Neighbors

They have a family of 6 crammed in a small 3-bedroom townhouse. The mom sews curtains + the dad is a small-time businessman, renting out tables + chairs + tents to outdoor restaurants. They can't afford the $75 per term tuition to send their son to my school, so they've asked me to tutor him during winter break. It's the family who married off their eldest son last month, and I took pictures for the wedding. The dad was so happy, giving me a name in the local language, calling me his "son." The dad offers to pay me as a tutor but I tell him it's alright - I joke, if I'm your son, then I'm just teaching my little brother, right? He laughs. Oh, I'm so happy to have a Korean son.


Every afternoon as I come to teach, the mom gives me all sorts of snacks + drinks. I see her talking to the other neighbors, smiling at me proudly. It's still very much a village mentality out here; from our porch you can see the rice paddies that are flooded by the river each year. + my "grandfather" harvested rice right out in those fields. So when my "little brother" brings 2 neighbor girls from next door, I guess I'm supposed to teach them too. I'm teaching ABCs to little kids who don't speak a lick of English. I can barely speak theirs, so I have to look everything up in the dictionary: "Color this red. What letter is this? What sound does this word begin with?" Now the the neighborhood kids run around + play by my house.


Yesterday, my dad asks me if I can help him move stuff. How long will it take? Oh, about 2 hours he says. It takes 6. We drive 20 kilometers out of town to an open-air restaurant next to a soccer stadium. I haul the tent into the bed of his Hyundai pickup. It takes 10 minutes. Then they spend the next couple of hours at the restaurant watching TV, drinking beer + chew on dried squid. I eat peanuts + when they clink their glasses, I lift up my plastic water bottle too.


We're watching sports on TV. 20 years ago, everybody was still riding bicycles around + electricity was spotty. Now everybody watches TV all day, like they're trying to make up for lost time. Of course, the national team loses again, and my dad is driving me back home in a bad mood, with a can of beer in his hand. I can smell the alcohol on his breath because he's already had about a 6-pack already. The 10-year old truck doesn't have power steering + he's weaving in + out around motorbikes + cussing people out in broken English + my seatbelt doesn't work + suddenly he decides to park up on the curb while mom jumps out to buy a 75 cent lotto ticket.


It's almost 10pm + we're still not home. Because they stop @ a friend's house to eat some shellfish in peanut sauce, while I eat chicken. They're camped out by the sidewalk, yelling at random passerbys they know. They take Pepsis from the convenience store next door (it's a friend) + noodles from the restaurant across the street (it's his brother). Mom screams because she won $180 with her lotto ticket + she's all bubbly now, buying everyone drinks. I'm sitting with my leg propped up + dad tells me to put it down. "Not good. We don't sit like that, that's how Vietnamese people sit. We sit like this, both feet on the ground." He teaches me how to bow to people, with head bowed slightly, both hands pressed together, and thumbs to your nose. At the temple, you put your thumbs to your forehead. He makes me practice to his friends, and I feel kind of stupid, like he's treating me like a 5-year old kid


But when I tell him it's getting late + he rushes to take me home, I realize: a few weeks ago, I used to be their foreign next-door neighbor with his own life. Now, I'm part of their family, their village, their life. Somehow, I've become his son. He asks me how long I'm going to stay here in his country. I want to tell him the truth, that I don't want to ever leave. But instead what I tell him is: 2 years.

Sin

it's synonymous with tradition
even though the word itself just means "skirt"
if you're female, and you're visiting a temple or government office, you must wear one


for foreigners: covering up your arms + legs will do. for guys, a collared shirt. but if you're a woman in this society, it's a non-negotiable. it's not akin to the Korean hanbok, worn only for weddings or festivals. respectable older women wear the sin (pronounced seen) around the house. the ceremonial ones are brushed, stiff silk, while the everyday ones are cotton. it falls almost to the ankles, and it's a rather straight, tubular fit. for special occasions, a long-sleeved blouse of the same material + an embroidered sash will do


unless you're a city girl. if you're a 20-something here + you wear a sin around, people call you a country bumpkin. old fashioned. the young people wear short shorts + T's, or Forever-21-esque tanks with strings + lace.

+ when they do go to weddings, they'll break out with a sin, but it won't look like their mom's. it'll have a high riding slit, + they'll wear a low-cut matching silk top with an open-back. the old people will tsk tsk: "a sin isn't supposed to look like that." or they'll wear a Western dress - the tighter + shorter, the better. they make em for little girls too


@ weddings, they do a traditional dance with the guys in the middle, and the girls on the outside. just side-step slowly with your partner and move your hands up + to the music. or there's a slow line dance with toe-tapping and sashaying. feels like a medieval courting ritual, combined with Texas two-stepping, + throw in some Korean old-folks karaoke music.

it's not any freaky stuff; nobody even gets closer than a couple of feet. the respectable dads are up there. but as soon as the young girls came prancing onto the patio, they had the guys' attention. something about a young girl moving her body with music, does that. i still haven't decided if that's unnatural or evil, and under which circumstances. i always thought if it's slow music your parents like, and you're not touching, + it's not too dark + there's no alcohol, then it must be ok...but i dunno anymore. maybe it's from my sordid past of racy memories in nightclubs, or maybe my standards of modesty have changed from being in a more conservative Asian culture.

all i know is, there's always going to be the type of girls who'll show more skin + cast more flirtatious looks than they should. + the guys that notice them.


+ there's always going to be the type of girls who'll choose to keep themselves covered up + act more modestly...as stuffy + old-fashioned as it might seem. + the guys that notice them.

their world is changing so fast, a whirlwind dance that's remapping millenia of habits + attitudes + sin-lengths. in the West, the powerful force of female sexuality has been unleashed, liberated, all up in your face. a freedom that ironically, comes with its own set of chains. it's fascinating to see the East wrestle with this conundrum: how to embrace progress without scandalizing their heritage?

I wonder what their sin will look like in 10 years

Loss

i've lost 16 lbs in 6 weeks
i did get food poisoning this week (that helped)
but it's also because i'm sweating all day from the heat


+ riding my bike all around town
+ i don't really eat processed foods anymore
(just soybean oil, ketchup, tomato paste)
on a local salary, you can only afford local food: lots of rice, veggies, fruits

i'm losing all the extra baggage i was lugging around in the states
the extra calories i thought i couldn't live without
feels like i'm being boiled down to the essentials


along w/ the 95% of my wardrobe i left behind
my books
my camping gear
my minivan
living with 5% is simpler
less to worry about
clean + polish + preen about
keep up appearances + insure + stress about

amazing how little i really need to live
it's a lot less than i thought
i'm proud of myself, really


+ then i visit a dormitory for a local school
it's smaller than my living room
it houses a dozen girls
they could fit 20 people in my spacious hallway

last night, i see a man rummaging through my trash for scraps
he's covered in filth, like that guy on Charlie Brown
he smiles @ me as I pass by. content
with all that i have, how is it that i'm so discontent?


i still have much more to lose

Tying Knots

I've been here a month
the neighbors have already invited me to a wedding. this neighborhood is one big family, and one of the boys is getting married. we drive 20 minutes on dusty country roads + come up to what looks like: a giant Korean pojangmacha (outdoor restaurant) with tacky green-blue netting + wooden posts. a sound system + pails of ice + bottles of beer on rickety fold-up metal tables


the groom's family marches up to the bride's house to much hooping + hollering + drumming + dancing. toasting of Johnny Walker Red + more hollering. the couple, both dressed in traditional garb, duck into a bedroom to do the basi ceremony


an older male relative chants in an ancient tongue. relatives tie strings + money on their wrists, + chuck handfuls of raw rice (rice + eggs are symbols of fertility). little kids peering in the windows to catch a glimpse. old ladies eat chicken + beer in the corner


+ it's all over in 20 minutes, the ceremony anyway. the reception lasts all day. at least 300 guests and only 2 tables but somehow everyone gets fed in orderly fashion. rice noodles with fish sauce, a spicy raw beef salad, and a water buffalo stew


felt like 2 families were getting married: mingling, eating, dancing (traditional, none of that freaky American stuff). a day at the beach kinda. the bride + groom didn't seem stressed at all. no schedule, no fancy programs, no bridal registry, no "gift-drop-off" station. my friend + i brought a bag of apples, but nowhere to put em, nobody to accept em. as if they were saying: just come + eat + enjoy this moment with us!

made me wonder about the symbolism of our Western weddings. a schedule for everything + a chapel to decorate + gifts to compile. + who made up the garter/bouquet toss thing anyway?

+ does it reflect the principles of the 1st (jewish?) wedding? should it?. the cultural + spiritual always tangled together like so much string. i wonder if it will ever get untangled here. + if so, will it look like a faded carbon copy of the West, a lifeless mime? or will it end up a more knotted-up, confused mess than before?

or perhaps it will be re-born into something new, beautiful, familiar, but unique. the kind that is made anew when love + truth finally kiss

Dust

the kids here don't cry much
they're shy + quiet
+ they always look a little dirty


we're driving down an unpaved country road pocked w/ potholes, dusty + bumpy + noisy + uncomfortable. in the back of a songthaew (a converted pickup truck) w/ our backs leaning against a thinly-padded railing. once in a while, we hit a jarring bump + passengers in the back hang on for dear life. or the driver brakes suddenly + everyone slides on top of each other. it's 90% humidity as usual + the sun is out. water buffalo crossing randomly. it smells of musty swamp, chicken poop, outdoor vendors (over)grilling meat. without warning, a motorbike roars past + orange dust is flying everywhere


one of the little kids has to take dramamine; last time she threw up mid-ride. the kids are hot + tired, sleeping in awkward positions on people's laps. not enough room, so one girl is asleep on the metal truckbed, bunched over a backpack.


i can't help but think, these poor kids. if they were in America, they'd be in a clean, air-conditioned, leather-upholstered SUV, dozing off to a Brahms lullaby in supreme comfort. instead, they're bouncing around a junky pickup w/ bad shocks, cracked padding, + an open back that gets sprinkled with fine dirt particles everytime a motorbike flies by. a little girl is eating a banana with one hand, and covering her mouth with the other to keep the dust out.

no A/C
no DVD player
no Ninentendo DS
no leather seats
no clean, quiet cabin


it's saturday
the parents are out visiting some new friends in their "village"
instead of sitting @ home, bored, playing w/ the same toys
they're out getting their hands dirty w/ their parents
learning to live + to love



i felt bad @ 1st because i thought they were suffering
but i shouldn't have
they're the ones who are really living
building dirtcastles with their Father

Holiday

The entire city is shut down. the bustling morning market is relegated to a ghost town. 100s of 1000s of worshippers from all over southeast asia along with 1000s of monks have gathered to worship here. it's the full moon on the 12th lunar month, the holiest day in theravada buddhism. + here is their holiest site, a temple that contains the breastbone of Buddha.


it's 5:30am. the dawn rays slowly filter through the cloudy charcoal sky. worshipers place flowers, light incense, and pray at the concrete "altar" that surrounds the temple, then lay out mats and wait. suddenly, a monk begins to chant in a monotone over the loudspeakers, which the people repeat. prostrations. hands clasped in prayer. more chants. @ one point, 2 candles are lit. some memorized prayers they sing-song in unison.

the night before, was the final procession into the temple to welcome the wandering spirits of the deceased. unbridled joy, because the dead shouldn't see you mourning. people dancing to portable boombox speakers, carrying huge towers of yellow flowers in the shape of a beehive, crisp bills tied together, flapping in the wind, along with incense and candles. a massive crowd clambers through a 10-foot wide entrance to circumambulate the holy temple 3x, once for the Lord Buddha, another time for his teachings, and lastly for the monks: the mediators of merit, mystical knowledge, bringing good luck and warding off the bad.




The almsgiving to the monks happens each morning at 6am as they walk from house to house, or every 15 days at the temple, when the spirits roam again. But on this special day, and in this special place, the merit received is even greater. for such a transcendantally-oriented belief system , there is a curious emphasis on time and place.




All for a better rebirth in the next life. The rich have expensive bills, the poor have bills worth less than a dime. Folded + tucked neatly in their ornate metal bowls, along with boiled eggs, sticky rice, snack cakes for the monks, and a bottle of water (or an M-150 energy drink) for a drink offering, made for the thirsty spirits of deceased relatives.

The serious ceremonies of the pre-dawn are for the devout, while the rest of the day is for the common folks. Families sprawled out on bamboo mats, vendors selling chicken and noodle soup and chilies and meatballs frying in woks. Even bumper cars blasting loud rap music. Combine the excitement of a county fair with the solemnity of an Easter mass, in a culture that is uberly-proud of its heritage.




During some of the early morning chants, I caught some of the words. But others, were spoken in an ancient dead language that even some of the monks merely memorize. It made me think of how easily ritual can override meaning. I remember having to explain the significance of St. Patty's Day to a foreigner once: "Umm...you wear green + you get drunk." Perhaps that's how Christmas can morph into shopping + gluttony. Instead of the spiritual transforming the secular, the two become indistinguishable. + the holy day becomes nothing more than a holiday.

Tongues

it's been a nonstop 3-week headache. at night, when the neighbors' chatter drifts in thru the window, it sounds like a plaintive Cantonese love song interrupted by glottal chicken clucks.

My tongue aches too. A few days ago, I tried to order a fruit smoothie. What came out was: "I take fermented fish water with green orange." the egg lady can't understand me when I ask for "20" + so I just point + nod. smile + wave. u know the moment when all the words, gestures, and grunts fail u + there's this awkward silence + u just stop trying? that's the story of my life here.




I had the same headache + tongue-ache 8 years ago when I studied abroad in France. I lived with a nice family, ate lots of bread + cheese, learned to say bonjour in a breathy sing-song, + eventually got to feel pretty comfortable in a strange new culture. Then I went back home.

This time, I want things to be different. I want this place to be home for me. I want to see myself change, into something more than a long-term tourist. I want to dress like them, eat like them, walk talk + act like them. I want to see the world like they do, smell it through their noses + touch it through their skin. I want to really be them.



it's funny because they all want to be me. they've heard that Americans are rich + beautiful + drive sports cars + live luxuriously. they know I'm Korean + are fascinated with the exciting life that I must lead, just like the dramas they see on TV. they're living in the poorest country in a rapidly developing Asia, and they want out. they've got cell phones, but they want laptops. motorbikes are nice, but Landcruisers are nicer. even these city kids have parents who farm for a living. that's why they pay $150 to enroll in a 2 hour English class + listen to me wax rhapsodic about the past perfect continuous tense. so they won't have to be pulling turnips from sunup to sundown til they die.

right now, we're in the honeymoon stage. they don't know jack about America. + all i know about them is the obvious contrasts that tourists ooh + ahh over: American cities are polluted; theirs aren't. We eat processed food; they don't. we're materialistic; they're not (but they're trying).

the closer i get to them though, the more I realize that they've got some nasty flaws too. it's not as in-your-face as our society but it's still there, more polite + latent. as human beings, they're not really much better or worse than me. + past the veneer of my Abercrombie track pants, IBM laptop, + brushed steel IPod, they'll realize someday that being American isn't all that it's cracked up to be either.

so maybe my goal shouldn't be to be like them.
or for them to be like me.
maybe we should just be excited to rediscover the world through another's eyes. + to feel the ache of communicating with another's tongue. + in the wonder + pain, we'll better understand how excruciating that Incarnation, really is.


+ as we struggle to unravel the Babel that separates us
we'll find ourselves learning the words of the original love language
that Someone's been playing in our hearts all along

Offering

i was @ this famous park with one of the largest reclining buddha statues in the world.


we run into this kid who's begging for food. barefooted, with dirt-caked face + clothes. says his parents died when he was little. + that he lives here. he hasn't had anything to eat today, he says. what do u want to eat? asks my friend, who is a native. I'd like some bread, the boy says. we go to the corner store + they don't have bread, just junk food. so we get him several twinkie-like cakes, a bag of frito-lay chips (purple onion flavor?) + a pepsi. we come back + he's already jumped the fence. we pass the food to him + he's really excited. he gives us a nop, a head bow with hands-pressed together. then he runs off to his friends who are hiding in the shadows. one of them yells (i imagine): so what'd u get from those rich tourists?

later, the monks tell us there aren't any orphan boys around here. that those boys live in the area, and that they all have parents.

i consider myself a pretty good judge of character. i don't consider myself gullible. but i'd rather be gullible than coldhearted. i'd rather feel too much pity than none at all. i'm sure i've unwittingly given crack money to crackheads before. but i don't ever want a fear of being conned to be the reason that i turn down someone who genuinely needs help.


if people actually gave more freely, of their means + of their hearts - i don't think there'd be as many thieves + muggers + con-artists + pretend beggar boys out there.

Strings

This weekend, I attended a bosi ceremony - something they've been doing in this part of the world for thousands of years. You call one for any momentous occasion in life: before you go on a long trip, before a wedding or your first baby, or even when you're sick.

it's supposed to give the person good luck. they believe it re-arranges the 34 spiritual pressure points in your body.

it was for my friend's mom

we take a songthaew (a pickup truck with its bed converted into a taxi/bus) to the outskirts of the city. the ride is hot + humid + dusty. as soon as we arrive, the host family has cold plastic cups of soda + ice ready for us. the ice delivery man comes by with a 50lb sack of ice + fills a giant blue cooler. ice is an extravagance here as electricity is expensive, refrigeraters are tiny + ice-makers are non-existent. they also pass around shish-kebab appetizers, chunks of beef + tomatoes + onions + spicy green peppers


somebody brings out this christmas-tree-looking tower made w/ bunches of white string. + yellow flowers + money stuck in there. they also bring out a roasted chicken, and bottles of clear rice wine. one of the older men start to chant something I can't understand, some mantra not in the local language. @ one point, a lady throws a bunch of raw rice over the "christmas tree." it's a mixture of solemn + jovial, their hands clasped in revence but also laughing + smiling + making jokes. like a cross between a goodbye party + thanksgiving dinner

the ceremony is happening on the sprawling outdoor porch, and we're sitting outside of the main circle. Leaning against the wall, observing politely. @ the end, they start pulling the strings out of the tree + tying them onto each others' wrists - 7 strings on each wrist, held together with 3 knots.

my friend, who isn't directly participating in this ceremony for personal reasons, comes around w/ some of the white string. He offers me one. what does it mean, I ask? it's to wish the person good luck, he answers.

I wonder what I should do. I came here to pay respects to his mom, who's very old. I want to let them know that I accept them for who they are.

I take the string. it's ordinary white string. I look @ my other friends who came along - they're varying degrees of confused + uncomfortable. some politely decline, some take the string + hold onto it. I decide, I'm going to tie it onto my wrist.

Later on I find out, you're supposed to leave it on for @ least 3 days or it's bad luck. Oops.

They're about to break out w/ all the food, but we have to leave. They ask us to stay but kha thod, baw dai - sorry, we can't. We have another appointment.

I fully expect them to continue with the ceremony and ignore us, but all 30 or so people stop what they're doing, and watch us as we leave.

Who cares about these American "falang" tourist outsiders who stumble over + butcher their language. Who are rudely interrupting their ceremony + leaving early. I wonder how I'd react if they were to crash my birthday party or Christmas dinner, especially if they could barely speak English, + then abruptly left.

I wonder if I did the right thing by tying on that string
maybe that was going too far, in identifying with them
after all, I'm not them

I keep looking @ my string, hoping they notice that I'm accepting them. I don't think they really notice the string


I still can't forget their eyes as they watched us leave: quizzical, curious, accepting. I wonder what they saw in mine.

Growceries

went shopping today @ the "morning market"

Vendors squat along the streets, laying out their day-before-picked vegetables, tofu, little green eggplants that look like tomatillos, bananas still on the stalk,even pre-cooked rice noodles wrapped in leaves. There's a lady selling live chickens, squawking submissively. + a big tub of grubs: fresh, i would imagine, but they're not wriggling. It's shoulder to shoulder traffic, buyers haggling and men pushing big wooden carts piled high with Thai basil, green pineapples (last of the season), Chinese broccoli, some fruits i've never seen before (dragonfruit, eggfruit, some cactus/beehive looking thing?)

There's moms shopping for the day's meals, small market owners tryin to get the best deals. The market opens before dawn (5am). The early bird gets the freshest + cheapest worms: the street vendors leave at 8am + for the rest of the day, the vendors inside the covered stalls sell for twice the price.

my grocery list:

thai basil/cilantro, 15 cents a bunch

eggplant, 25 cents a kilo

bananas, 25 cents a bunch

lemons, 40 cents a kilo

galangal, 50 cents a kilo

pineapple, 40 cents each

pomelo, 50 cents each

i also got a 10 kilo (22 lb) plastic bag of rice for $5.00

+ a week's worth of groceries for $3.00

beat that, wal-mart

Dog Eat Dog

in Korean culture, a common greeting is: have you eaten rice yet? when you eat @ someone's house, the host will tell you: eat a lot! + it's polite to respond: i'll eat well! they'll push you to have 2nds + 3rds. + it's polite to refuse. @ least the 1st time

Korea industrialized 50 years ago but old habits die hard. The cabbage + turnip harvest is still the most joyful time of year. In the countryside, entire villages celebrate the plenty but also pickle + save it for winter (in the cities, people still celebrate with store-bought kimchi). To the developing world, these rituals haven't changed in millenia
Food is life


in the West, life is served fast + easy + in a greasy wrapper. we buy genetically-modified + chemically-treated produce in refrigerated 24-hour supermarkets. @ buffets we stuff ourselves w/ low quality food. 1/3 of the world is starving, another 1/3 is underfed, but we suffer from obesity + eating disorders

in some ways, we can excuse ourselves. like a dog in heat that humps everything in sight: if u get a group of hungry guys together, they'll elbow each other for the choice cuts. "gotta pile MY plate high + get MINE." + the unassertive ones can scrape the bottom of the casserole dish. we're animals fighting for scarce resources. too bad for us Americans, there's just too many resources

if it's survival of the fittest, this country's a scrawny chicken
a GDP per capita that's less than $1,000 where people barely make enough to feed their families. but when "villages" gather to eat, they sit in groups. the food's brought out in little dishes. + everybody shares, whether it's sticky rice or bamboo shoots or germs. you reach + grab + shape rice balls + dip + scoop + chew + talk

talking with your mouth full or reaching across the table isn't rude. what's considered impolite is to keep eating when everyone else is finished. + it's common courtesy to leave a little pocket of rice at the bottom of the rice basket. so the host doesn't get embarrassed, in case you wanted more and they ran out

this week @ the "village" potluck, people didn't bring a lot of food. bad harvest this week. extra small dishes. nobody could eat their fill. somebody, however, kept picking at the scraps when everyone else was done. + was even rude enough to finish off the last ball of rice.


forgive me. i'm learning that life's about more than food

Luxury

I've never gotten so upset about something so insignificant

I packed ALL the wrong stuff. I brought dry-clean-only suits to a climate where the record LOW is 61 degrees. I brought my backpacking gear to a countryside that has the most land mines + unexploded ordnance (i.e. bombs) per sq. kilometer of any place in the world (thanks, vietnam war).
+ nightmare of all nightmares, I forgot to pack FLOSS

I was in a state of utter panic. I dragged my friend to every bathroom supply vendor in the market, asking: "jao mi FLOSS baw?" while madly running an imaginary string in between our teeth.

I should probably mention that before I left the states, I spent $200 at the dentist doing a "full mouth debridement" + was told that I need to floss better.
Living in a developing country, I've discovered that I can live without Listerine ($3 for a small bottle)
and I'm even willing to brush my teeth with 2 fingers + salt (it was good enough for my granma)
but I cannot go to sleep if I do not floss in between my teeth.

I was a bit indignant with these people + their dental hygiene nonchalance. None of you guys floss? Are you serious? What the heck is wrong w/ u all? How can you live + sleep w/ gunk stuck in your teeth? You all need to get out of the stone age + get with the modern world, people! + while ur at it, get some supermarkets that are clean + well-lit!

Finally after scouring the entire town, I find a mini-mart: where the upper class local kids can buy American nacho cheese hot dogs. + where tourists can get their Listerine. + floss.

I look for my favorite brand: GLIDE mint-flavored, ultra-waxed
but all they had was the cheap thin unwaxed kind that gets shredded by your teeth
It only cost $1.50

Outside the market, floss in hand, I run into a kid covered in dirty rags and no shoes on. He looks at me plaintively w/ outstretched hand. I want to give him something but I'm also kinda annoyed he thinks i'm a tourist. I don't know how to tell him that I live here, so instead all I can say is: Bopenyang (which kinda means, don't worry about it) which probably made no sense. He turns around, expressionless, and walks away.


I used to floss like a rich kid eats eclairs
these days, I floss more carefully
I'm trying to see life through the rotting teeth of a beggar boy
+ I know that $1.50 cheap unwaxed floss is a king's luxury

We Fall Down

We've never bowed the knee to a king.
We're unfamiliar w/ the posture of "face in the dirt"
We're independents. We bow to nobody. We do as we please.

We get no fuzzy-wuzzy emotions for monarchs who wear crowns.
We have presidents who wear suits, smiles, basketball shorts.
We like Obama because he comes off as a regular joe. Someone you could watch a football game with. Just one of the boyz.
We can tolerate presidents who we vote in (+ out), with fixed salaries + fixed term lengths.

Kings smack of authority. + we don't do too well with authority figures.

But in Thailand, they adore their king. They have pictures of him in their homes, hung up in mechanic's garages + supermarkets.

They play their national anthem 2x a day, and everybody drops what they're doing, to pay respects to their king. For 2 minutes before every movie, every person in the theater stands in honor of the king.

Disrespecting the king (or his framed photo) is a capital offense that carries up to a 7-year prison term. it rarely happens.

As Americans, we value equality, freedom, and individual rights. We like to put our leaders on our level. We don't wanna bow down to anybody. But I wonder, if there's something this generation has lost by refusing to obey a King.

Poverty

It's one of the poorest countries in Asia.

80% of the country survives on subsistence agriculture.

The husband farms, the wife sells what they don't eat @ the market. The kids go to school as long as they can afford to (mid-teens). Each family works + plays together.

Fresh fruits are available year-round. I've never tasted bananas so dark + sweet.

Everybody walks, bikes, or motorbikes around. Girls walk alone at night, no worries. A real small town feel for this bustling capital.

Every morning @ 5:30, before the hazy sunrise lights up the rice paddies, the grandma next door is out sweeping her back porch. The outdoor markets are bustling with bargain hunters (prices are 50% lower in the pre-dawn hours). It sounds cliché, but everybody here really seems happy w/ what they've got. Even if it ain't much.

So who's really the poor one here?

Home

my 3rd floor room

my balcony

my bathroom

It's 90 degrees with 90% humidity + I'm sweating buckets 24-7. The first night, I kept waking up + thinking I was in a sauna. No matter how much water I drink, I'm still dehydrated. I shower 3 times a day. + they tell me, this is the transition from the monsoon to the "cool" season? Air conditioning is only for the rich + I'm not rich anymore. Although living on $135 in the poorest country in this part of the world, is a fairly comfortable salary.

I'm Asian + getting pretty dark from all this sun, so I don't get weird looks. But my clothes look funny (too bright, too Western) + when my shorts sag, all the ladies point + laugh @ my underwear. Everything looks + smells so crazy. Walking around the outdoor markets, with all the stuff stinking + squirming + wriggling + alive, I definitely hit culture shock. All I can say is hello + thank you, and I can't ask how much stuff costs, and if it's made of snake or pig or what. I'm so hungry + all I want is pad thai + spring rolls, ordered from a menu, in a clean restaurant.

I'm definitely a foreigner.