The Gift

i have this book
i bought it for about $3
from a bookstore on the outskirts of town
it's a little kids' bible
it's still too hard for me though
i bought it so i can read it w/ my neighbors
to practice my language reading

i bought it w/ my own money, too. you see, my family is upper-middle class. i've always depended on them to bail me out when i need money. but this year, i want to live on my own
i'm learning how to value things
how to budget my money.
it's the first time in my life i've actually budgeted
i'm spending $20 a month to eat out, $5 to skype my family
i put my savings away at the beginning of the month, bundled in a safe.

i used to give anything to anybody whenever i felt like
and i thought i was a giving person
but i realized, that my idea of giving was skewed.
because if you value things, that means counting its cost
to really give, you have to choose what + when to give, and to whom
i've realized, that i'm not the generous guy that i thought i was
i like to appear generous. but really i'm very selfish. i don't like to give.
i like to appear giving
i give on impulse
i give stragetically
i give manipulatively
i give with strings attached
i give to some, but not to others
i give to those who deserve it
i give to those who give to me
i give when people are watching
but when it comes down to it, i don't really like to give
my time. my money. my things. myself. i like to keep it. for myself

but i don't want to stay that way
when i give, i want to really mean it.

so i have this book
and i'm taking it over to my neighbor's to read and practice
i'm a little nervous because i wonder if they'll be offended. maybe they won't even want me to read it there.
"we don't want to read those falang stories about pra-yesu"

my neighbor has a little daughter
she's barely past 1
she used to be scared of me for a month
but now she likes me. we play sometimes
she likes to play with random things: shoes, a belt, chairs



i visit them to say hi
but really, to practice my language reading skills
it's been getting better
i bring my kid's bible there
it's hard for me. but i want to practice.
i pull it out + her parents are wowed. what a beautiful kid's book! they don't have books like that

they can't afford books like that. + this country doesn't even have them. they're just getting by w/ food for the next meal. + literacy + education is still in the developmental stages

i read the cover: the bible for kids.
they ask: is it a gift for her?

i get defensive. selfish. how dare u assume it's a gift.
+ i say: no. actually it's for me. i'm learning how to read. can i practice?

they smile. the mom corrects me as i read. she's only a high school graduate herself, but she reads proudly

i ponder how much i spent on the book. it's $3. just 3 measly dollars. but to me right now, that's a lot. it's 25,000 kip. it's 4 hours in the internet cafe. it's 3 meals out. it's a month's worth of phone credit. it's actually a sacrifice for me, on my budget now.

i flip to the next page. the title says: "pra-yesu came down to be born." a baby's bundled up in a manger. three kings have followed a star to give him gifts. i point to one of the wise men's camels, and ask the little girl, what's that? the mom answers. i don't think there's a word in their language for camel, because the mom says, "it's a cow"

the little girl is distracted. she's only 1. the book is only interesting for 10 seconds at a time. but the mom is entranced. what a nice story, she says.

it takes all the willpower i can muster, but i make the decision. and i tell the parents: i change my mind. i'll give the book to your daughter. you can read her the stories.

the little girl looks up from the book, and stares at me intently. she smiles. she flips to the beginning, to the page about creation. adam and eve are looking at the sunset, surrounded by a deer, rabbits, a lion. and the mom starts to read.

The Laughing Man

he's the neighborhood laughing man. i see him everyday walking by with his dirty bare feet. wearing the same grease stained green jacket, no matter the weather. his hair is disheveled. his face is leathery, ageless. he could be 80 but he also looks like he's 15 sometimes. when he smiles, he's like a little child. he laughs w/ abandon - frenzied, uncontrollable. like he doesn't care about what anybody thinks.

he digs through the trash every night for food. seeing him has always filled my heart with guilt. how can somebody live off my trash?

it's around midnight one night, and i'm sitting on my porch when he comes by to dig in my trash.
He plucks out a magazine + squeals with joy.
he sits down to read it
it's a teenybopper magazine

i've seen him before and i've always been scared of him
but tonite, i dunno what's different. i want to be a part of his life. i want to dig in the trash with him.

i walk next to him, but he doesn't see me.
he picks up his bag and walks away.
i follow him, and call out, hey, hey there, hey you!
he can't hear
i realize
he's deaf

i follow him to his alleyway where he stays. when I tap his shoulder, he turns around and looks surprised. he shuffles past me and sits down on a concrete divider. I sit next to him. I reach out for his bag. he lets me open it.

it's full of discarded children's books, pretty boxes, random packaging, knickknacks that people throw away. he pulls out a teenybopper magazine, and we read it together. I reach out to touch his hand. he doesn’t make a sound. we hold hands there on the side of the dusty road, tuk-tuks creaking by.

as I get up to leave, he points to his stomach and rubs it. I point to my mouth, asking, are you hungry? he nods. I go back home and get some leftover rice and curry, and make a fried egg. I bring it back to him. he smiles and giggles. he eats it slowly, meticulously. He uses his hands to eat the egg. he pushes the carrots around like a little kid would. he likes carrots, i think. when he’s about halfway done, he offers me some food. I take a bite (to be polite), and give him back the plate. he doesn’t finish it all. he’s been quiet this whole time, but finally he laughs. his grin shows a row of rotting teeth. he’s happy.

ever since then, the laughing man and I haven't been able to hang out like we did that night. I saw him the other day, sitting on a concrete divider as usual with his bag of treasures. the little kids at the local elementary school were pointing at him, mocking him. daring each other to touch him. when he saw me, he smiled. nodded politely. and laughed.

Small Dreams

my parents never traveled
poor peasant Koreans, country folk
they didn't know what traveling was
why travel when you barely have enough to eat
your world consists of your family, village, church
such small dreams



today we live in the age of travel.
jet planes + online ticketing + multi-city packages
we look down on people who've never been out of their
home state. the Midwest. the United States.
"you haven't traveled much, have you?"
to the well-traveled, we assume cosmopolitan virtues
open-minded. broadened horizons. worldly wise.



on my last vacation, i went on a 2-week trip thru vietnam
just to say i've been there. + because i like spring rolls
i paid $45 for a visa + stayed in $5 a night motels + ate lots of pho
+ got herded around the major Vietnamese cities, the "beaten tourist track"
the whole trip cost $500. it was a fair transaction.
i'd like to say that it opened my eyes, and i've become a better person as a result
but that'd be overreaching. i was just a tourist passing thru
i used Vietnam to take my photos, make my memories, have my fun.
+ Vietnam used me to make a few bucks
+ though i can now say "you have a beautiful country!" to a vietnamese person on the street
i don't really understand Vietnamese people any better



on the bus back home, i met some world travelers, on 4-5 month long excursions, globetrotting trips crossing China, India, multiple years on the road. picking fruit in Australia, sheepherding in New Zealand to save money, to travel some more. Africa. hitchhiking thru South America. grizzled backpacker types, roaming around Southeast Asia on a leg of their world tour. + now they were spending a week or two in my country. just to check it off their list. because their guidebook says the people are friendly, the food is good, and it's "off the beaten tourist track"

they were living the dream
+ for a minute, i was jealous of them
but i shouldn't have been
jealous of a dream that's not mine

i've been living here for a year
i consider this place home
i've made good friends
the kind of friends you keep for a lifetime
i haven't really traveled much
+ maybe i don't need to
sometimes small dreams
are better

Worth

the city is old + run down
walls crumbling, tin rooftops and peeling yellow paint
nothing is kept up. the place looks the same as it did 300 years ago
the people around here are just rice farmers, vegetable sellers
in a dusty old town
worthless



but 30 years ago, after a devastating war
people with money came + said it's romantic!
they started to come from all over the world
to snap lots of pictures
walk around this dusty old town
+ relive a 300-year old forgotten fantasy
suddenly, this place has worth

3 kilometers from the town
is an old tomb
of Yajirobei
a Japanese merchant
an exiled Christian?
or here to chase a lover who spurned him?
nobody knows for sure
the inscription in japanese says: the year 1647
for 3 centuries, farmers planted rice around this mound
+ cursed it for being there, nothing but an eyesore
worthless



but 15 years ago, the city cleaned it up
built a concrete path to it
people come to worship
thinking it would bring them luck
a dried up rose lays nearby
half-burnt incense lays in a cup
suddenly, this tomb has worth

so here i am, by Yajirobei's tomb
i'm 29. someday i'm going to die
+ i'll have a tomb too
i wonder
when my money's used up
accomplishments forgotten
nobody remembers who i am, to lay flowers on my tomb
what will give my life worth?

The Camera in my Mind

there's a camera in my mind

sure, i have a real camera, a Canon 30D with a 85mm prime lens that I use to take real digital pictures. that one, i had to buy. that one, people can see.

but i have another camera + it's in my mind
i take pictures with it all the time.

of inspiring things



of the strange and beautiful



of joy and suffering




+ nobody knows it. but i also take pictures of girls

girls that i don't know
girls that dress provocatively. come get me attire
the girls i used to chase, in my past life
but now, i can't chase them. but i take pictures of them. + nobody knows.



the camera is always on. it controls my life.
when a pretty girl enters the room, the camera goes haywire
at the mall, at the airport, on the street
the camera is my god.



sometimes, i want to destroy this camera
i get angry that i use it both to help and to hurt people
+ i don't want to take pictures at all
i don't want this desire, these emotions
i want to turn this camera off
forever

but in photography, they say that a photograph tells more about the
the photographer, than about the subject. because the photographer decides what is seen. the angle, the lighting, what body parts are focused on. the photograph is a reflection of how the photographer views reality.

there have been days where i wanted to destroy this camera
but maybe it just needs
a new Owner

Ami

it was buddhist new year this week
waterfights + visting temples to douse the Buddha w/ water
pray for lots of luck, lots of rain this year
my friends went to this royal city in the north where all the tourists go
i didn't want to go w/ them



so i went off by myself to an island near the delta of the Mekong
got a bungalow for $2 a night
biked around the little island
checked out a waterfall
took a boatride
saw some dolphins
drank some icy pink juice from a plastic bag
all by myself

that night, i settled down in my hammock to take a nap
this french girl next door started talking to me (her English was really good)
about asia. the food. the weather.
and her friends. she said that in French, there's 2 words for friend
copain is an acquaintance-friend. a regular friend. you can have many copains.
but ami is something different. you can only have a few amis.
an ami is someone you share your life with.
who'd drop everything, quit their job, fly halfway across the world because you just called them at 3am + told them that your fiancee just died + can you come? she told me. that's an ami
she had amis



i asked myself, do i have any amis?
i couldn't really think of any. i have lots of copains.
but i don't think i have an ami.
i don't think i really want any amis.
i don't think i know how to be an ami.

it sounds like it takes a lot of work
sacrifice. time. love. myself.
i'd rather have copains
copains don't bother you
don't call you too late
don't ask for too much
don't make you change



we talked into the night
it was strange, to meet a stranger + to be sharing things as if they were an ami
we gave each other our emails
she was gonna be in my city just before she flew back home
"give me a call if you wanna meet up, friend"
i didn't

Grandma

They said she died around 1 in the afternoon. But nobody really seemed sad. At least, in the ways I'm used to seeing people sad. Her own daughter seemed relieved, actually. She was 80, bedridden for a year. They hired a maid to take care of her. It's sad to see her now, sprawled out on the living room floor, with her shocking white hair, so still. They clear out all the random junk around the edges of the house (wash tubs, rusty tools, a cell phone company sign, a cabinet), to make room for the party, or so I thought. I find out later, it's actually to encourage her spirit to leave. When it's ready to.

They entomb her body in a wedding cake-like multi-tiered shrine of sorts. That night, the neighbors come by to pay their respects, drop by gifts to her daughter by the shrine, eat papaya salad and fish stew, play cards. They gamble, $1 a hand, in some very simple games that I've never seen anybody play for money. But they're having a blast. I realize, the games aren't about money, or the individual winning. It's about community. There is a DVD of a crass comedian playing on a TV, lots of beer flowing, people talking and laughing and having a great time. All night. The guests leave sometime during the night, but family members don’t sleep. I thought, they're just being good hosts. But it's actually to keep grandma's spirit company.



The family closes their restaurant for a whole week. They stay outside, eating + drinking for 4 consecutive days and nights. On the 5th day, at 1pm (the same time she died) they hold the funeral service. Monks come to the house to pray over the body. They take the body to the local temple.

At the temple, they reassemble the shrine carefully. The women in the family dress in white robes, the men shave their heads and put on bright saffron monk robes. Nobody cries. Grandma's spirits shouldn't see you sad. It might make her sad. And if you make her sad, she might hurt you. Then, the guests line up to place 3 things: a flower, some coconut concoction wrapped in banana leaf, and a stick of incense, on the funeral pyre. "Aren't you going to put some on, too?" someone asks. So I do.



A random guy unceremoniously begins to douse the pyre with gasoline. Then, FOOSH! a relative lights a bottle rocket + it thunks into the pyre. First a cloud of yellow incense dust, which quickly turns into a roaring blaze that cremates grandma's body. Someone starts to throw rice (I'm not sure why) and people scramble to grab it, like it's pinata candy. The pyre is still burning as people start to leave, covering their mouths to keep the ashes out. Later, her remains are placed in a box that goes into a "spirit house."



As they leave the temple, the guests wash their hands in a tub of water with floating orange flowers. To wash off any spirits that you might've picked up at the temple. Later that night, I see an ornate golden bed in the living room. It's for grandma's spirit, they tell me. She still hasn't left yet.



On the 7th day after her death, the monks come by again and say a final prayer. And grandma's spirit is finally sent off to the next world, in a state of limbo until her next reincarnation.

Last night, I saw my neighbors loading into their car late at night. "Where you guys goin?" I ask. They were taking food + clothes for grandma's spirit. Her spirit is at the temple now, apparently. She's dead, but she's not gone. She's still there. In a way, she'll never really leave.

The Monster

There's a monster in my classroom. He showed up one day about a month ago.
i haven't seen him in a few years. He doesn't want to leave. He tells me i'm no good. He tells me to drown myself in my work.

He's shown up before, to tell me i'm no good. To make me believe i need to kill myself to be better, faster, smarter. To make me obsess about myself, so i lose my focus on others.

it used to be getting good grades, or studying. or drinking, or partying. or making lots of money. then it changed to being a nice guy, a good shepherd, a decent teacher.

the monster tells me: you need to be good at something. + people need to notice you for it.

it's not enough for me, to just be
my identity is based on how good i am @ something. if i'm not good at something, that must mean that i'm not good for anything.
i can't just be
i need to do

This is what the monster tells me + i believe what he says

There's a monster in my classroom
+ he won't even let me type on this blog
i'm only typing this now because he left the room for a few minutes

there's a monster in my classroom
+ i don't want him to leave

Village

they live in a village. the word for house + village is the same word. that's why all the neighbors' pigs, cows + chickens can run wild in my friend's yard + he doesn't mind + his neighbor doesn't worry. because my house is your house.


that's why they don't lock their doors. their doors don't even have locks. because they don't really own anything valuable. my friend doesn't even have a refrigerator (but he does have a flourescent light). if you take something, you'll bring it back. + all the neighbors are always coming by with some vegetables from their garden, or some fish they caught.


the roosters start crowing at each other at 4am, and the 14 year old neighbor girl is up already, gathering bamboo shoots + washing them in the stream. some of them are ngam, beautiful, but they wouldn't shame their family by wearing anything scandalous. they bathe outside, but always in a full-length sarong, a huge towel/washcloth thingy. + the young men of the village wouldn't think of doing anything, unless they wanted to marry her. besides, her father is probably your uncle. everybody is your uncle + they're always watching you + not afraid to tell you that if u like it, you should sell a water buffalo + put a ring on it


so i'm visiting my buddy in his mountain village + my 1st visit is to the village chief's house. feels like i'm going to the principal's office. he checks my passport, scowls, asks questions. his kids are watching Thai TV. then suddenly his wife brings out baskets of sticky rice, smashed pepper sauce, fire-roasted green onions, fish stew with heads + all. can we go camping overnight by the fishing creek, my friend politely asks. i don't think you should, he replies. i don't want the falang, the foreigner, to get hurt by the wild animals. it's hard to resent Big Brother when he feeds you fish head stew + worries about wild animals eating you.


the village isn't all fun + games though. the creek's been running lower + lower every year, and by April it'll die down to a trickle (takes 10 minutes to fill up a water bottle).that 's not nearly enough drinking water for the 300 villagers. 2 years ago, their rice fields were given away to big foreign companies who planted rubber trees. now they have to trek several kilometers with their big families of 4-5 kids, hauling food + water + tools in wicker baskets slung over their backs


they still grow coffee here, a cash crop introduced by the French, even though they can't use it for their own food. they use that money for tuition for their children to learn English, which will help them get better jobs. better access to foreign investment, tourist dollars. the very development that is changing their way of life. the waterfalls they've always bathed in, now charge entrance fees. their fields, their food, their culture, their village itself, is being transformed just by me being here. the West has already moved in next-door. the city + the TV beckons the next generation. But I hope the village survives.