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.

Thanks (from me in 2 years)

my bags are packed
tomorrow i fly to the other side of the world.
a plane waiting to be taken
a page waiting to be written
endless possibilities

i'm scared
of failure. of success
or worse: of being ordinary
not worth writing
not worth reading

but i know you're there
(reading)
thinking of me
+ i'm here
(writing)
thinking of you
+ somehow your reading
helps me to write
+ to imagine

2, 5, 10 years from now
me then, laughing @ me now
+ how scared i was
a blog filled with stories
which will be beautiful
because you risked to read them
+ i risked to write them

so today
i want to thank you in advance