Coming home

 BLOG POST: Written November 21, 2011

Today I felt the joys of being home. Yesterday I arrived back at the clinic before my roommates (all clinic students) had come back from visiting in the village. As they walked up, not expecting me, I experienced the most intense sense of joy. They came running, telling me in Shan how they'd missed me, and giving me many warms hugs.

Earlier today finding the girls' dorm quiet, I decided to go find the other Farang (foreigners) to see what they were up to. Unfortunately I could not find them anywhere and felt the bittersweet twinge of realizing they had gone off together without me. Yet I understood that was because they all fully expected me to be socializing with my Shan friends, so I walked back with only the slightest hint of loneliness.

Yet no sooner than that thought of loneliness had entered my mind, suddenly girls were pulling me toward the bonfire in front of the dorm, and I was being fed sticky rice, smoked in bamboo, dipped in sweetened condensed milk. Warmth spread all over body. The students then proceeded to slow down their speech and do everything in their power to include me in conversation.

How can I respond with anything other than joy at the opportunity to live here, in a place so very special to me? Everything about this life seeps deep into my bones, and I find only resistance to the thought of ever returning to my existence as it used to be. When I think of all that I was once missing out on, I almost want to cry. How could I have so completely not understood slowness? Or deep community? This is home, and, right now, I have no desire to leave.

Home.

Today I just want you to see my home. See what I love. See the place that makes my soul rise. See why, sitting in Chiang Mai, a little smile creeps onto my face when I think about returning to this beautiful village in a few short days. Despite the absence of Skype. Despite the cold showers. Despite everything. I love this village. And I love my community there.

If you are friends with me on Facebook, there are many more photos there. I think some are rather special. They captured special memories and moments for me.

Above: Morning view from my old house. 

Above: Children lifting a paper lantern/hot air balloon into the night sky in celebration of the end of the Buddhist Lent.

Above: The crowd at the temple, watching as one of the lanterns floats into the sky.

Above: Yet another sunrise. There's something magical about standing above the sea of rippling clouds. 

Above: One morning we got up very early to make doughnuts. The sun wasn't up, and we had to use a candle to split the dough. These are many of my students at the clinic.

Above: And then the sun crept over the mountain.

I love this place. It's more beautiful than I have words to speak of. Sometimes I tell the harder stories here, but please know the beauty of the life I get to live in this place. I have never felt more privileged in all my life than I do now to be able to live in this little village/camp.

Lights and Traffic

Right now I'm sitting in my guesthouse room on a soft bed (by my adjusted standards anyhow) with a fan over my head. Earlier I took a hot shower, scrubbing myself down, and felt in the complete lap of luxury.

But I also feel weird here. Last night I couldn't even sleep between the sounds of traffic and the lights shining into my room. I am used to no more than the sounds of frogs and crickets and the light of the moon seeping into my room.

Today I just feel like a space cadet. I find myself moving at a sluggish pace next to the rush of the city. I suppose I realize that Chiang Mai doesn't have the rush of most cities, but it feels overwhelmingly sensory stimulating at the moment nonetheless. I find myself stepping back from it all and watching. Quietly. At a distance. Like I am currently incapable of being a part of it.

None of this really bothers me per se. For I do not live here, and it does not disturb to watch Chiang Mai as a curious outsider. Right now it is more than appropriate that the village/camp feels most like home to me or that other places feel quietly "otherly" to me. The village is my home for now.

Yet, as I write these words, I am forced to face the inward change. I've slowed down. I've quieted. I've poured myself into a new community, and I have changed because of it. There's no going back. This is my community, and these are my friends.

Eight days and I return "home."