28: Tick Tock Tick Tock

Time is passing slowly. The beginning of January marked the mid-service conference, where all volunteers in group 121 came together for a few days of medical check-ups, reconnect sessions, and additional training. It was a whirlwind week, filled with exhausting trips to and from the Peace Corps headquarters, a noodle with an unheard of long-lost cousin, and intense conversations about what to expect for the year ahead. Most of the sessions were based around exchange, providing us with an open forum to discuss our experiences, challenges, and tips. I contributed my “Asian rumble” yoga routine, a series of yoga moves that help relieve all sorts of tummy discomfort (which believe me, we ALL struggle with). I also learned how to ask someone, in Thai, if they’ve pooped yet that day. The simple acts of sharing and expression were cathartic in and of themselves, and comforting in their reminder that we are all in this together.
January 29th marked one year since I arrived in Thailand. I have been here for an entire year. I have been away from home for an entire year. I’ve been a “farang” and a teacher and a volunteer for a year. I’ve biked thousands of kilometers, eaten hundreds of plates of rice, and learned a new language. I can eat raw chili peppers without breaking a sweat and am no longer a vegetarian. I survived having my house broken into, food stolen, ant infestations, 110 degree heat, bike accidents, mysterious rashes, and giant bathroom spiders. I have read countless books and written countless pages in my journal. It is strange to imagine my world before Thailand, where I did not have a hammock, a bicycle was not my primary form of transport, and I didn’t eat four types of fruit every day. But what is stranger is that I have more than a year left. I feel like I have worked hard enough, learned enough, and accomplished enough for the full 27 months. I know there is more left to do, to see, and to experience, but the general Peace Corps wisdom is that the first year is extremely intense and difficult, and the second year is more of a coast. To throw out a few farming analogies, the backbreaking work is done, the ground has been broken, the soil has been tilled. Now it is time for the plants to grow. So grow, little sprouts, grow.
At this year mark, I feel a confusing blend of contentment and dissatisfaction. I am pleased with the way things are and what I have accomplished. But contentment is not easy for me. Perhaps it is because I recently read Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf, but the book made me question the nature of fulfillment, and to distinguish between contentment and happiness. I enjoy my life, I love my site, and most of the time, I find value in my work. But underneath it all, and beyond moments of joy and sureness of purpose, I feel restless, and I question my presence here. Upon reflection (which I do too much of), I am starting to understand.
Behind my mellow, flower-child exterior, I am intense. I work hard and I am passionate. I feel and think strongly and have a remarkable amount of energy. I like to be absorbed in what I am doing, whether it is memorizing 250 Renaissance paintings, traveling, or cleaning my house, and I thrive on being challenged. In the beginning of this experience, when everything was new, my energy was easily exhausted. I directed my intensity into learning everything I could and forging a life for myself among the rice fields. Every day was a challenge. Now, I feel like I am acquainted with all the obstacles that will come my way, I have overcome them, and they are not so difficult anymore. You would think this is a good thing, and it is, but now that the burning, break-you-down part is over, I find myself searching for the next challenge, and sometimes it feels like the hardest part is passing the time.
Now that the world has righted itself and my expectations are in line with reality, what do I do with my energy? Where do my thoughts wander when everything is quiet and calm? This past weekend after doing yoga, eating breakfast, doing a crossword puzzle, writing in my journal and cleaning my house, it was just after noon and I had no idea what to do with myself. I felt simultaneously listless and antsy. My mind couldn’t focus any more than it had a place to wander. I read for hours, got up to do something else, realized there was nothing else to do, and sat back down to read. I ended up hopping on my bike to search out an adventure. Weekend days are quiet because rice is still farmed on Saturdays, and kids usually help their parents on weekends. I went to the market, bought a pineapple smoothie, and sat on the steps people-watched. I saw the vendors setting up their stalls and selling their wares-a delectable away of smoked meats, curries, fried chicken, “yam”- a tangy, spicy cold noodle salad, and coconut treats wrapped in banana leaves.
From there, I biked down towards the river and passed a large, new, open-air wooden room with a sign outside for “massage”. Massage is an important part of Thai culture, and it is offered at all health stations and hospitals as “preventative medicine”. It is widely believed to be an adequate substitute for exercise. The room was empty except four floor mats and fans. I chatted with the women briefly and lay down on the floor mat. Before the massage, my masseuse prayed, and then got down to work, kneading my pressure points and twisting my limbs every which way. Thai massage, when done traditionally, hurts a little, but you feel great after. It is all about energy, similar to the Indian notion of chakras. At one point, I had two women massaging me at once and they couldn’t stop marveling over how strong my legs are.
After my massage, I followed the road that runs along the river. As I neared the bridge, I saw people lined all up and down both sides of the river bank, staring at the water. I stared as I biked by, curious about what was happening, and when the cook from my big school hollered at me from a bench, I went over. Apparently, a car with a family flipped off the bridge and into the river, after the driver fell asleep at the wheel. The father and the four children were rescued and placed in the nearest hospital, but the body of the mother was missing. There was a police boat patrolling up and down the river, searching for her, and the whole town came out to watch. I rode further down to the temple, which is on the river and where the greatest number of people had congregated. I stood watching the water for a while, but the body was not found for another 24 hours.
That night, I ate dinner with Jon and Film and they invited me to a monk party next weekend and a wedding three weeks from now. I returned home after dark, glad the weekend was over and I would have school to occupy my time. I spent the rest of the evening making a Jeopardy game to help my students review for the Thai national tests this week, and realizing that perhaps what I need is a little adventure, a new experience to help occupy my thoughts and help me break out of my mental rut. Thus I decided to spend next weekend in Kanchanaburi, a province on the Myanmar border famous for its appearance in the movie “The Bridge Over Kwae Noi”. There is a famous seven-tier waterfall nearby, and kayak/canoe/rafting opportunities. Plus, I’ve heard there is a delectable breakfast place, and as the curative properties of a well-cooked properties are universally acknowledged, I feel it would be irresponsible to pass on such an opportunity.

Post-Script: It is with great sadness I report that Mii, aka Scootie the two-legged Wonder Dog, has passed on. He was a source of inspiration, affection, and laughter for those of you who knew him. His valiant efforts to scoot along through life, not letting his paralyzed legs or permanently erect weenie hold him back or quell his spirits, gave me strength every day. I admired and learned from his perseverance, resilience, and eternal optimism. An adventurer at heart, he chose not to live his life passively. Rather he found the courage to venture beyond my safe walls, and thus was his demise. One day, after some extensive scooting around the village, he tumbled into a pond, and by the time he was rescued, had fallen ill from the cold. He died safely in a neighbor’s home, noble and brave unto the last. He will be missed. R.I.P. Scootie. May you have use of all four legs in doggie heaven.