One month in to working as a teacher at Foundation for Education and Development here in Khao Lak, Thailand, and so much of my life is completely unrecognizable from the one that I left in Victoria, or the one from my home in Calgary. At first, the difference made me feel off balance and out of whack, as if in the Phuket airport I had been blindfolded, spun around in a circle 50 times, and asked to walk in a straight line. This sense of being off kilter did not by any means make me less excited to be here, but did make me feel less stable and grounded when faced with new sights, responsibilities, and uncertainties; I pride myself on being adaptable to new situations (I even wrote that in the application when I applied to this internship) but oh boy, has that been put to the test! When a miscommunication on my first day of teaching meant I was left with no translator for my grade 5 science class, after facing a room of 30 kids bewildered at my large gestures and much-too-fast English trying to describe the plant life cycle, I foresaw 7 years into the future when these kids reached their final exams still with only a 4th grade level of science and me responsible for it all. And when a very sweet, very old Thai woman orchestrated a whole photoshoot for the two of us at a beach cleanup I was participating in, I was under the impression that to say, “very good!” in Thai it translated to “aroi mak.” Unfortunately that only applies to very good meals, AKA “very tasty!” Oops.
Time truly does fly though, and over a month has somehow already passed. Reading journal entries from even two weeks apart are in complete opposition to each other and make me giggle now at the dramatics of a me from not so long ago. Adjusting to a completely fresh life with a new routine in a foreign part of the world is difficult, but it’s been fun to delight in the differences between the first twenty years of my life, mostly spent in a single country, and the past five weeks spent here. So many parts of my life here are wildly different than the one I left behind at home, but despite this, I can feel myself finding my footing and a new sense of balance within.
Less shared language. While this placement is within Thailand, the community around me, for the most part, all speak Burmese and one or two languages specific to their personal ethnic group within Myanmar. I have come to learn that this loss of common language does not necessarily mean a lack of much, but that’s taken me a while to come to terms with. This was a learning curve for me because I love to meet and connect with new people, and how in the world is one supposed to do that with no ability to speak the language that people around me are most comfortable with? At first, I felt very isolated and befuddled at the fact that I couldn’t make quick conversation with a fellow teacher in the lounge or the man who opens the school gate for me every morning. That gap has been bridged in sooo many ways, though, through shared meals, shared looks, and shared laughs. Some things can break any barrier! I have also been working quite hard on learning Burmese, which has been a slow process, but so worth it when a simple phrase I stumble through is met with a surprised smile and a laugh, and a response I don’t understand (yet).
More fruit. Enough said. It’s pretty great.
Less space of my own. My personal living area consists of one square concrete room and an attached bathroom with unheated running water. There are about 20 rooms like this on the property, all sharing one kitchen with a seating area and a single-burner stove. Some have families of four or five members all in one room. For me, I love it. I think this setup is how community is formed and where people thrive. What is “yours” is just enough for you, and the rest is communal. It also means owning less stuff.
Every morning when I go to the shared kitchen, I am guaranteed to sit and eat my breakfast with Ulay, who speaks little English, just enjoying each other’s company. There I wait for Eric and Mi Lai to walk to school together. We don’t need to text and coordinate a time to meet or make sure there’s enough carpool space because it is just that easy when you all live on the same property. When I come home, I run into people to say hello to between where I park my motorbike and my front door. Instead of being inside watching TV or in his own personal backyard, the adorable toddler that lives next door is usually out front and will come check out what I’m doing or what I’m carrying. It slows me down from wherever I’m heading to (because who am I to walk past a friendly baby?) but I wouldn’t have it any differently.
Less stuff. When I left Victoria, I was mortified at the boxes and boxes of clothes and craft supplies and random tchotchkes that I had to squish into the garage to give my subletter enough space in my room. Here, I survive with the 60 litres of backpack space I came over with, plus my yoga mat I bought here, and don’t feel like I am missing a thing. The first thing on the agenda when I’m back in Canada, which I am half dreading and half exhilarated about, is to purge everything that I now know I don’t need.
More critters. The biodiversity here beats anywhere I have been before. Looking at any 10ft patch of vegetation here seems to have twice the number of species you’d see growing in even the most biodiverse parts of Canada. To see lizards, beautiful birds, and unique bugs, all framed by huge leaves of exotic plants, is commonplace here. As a big nature enjoyer, this makes going anywhere so interesting, and I always have my nature ID app on the ready. Sometimes, even, nature comes to you. One night, I could hear something moving in my room. I was hoping it was just my AC unit pushing a light plastic bag across the floor because recently my fellow intern Camille had a special guest in their room, which was identified as a juvenile Monocled Cobra… Yikes! Thankfully, in my case, it was a big fat frog trying to slyly creep over a crinkly plastic shopping bag unnoticed. The bugs were something I had to adjust to, not even the great big shiny beetles or strange jumping spidery looking things, but the never-ending onslaught of mosquitos. I am constantly forgetting to use my bug spray, and I am also constantly itchy because of it.
Less dry clothing. The rain here is a force like no other. Waking on a morning when the sun is shining, and the active silence of no rain hitting the metal roof is a wonderful thing, as during monsoon season, it’s a fifty-fifty chance that it won’t be already pouring. If you’re lucky, you’ll make it through breakfast watching a few low foggy clouds pass over the small surrounding mountains, teasing precipitation nearby. As the day progresses, so does your hope that maybe today will be the day the rains won’t reach you. Ha. Just as you make a plan to go for a surf because the day is so sunny or drive a little bit farther away to try a new restaurant for dinner and begin to slide on your flip flops, the already humid air will grow thicker, without looking up you can feel the sky darken, and before you can blink the rain is pounding down with an intensity that still shocks me every time. It is so loud that conversations disappear, and classroom windows rush to be shut so that the students stand a chance to hear above the downpour.
More perspective. For me, accepting this internship, putting my life on pause, and coming to Thailand was an easy yes; an amazing opportunity to experience new things, travel, and expand my worldview. For most of those that I live around and work with, however, all they want is to be able to go home. When I think about missing my family, they wait safely and comfortably for my return, which is a scheduled date in the not-so-distant future. I can happily enjoy my time here knowing that most likely and thankfully, all that I left behind will still be overall just how I left it when I return, except for taller little cousins and maybe a new paint colour on my front door. Many new friends and colleagues have told me how much they went through to get here, and how much they wish they could go home to see their parents, siblings, and friends, still in Myanmar, who cannot leave or refuse to do so despite the unsafe conditions there. They had to say goodbye to their families, some trekked for days through the jungle, protected by armed guards, to reach the Thai border before coming here to join a small Myanmar population on the edge of a town that caters to affluent Western tourists. There is no future day marked on the calendar stating when they can return home to where their lives were uprooted from. It’s eye-opening and humbling to consider the fact that while we both are newcomers to southern Thailand, our connection to this place and where we come from is inherently and entirely different.
As days have gone by, I have found a new equilibrium within myself, and while things are still so completely different from home, it is a good different. Already, these changes feel less foreign and more comfortably normal. Working at the learning centre has been so fulfilling and rewarding to get to know and bond with my students and fellow teachers, quickly becoming my friends. I’m excited to continue to build a life here in the time left that somehow already feels fleeting. I feel myself having grown to more easily meet new situations and challenges with humour and a light heart, something that seems to come naturally to the Myanmar people that I spend my time with. I am so grateful for how warmly I have been welcomed, despite my routine faux-pas and the unfamiliarity between us. The through-line of the start of this journey seems to be that even when I may worry it won’t, everything always balances. When life throws everything that is familiar out the window, all that is new and strange will eventually become known and comfortable. Yin and yang. More of one thing, less of another, but still equal. Sabai sabai 🙂
