thinking individual. And it is not about manning up and dealing with the sleepless nights full of honking cars and barking dogs (not to mention crowing roosters, crying babies, rickety motorbikes…), although that is part of it. No, I think it is about finding the comfort in taking each day as it comes, situating my current preoccupations within a greater personal picture, and learning how to listen to that deepest personal instinct—open it up, bring it out to play and see how it does when it is freely shown the light of day.

--if wit is the soul of brevity then I’m preggers with moronical prose, apologies for the length of this post!