Appreciating now

Change is kind of difficult.

If I calculate it out, in the last ten years, I have lived in 21 bedrooms "long-term" (tells you how long-term anywhere has been), with over 50 different roommate/housemates. Right now, I have been living in the one-room apartment that I currently live in for four months now, and I have actually no roommates (quite an unusual arrangement actually for me). The little bungalow, which I last called home, was the longest I had called anywhere home since I was sixteen, and I stayed there for just barely over a year. As you can imagine, I found it difficult to leave that house.

With this sort of nomadic life, I think I have earned the right to state that change is difficult. Yet, I will add that I would not give up one of these experiences. I certainly hope and pray, by learning to live with so many different types of people, I am a hair's breadth readier for what my dad calls "the ultimate roommate" (that is, marriage). Moreover, I have learned from people and cultures all over the world, and who I am today is layered deeply into these many experiences. I have loved the life I have been fortunate enough to live, and I am simultaneously extraordinarily grateful that I will soon now have someone with whom to share all of life's future transitions.

Yet, despite this gratitude for life's many phases... I must admit, I am struggling with change again. In just over two weeks, I am moving to a new city to start a new job with new students, living in a new house, relying predominantly on a new language (that is Thai, instead of Shan), driving a new car on a new side of the road, and a little over a month after the move will begin my new life as a married woman. It's a lot to take in.

And being who I am, as soon as I know a change is on the horizon, it's my instinct to focus on that, rather than where I am.

So in honor of all this change, I want to take some time to appreciate all that has been (and is) in this rather short phase in which I have found myself in Chiang Mai. Here's my incomplete list of appreciation for my Chiang Mai time:

1. I have fallen in love with a wonderful man, who will soon be my husband.
2. I have been privileged to join hands with Partners and Shan Youth Power as we began the new migrant resource center, which is today Seed (This is a video of Seed, and if you look, you'll even see me teaching in this video!).
3. I have come to know the most wonderful Shan staff at Seed, who have been at times my students and at times my teachers, but always dear friends on whom I have often relied (and enjoyed their cooking).
4. I have had the chance to get to know the other Partners staff that I did not have the opportunity to get to know so well while working in the village on top of the mountain.
5. I have developed dear and lasting friends, who had no connection to Seed, Partners, or any other work related activity.
6. I have had a comfortable bed, a hot shower, a spacious bathroom, and air conditioning for quite some time now.
7. I have had the most amazing students ever (for proof, check out this past post).
8. I have enjoyed exploring Chiang Mai, whether through slow meals at the vegetarian restaurant at Wat Suan Dok or through walking around the Shan parts of town.
9. I have had the pleasure of walking/bicycling through the flower market everyday on the way to work.
10. I have been refreshed by the daily sight of the Doi Sutthep (a mountain).

Where are you all? Where are you headed? What are you grateful for right now? I'd love to hear from you.

After a long silence

I have started and stopped a new blog post or update e-mail so many, many times over the last many months. Every time I stop, by the time I come back, even a few days later, things have changed too drastically to make the post even relevant anymore. That's a difficult place to be and one that has kept me learning.

So I figure I had better write this one quickly! I can only speak for right now, at this moment, because I never know what change might be in store for me a few days later.

As of a few days ago, for reasons that do not matter here, the English program in the village where I have lived up until now has been canceled. There's something sad in saying goodbye to a place I've called home for so long. Yet, though I did not choose it ultimately, it feels right and like I am being pulled into a new phase of my life here, which I actually quite look forward to. Besides, hot water and constant electricity are a pleasant luxury.

So I find myself back in Chiang Mai for what will be a longer stint. This means a few things for me right now: First off, I can spend this time actually getting to know the people in the organization that I have worked for for over a year but only infrequently saw while living up in the mountain. Secondly, I also get the opportunity to work with some rather incredible Shan who've been making their homes in another culture (Thailand) and working at often some very challenging jobs. I will be teaching and training in some fashion at a Migrant Resource Center, which will be visited most likely by nearly all Shan members of the community. This excites me, because it also means using my Shan language skills. Third, I can really plug into a special church that has already been there for me in some tough times.

So that's life for now. Now that we've covered the basic changes, I'm sure there will be many more blog entries in the future. I will later update you on some of the things going on in Burma, but this time, I hope you have not been to bored with a simple update on my life. I wish you all the best, love you, and have in no way forgotten you!

The news I don't know

Right now I'm still in "jungle" mode. This trip in to Chiang Mai, I just haven't really gotten my mind around being in Chiang Mai. Maybe it's largely due to the fact that I've been staying with others with whom I generally see and associate with the jungle. Maybe it's just because I've crossed some critical threshold of time in the village. I'm not sure the cause.

But this time I've not checked BBC News once, even though it's my web browser's home page. I tried to read the headlines once, but my lack of background knowledge simply overwhelmed. Somebody told me there was a terrible shooting in a movie theater in Colorado while I was in the jungle. I'm really, really sorry to hear that. I assume it's probably old news for you, though. Neither have I watched an episode of Glee or The Office. Or surfed Facebook for updates on people I care about. Or even barely checked my e-mail. Or really remembered the full potential of Skype.

And that's actually all a problem, because I'm not in Chiang Mai often enough to waste the few precious opportunities for internet connectivity.

Sooo... needless to say, this blog entry will not be stocked full of helpful links to recent news articles or discuss these major events that we are supposed to all share in our human psyche. According to popular opinion, that makes this a pitiful blog. I suppose there are pitfalls to trying to write a blog while living in the jungle. You just really know way more about what's going on than I do.

But I can talk about life in the jungle. I do not know what Aung San Suu Kyi's most recent words were, which is something I miss, but I know it's the rainy season and that tomorrow begins the Buddhist Lent. I know that when I take a shower, my hair may take 24 hours to dry, and I can forget about having really dry clothes. I know that plants are the most vibrant shade of green right now, and my valley has simply sprung to life from the dry grave of the dry season. I know that it's not banana season right now, though every Farang seems confused that we are not eating bananas. I'm not sure why. I know that papaya trees are beginning to put out their new produce, which will be ready in a few months, passion fruit vines are in their growing phase, and many pineapples are ready to pick. I also know that the leaves of the sweet potato vine growing wild in the crevice behind my house are really tasty on ramen (mama) noodles, and my mint and lemongrass make my "teacher's throat" feel a tiny bit happier. I also know where to go to look for wood to build an arbor for my passion fruit vine (though admittedly I need my brother for success on such occasions), and I know how to collect morning glory leaves for soup.

I also know the other stuff. The stuff that's common in a community that's suffered trauma. And people coming out of communities destroyed by drugs.

And though I am not able to follow the news from my home and perhaps you might idealize the beautiful parts of my world (and that's fine, they are idyllic), I'm sending out a plea to all of you to follow the news for me and to keep hoping and praying. And asking good questions. Don't accept too quickly. Be cautious. Because we need people who care about this part of the world and who want to see the hope of full lives.

Creating a Village

I am already back in Chiang Mai, a strange occurrence considering that just over a week ago I was here. However, this time I am here to pick up my parents from the airport in a couple hours, an unmistakably exciting reason to be here.

However, my relationship to Chiang Mai is also changing. I used to feel in every visit like an outsider, a confused visitor, a fraud who knew just enough Thai to survive but whose mind was ever switching to Shan. But yesterday and today has reminded me that it does not take spending huge swaths of time in a place to turn a city into a village. The villa I always stay at greeted me happily with lots of questions when I arrived. The man that fixed my friend's computer smiled cheerfully in recognition when I came to him with a computer that would not connect to the internet. The Shan housekeeper at the villa and her younger siblings went to dinner with me after work (as soon as they heard I was going to dinner at 8pm, though they had already eaten, they declared I was not allowed to go alone, grabbed my hand, and took me out the door). This morning the breakfast restaurant owner asked me if I knew anyone looking for work that I could send her way (she knows I know many Shan people who might be looking), and the Shan cook that works with her held my hand as she asked about my parents coming. Finally, I find myself in the same coffee shop that always plays Norah Jones and Eva Cassidy music. As I walked in, the lady that owns the shop asked me in Thai, "You want a latte as usual, right?"

I've gotten in the habit of explaining to people that there's something special about village life that I cannot imagine giving up right now, and that certainly remains true. But I am also coming to an awareness that a person can choose to live as if in a village anywhere really. There may be many, many choices for food in Chiang Mai, but by becoming a regular, I am creating the same sense of closeness and space in Chiang Mai as I have in my village. I am connecting on a human level. I am learning names. I am smiling and following up to the tidbits of story I've learned the last time. While here in Chiang Mai, I do always still miss the real village (I say this while the background noise of construction machinery threatens to blast my eardrums), but perhaps, more importantly, a more transferable mindset has developed in recent months. My home may change several more times in my lifetime. Politics may force that eventually. But I am committed to the human connections that living in a Shan village has taught me.

Whispering to a migrant worker

A couple hours ago, I went to Chiang Mai University's dental hospital to get my teeth examined, and I was given the bad news: I have my first ever cavity. Actually, though I had made it 25 years thus far without that diagnosis, apparently a rice-dominant diet has turned my pretty teeth into a hotbed of six new cavities.

While that was mildly disturbing, the good news was they could get back to me the same day to fill them. That has meant I've had an odd number of hours in which I do not want to go too far, because I will be coming back to get my teeth filled, but I also do not have a whole lot left to do on this part of town (besides either sit at my guest house eating mango, as I am doing now, or sit in a cafe). So I decided to explore a little market I had only brushed past previously to fill up some time, hoping I might find some tea, a pillowcase, or a bath mat, the three things I'm currently looking for.

I'll try to go by again tomorrow or the day after and take some pictures of this market. It's really quite small compared to most similar markets, but it holds all of what I love best in a market. The stalls crowded close together. The smells. The snacks. The colors. The spices. Everything. And then random bath-related products in the back. That appears to almost always be the case in every market.

As I was looking for a bath mat, I decided to go check out some of the random bath-related stalls. To my surprise, one of them also had an array of yarn, so I decided to ask if they had crochet hooks, something several girls at the clinic had requested. Unfortunately, at about this point, my Thai began to fall apart, and all I had left was the random assortment of words in Shan that I knew I could use to ask my questions. Of course, Thai and Shan, while overlapping 30%, are rather like English and Dutch... similar, yes, but that doesn't mean speaking one means understanding the other.

But the girl helping me understood me... I saw it in her eyes. I knew I had used the wrong words, but she pointed me immediately in the right direction. I tried to speak again in Thai, but once again failing, a mishmash of Thai and Shan tumbled out of my mouth, and I felt a gentle arm suddenly pulling me further into the shop as she put her finger to her lips.

Finally her own words came out in slow, deliberate Shan for me, so that I would understand, "Older Sister, why are you speaking Shan?"

"I don't know Thai," I answered. "But you know Shan too then!"

Again, she hushed me with her finger to her lips, and added, "Older Sister, there are two of us who are Shan here, but be quiet. There are Thais walking around. Nobody knows."

I looked at her and comprehended for the first time what it really means to not have papers. No ID. To not exist in the eyes of the world.

We went on to chat some more, and she asked me why I knew Shan and was quite happy to learn that I lived in a Shan border town she knew quite well and had even lived in. She craved any knowledge I could give her about her Shan community, but my own linguistic abilities only allowed the most basic of knowledge. We whispered a little longer in a corner of the store, then after verifying where I could get what I was looking for, I left.

And I reflected.

Earlier today my usual "breakfast shop" gave me some extra soup for "being Shan." In fact, they never call me the Farang anymore, only "Miss Shan" (Sao Thai Yayy), a name actually given by the very kind Thai owner and repeated by the Shan workers.

Because I believe in the power of language, I have not yet figured out what it means that when I come to Chiang Mai, the language I speak is the language of the lowest tier in Thai society. The undocumented workers. Individuals who have left their homes for a combination of both economic and political reasons. Individuals who feel no other options left. And find the struggles of life in Chiang Mai to be their only chance at survival.

And I find myself whispering in corners of little bath product stalls, while a young girl calls me older sister and asks me for the news.

The real news is that this young girl is just one of 1.44 million unregistered migrants in Thailand. See: http://www.un.or.th/documents/TMR-2011.pdf

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."

I love food.

Finally I'm somewhere familiar. For the last five days, I've been wandering (or more often tagging along with others) through unfamiliar parts of Chiang Mai. Though so much of Chiang Mai contains extraordinarily vivid images in my mind, the part of the city that I've been staying in is utterly removed from those memories. Unfortunately, without an inborn sense of direction, I feared returning to the Chiang Mai University area, where I know my way, because I wouldn't be able to get back. However today, five days into my time here, I did it. I grabbed a tuk tuk and met with my friend from three years ago, Kratai, for lunch.

Not only was it nice to find myself in a part of town I knew and with a friend I'd not seen in a long time, but Kratai took me to her favorite restaurant and ordered the food. Perfect. I told her I would eat anything, so she went to town. Green mango salad. Spicy calamari salad. Pork neck with sweet chili sauce. Chicken som tum soup (a clear broth and lemongrass soup). Everything was spicy; everything was delicious. My tastebuds were alive with all the reasons I love this city.

It is true, I'm getting ready to leave this lovely town to head up to the refugee camp, and my eating will quite possibly change dramatically. But the thing is, at the end of the day, I can claim no great hardship, because I get to leave when I choose, and I get to come back to a city like this where a friend can order a feast, and still we both pay less than two and a half dollars. I can only be grateful that in my life I get a choice.

listening to the rain

I seem to sleep in 3 hour chunks right now. 4:30 PM to 7:30 PM (oops!). 11:30 PM to 2:30 AM. I'm not sure when the next sleep shift is coming, but it's hard to be upset to be awake right now when all around me outside I hear the sound of a soft rain on tin roofs everywhere. It's a beautiful sound. There's a light breeze carrying with it other wonderful smells of Chiang Mai into my room through the open windows, and in this sleepless moment, I am happy to be here and happy to be awake and able to store this moment in my memory.

Chiang Mai

First day in Chiang Mai: talk to Partners, attempt to read which turned into a 3 hour nap, pad thai, Quiz Night at the local Irish pub. Not a bad start.

church

I'm choosing to be bold today, despite a few inner qualms. I've decided, given that it's Sunday, to post today about what I did not do. I suppose I've thus far envisioned this blog as mostly a means of allowing people to follow along with the things that I see and think about as I move to the Thai-Burma border. However, since I've already entertained a few off-subject posts (and will likely continue to do so), this one may be permissible. You see, there's something I really want to say and get off my chest. It's something I'm generally afraid of saying, because I'm afraid of people's reactions, but I want to be honest about it this time.

Today I did not go to church. In fact, I was trying to remember the last time I went to a church service. Despite a very real, persistent, and honest faith, I'm afraid I cannot even claim to be a holiday church goer. Perhaps the last time I attended a "church" service (that is, a service that would have self-claimed such a distinction) would have been about a year ago when I visited my German family and that having been the first time again for several months. I rather imagine my readers, confused by my directness and openness, will likely miss the sadness in these words. Yet, to be clear, there is something I miss.

So here's the truth: I have not belonged to a church for five years. FIVE years. Half a decade. While for some readers who have never attended church, this seems a minor thing, to a person who grew up faithfully in the church (generally 2-3 times a week), half a decade is quite notable. And, honestly, I have made far less efforts to place myself back in one then I usually try to let on. When talking to others, I generally emphasize that I've been out of church for the last TWO years while living in rural Louisiana. And I mention how in college I attended a Christian college, where I was surrounded by Christian community. I also discuss all the many different churches and types of churches I visited during those college years. I seem so afraid of people knowing the truth about my absence in church. I almost never really use the number FIVE. It's like if I say five years, then I will have to relive in my mind all the events that unfurled five years ago that left me without a church. I'll have to remember why applications that asked for a pastor's reference reopened old wounds, because I simply did not know who to ask. Yet, that fear reduces the ongoing choice I've made to a single series of events, over which I had no control. This is not that. I've made my choices, and I've not chosen to wander into just any old church and commit to regular attendance.

So fact: churches are messy. Also fact: what we call churches are not the only expression of the Body of Christ. I'm trying to start something new by being open and honest about where I come from and how long I've been on this journey. And I am on a journey. God continues to woo me, and through the events that propelled me from the safe place I had grown up under, the image of God that I see is so much greater (and kinder) than ever before. I've come to experience the corporate silence of an unplanned Quaker meeting and the beauty of global unity in the scripted prayers of the liturgical churches. But, at the end of the day, I think this journey has truly been about dropping the religious baggage of my past and keeping my eyes open for other ways in which the Body of Christ lives and breathes. We exist in game nights in which we encourage the friend in despair, we exist in listening ears to the friend in love, and we exist in service to each other and others. This can happen in existing church institutions, but we are not limited to there, and, in fact, the institutions of church that we have imagined may even be fatally flawed. So, in hopes of spreading the desire to think outside of the box, I am choosing to be honest from this day forward: I haven't belonged to a church in five years.

I say this even as I intend to absolutely plug myself into church community in Chiang Mai next year, because I will need those individuals. But I'm going to do it differently this time. I will not ever worship the institution again (and I fear my former loyalty to my old church bordered on such at times), and I will recognize Church everywhere it occurs: in conversations, relationships, meals, and service. In fact, as this Sunday comes to an end, while I cannot say that I would wish for the events of the past to have occurred, I can say that I am grateful for the gap away from church, forcing me to face my own religious/evangelical upbringing, personal arrogance, and narrow vision of God. This is a road that I must continue down. Yet, I know I am not alone in this experience, and it is my prayer that each of us on this journey gains the courage to be more open and together to think through new (and old) ways of expressing the Body of Christ to each other and the rest of the world. On that note, have a happy Sunday!