Same Same, But Different

Coined from a colloquial quip, "same same but different" is a Thai jargon used to highlight similarities while conceding to differences. Versatile as "mai pen rai," it can be summoned for conversations of everyday significance or for others with higher import. I use this now to reflect about myself and how I think I've changed over the past year while volunteering in Thailand.

I admit it's very hard to track the internal changes one goes through in a year, especially with a momentous experience such as this. If there is one thing I learned from my thesis, there is no use tracing change and transformation; they are deep and eternal. However, when I revisit myself from last year, I was nothing more than a bright-eyed fresh graduate, insulated by the amniotic bubble of Whitman College. Admittedly I didn't think I had enough time in college to commit a substantial amount of time for community projects. What I knew was limited to books and academia; I had little occasion to put theories into practice. While I deeply value my education, it was high time that I expanded and encouraged my learning in other ways, especially at a critical point after graduation.

I review my WorldTeach objectives written before my service and honestly, while it feels affirming to have volunteered and taught English at a village school, I think my students have done more for me, than I could have ever done for them. I went to Thailand hoping that I could make some lasting changes; instead I come home, humbled with lasting impressions. I went to Thailand to teach, and instead, I learned about myself.

WorldTeach. World. Teach. What a wonderful summary of my experience, although I read this now differently than I did when I first applied for the program. It is beautifully ironic that I remained a student while officially employed as a teacher. In my year in Thailand, I learned about the world, in global and local terms, and where I fit in both contexts. As I traveled to the other side of the Pacific, the expanse of my perspectives widened. Community service became the underlying motif of my experiences, tying them all together. I bore witness to the eternal spring of happiness located in work that is in service to others. I never expected how profound and rich this happiness can be, until I dedicated my work every day to serve the community.

As I lived a life modestly stripped of Western accoutrements, I found that I could adapt to a lifestyle that can thrive without the stronghold of advanced technology. Here in the States, the new gadgets of convenience strip away our uses of intelligence and strength and shrink our worlds to further insularity. I don't mean to indict the West of excesses, but the consumer culture is more apparent. We can live richly without extra baggage, especially when we also focus our culture towards enriching our local and global communities.

As for being a teacher, it would be a lie and a disservice to my work if I viewed it through rose-colored glasses and forget to acknowledge its challenges. While teaching the most adorable kids in the world has plenty of rewards, I quickly discovered aspects about my personality that I wanted to improve. I really learned, through the hard way, the value of patience, fortitude, humor, and the ability to frame things in a larger perspective rather than fixating. I learned that while papers can be rushed and written in a day, the things that count cannot be fixed nor finished easily (that includes myself!).

I come from this experience bursting with inspiration. I am inspired and humbled by service on an international level, I am inspired by the humble communities in Nakhon Phanom, and I am also inspired by my fellow WorldTeach volunteers, who have grown with me throughout our year of service. I am still the same person, but I have also grown in many different ways. Now that I am about to encounter the unknown, I know that this time I am armed with inspiration and an internal compass, fashioned from my volunteer experiences, pointing me to the right direction.

Thank you to all who have remained loyal readers of this blog. You have been a part of a wonderful and transformative adventure.

Forever Bound to Community: Scenes from My Last String Tying Ceremonies

From Na Bpong School

All my students lined up to give me strings

with the village elders

From Thai Samakee School

I had at least a hundred after the week was over!

It was definitely hard to hold back the tears as each and everyone of my students, teachers, and community elders tied a string around my wrists. I cried anyway, the tears just came rushing forth as I felt the presence of grace and warmth envelop the room, encouraged by the physical links of hands, arms, elbows, and shoulders. (Traditionally, this string tying ceremony encourages the physical contact to emphasize the interconnection of the community: welcome to the human network!) As the students lined up, preparing to tie their strings, so did lines of memory rush forth, conjuring ordinary yet special impressions of my teaching life. When I think about the meaning, significance, and magnitude of this single act of well-wishing, I am so deeply touched of how the local community embraced me as part of their family in the past year. While the strings may be gone now, I will always feel their presence, a reminder of home in a distant land, and that ever-persistent tug to return.

Committing to Memory

All About Me Mini-Books: Semester Projects. I asked my students to use the material they've learned this semester and create mini-autobiographies.

It's difficult to even begin to describe my students. Ever since leaving Nakhon Phanom, I feel almost like less of a person walking with a vacancy of purpose. That is a little exaggerated, and dramatic, of course. In actuality, I feel like this urgency of purpose, waiting to be channeled and manifested in my next steps. But I will always carry with me the wonderful memories I have with my students that have shaped and defined my experience in Thailand.

My students from both elementary schools are just like kids from everywhere. Just like any other vivacious students from anywhere, they like their fair share of  amusements. They like to play with bugs (maybe bigger than the ones from the States!), boys like to torment girls, and girls like to flaunt their intellectual superiority in the classroom. They love to sing (they like to request "Hey Jude" all the time), dance, and play. Most of the time, they like to learn too.

My students are not like kids from everywhere. There are certain dimensions to their childhood experiences that are unique to their circumstances. In a lot of ways, they are encouraged to mature a lot faster, because they are allocated adult-like responsibilities on a daily basis. Consider the photo on the bottom of this entry, of a great student of mine. His name is Pbad, and while a US counterpart might begrudge the task  of returning chairs to classrooms and his parents might consider suing the school, Pbad manages and carries the request without complaint. Consider also, the video below of my first-graders being asked by their teacher to multi-task:

Initially, these unconventional practices at school seemed so absurd. Teachers barking instructions while sitting in the shade were a little hard to swallow, and sometimes the requests were a bit, let's say nit-picky. But at the heart of these practices lies the ideal of students making individual contributions to sustain the school, in a community with little to no resources or funding. Everyday, it seems like the students themselves run the school. They arrive early to mop the floors and clean, they are in charge of morning flag ceremonies, prepare lunch every day under the supervision of the teachers, put away dishes, and so forth. Their schools stand because of their hands. The world doesn't lie before their feet; usually they have to get down and polish it first, while counting to a hundred in Thai.

While they are just like any other students every where when it comes to mischief, they bring the attitudes they've inculcated from sustaining the school into my classroom. They are very eager to help, and they will perform pretty much everything that I ask them too. Sometimes, it took a while to seduce their personalities out of their coy shells, but in time, they were more willing to display their playful sides and more willing to exercise more agency in the classroom. 

I will always remember their attentiveness, their eagerness to learn and please, and their incorrigible displays of appreciation (my bags are never lacking in origami hearts). I will always remember the funny moments--most of them to my embarrassment-- but  all of them were comic reliefs, tending to assuage my larger anxieties.  I will never forget the challenges, the stresses, the self-doubt, but I will always remember the heart-affirming advances, such as watching my students develop and display tangible proofs of progress. I will always remember their unrelenting efforts to teach me Thai and their ridicules of my pronunciations. I will always remember their hospitalities and their grace. I will remember their unexpected visits at my home and their frequent recourse to smiles in the events of misunderstanding. I will always remember the laughter, from first-grade peals, to 6th grade pubescent, cracking bellows. I embrace these all, and commit them to memory.

Valerie Travels to India: An Afterthought

Steph and I traveled to India; we didn't take a vacation. While the thoughts of balmy beaches and sun tans seemed so enviable while we were enduring a painful train ride or shooing an unrelenting tout, I had an amazing time. India kept me on my toes, and I always wondered, "what's next" each passing minute. We tasted India's serenity and chaos for a brief two weeks and experienced a perpetual pendulum swinging between many extremes. We saw beauty, ugliness, happiness, desperation, wealth, poverty, kindness and apathy.

India took our breath away--sometimes literally. From crossing the streets of Kolkata which can be a near death experience, smelling the stench of the streets, navigating the anarchic trains stations, to seeing the amazing view from the hills of Darjeeling, eating the best cuisine in the world, marveling at the incredible moving sight of the ghats-- India took our breath away.

In the few quiet moments I had, either when looking at an awesome view or observing a Purja ceremony, I experienced these transient moments of brief suspension, of fleeting detachment from the present, and encountered this unbelievable ecstasy only ever afforded to travelers, of pure awe and wonderment, and I just couldn't stop thinking to myself, "I can't believe I'm in India."

Valerie Goes To India: The Holy City of Varanasi

From top left: our guesthouse in view, saluting the sunrise in the Ganges, the popping
color of the ghats, women bathing, morning rituals, performing assanas in Varanasi,
the ghats alight at night, we heart Varanasi 

Varanasi is a city situated right by the mighty and holy Ganges river, the oldest continually inhabited city of the world, a city that worships Shiva, a city that celebrates and welcomes death by its riverbed. Dying and having one's ashes scattered into the river is an auspicious way to die, since it releases the self from the cycle of reincarnation.
With that in mind, I could only imagine the flurry of activity and the flock of individuals surrounding the city. As we walked through the old city of Varanasi, we could not miss how old the city was, with its claustrophobic alleys used by big fat cows as their runway, cobbled streets, an equally ancient sewage system, and dirty brick buildings. It was a hot, hot day coming into the city, and after a somewhat traumatic attempt finding our guesthouse, we arrive relieved, bereft of any more patience and energy, so Steph and I decided to stay inside its walls after having showered and emerged as normal human beings.
Steph and I remarked on how we've had such great luck with all the places we've stayed in India. Our particular guesthouse had an Indian and Mediterranean fusion, with ochre-washed walls, colorful banners, an oasis of shade and flora in the courtyard, and an uninterrupted view of the majestic Ganges river and the ghats (steps to the river) to our left and right.

The next day, we woke up early, and won against the sunrise. We caught the subtle orange glow over the river indicating its swift arrival, so we ventured to ride a boat that would take us to the ghats in the early morning light. After paying twice as much the original price, Steph and I determined that nothing could stand in the way of enjoying a breath-taking sight that morning.

Not only was the sight of the ghats and temples sublime in that light of dawn, but the activities surrounding them demanded the focus of my attention and my less-than-perfect camera. Because the Ganges river is prescribed as holy, scores of people went to bathe in its water. Men with the barest essentials and women blooming in full saris splashed about the river's edge. They all drank the water, gurgled with it, anointed themselves with blessing. Men playing flutes, performing sun salutations; it was a harmonious play of different perfomances, with the backdrop of the temples glistening in the sanctifying light of the sun. It was absolutely breath-taking, awe-inspiring, humbling.



While some areas of India might be impoverished of modern comforts and affluence, I couldn't help but almost be blinded by the vibrant and beautiful colors everywhere. In Kolkata, in Darjeeling, in Varanasi, colors had their own way of manifesting themselves against the drabness of the everywhere else: the glittering saris of women in a sea of men, the beautiful prayer flags in the fog, the colorful ghats of Varanasi standing out against gray stone. In the three places Steph and I visited, we saw the multicolored, multifaceted India that is just unlike any other place we've ever traveled.

Valerie Goes to India: Darjeeling is My Cup of Tea

From top left: Breakfast with Lola, tea tasting the champagne of all teas, prayer flags at
the Mahakal Temple, the amazing views of Darjeeling, and more Darjeeling tea

Darjeeling became the perfect antidote to the bustle of Kolkata, but not without a price. I spent the entire time, during the jeep ride up to the West Bengal hills, trying so hard not to get sick over the pockmarked roads. A Darjeeling local accompanied us in this trip, though he and Steph were mostly in the ones in conversation as I was enduring a narcotic daze of sleeplessness and healthy dose of dramamine. He was determined to show us a proper display of local hospitality by taking us out to lunch AND taking us straight to our hostel. We appreciated his kindness, so we tried our best not to be rude while we ran up to our room and slept ourselves into a coma, cocooned in thick blankets while Darjeeling's gentle fog visited our room through a narrow slit in our window.

We quickly discover that this anti-quaint-ed town (see what I did there haha) was the perfect place to people watch. The bundled, sweatered and scarved inhabitants walked through the fog and cold of Darjeeling, posing as the perfect subjects for intent and near-inappropriate gazing. The thought of the narrow alleys spilling into the market square, the gas lamps glowing against the deep blue evening sky, the warm sensation of a tea cup between my hands lent me into that fleeting yet profound backpacker's bliss.

The dogs of Darjeeling were definitely a highlight. They were plump, glossy, friendly animals eager to become fast friends with passers-by. I had two favorites-- Lola and Chai. Lola was a resident dog in our favorite Sonam's kitchen who was just spoilt with affection. The other dog, now christened Chai, was a stray in the Ghoom train station. When I left the bench where Steph and I sat to buy some more tea, Chai took my spot and only when I returned did I face my usurper. After my ignored pleas, she ended up scooting over towards Steph so that I could sit down. The sight of us three sitting down on a bench provided us some comic relief for a while, and I let Chai finish my tea as a treat.

Exploring Darjeeling was just wonderful. In search of the Observatory Hill (in hindsight this was a bit too far for walking with flimsy sandals) Steph and I took a walk towards the north of the town, in vain search of the elusive Himalayan view. We found ourselves instead, at the colorful Mahakal Temple, which looked as if colorful rain drizzled around the temple and became suspended. Strings upon strings of prayer flags decorated the temple, glowing bright against the gray fog. In contrast to our other temple experience, this time, our walk was just so serene and the vision of simplicity and quietude was inspiring. The air was so still, reverberating the low incantations of priests, the clanging of prayer bells and carrying the steady perfume of incense, burning low in sand pits.


(a 360 view of the temple - excuse the barking dog, I think he was the one bothering the monkeys)

While we didn't get to see the Himalayas this time, I loved our slow-paced time in Darjeeling, where it was easy to enjoy a hot cup of tea and walk around town. One day, Steph and I even took on tea tasting at Nathmull's and had a blast sampling Darjeeling varieties. Eventually, we befriended some Thai students and the particular kinship that struck between ourselves was truly heartwarming and spoke to the fact that Thailand has become a home.

I was a little sad to part with the more peaceful lifestyle of Darjeeling and apprehensive to face the famed chaos of Varanasi. Thankfully, we found two other travelers, a couple from the US, to accompany us on a long, hot, tiring and trying voyage.

Valerie Goes to India: Surviving the Streets of Kolkata

On Kolkata: "Children playing, men bathing, women washing, lives ebb and flow. Eating rice, selling bananas, vivid colors glow. Taxis honking autos beeping, cycle wallahs running; harmony and chaos juxtapose."- ravish, LP India

From top left: Stephanie dozing at our haven, the Sunflower Guesthouse, Visiting Mother Theresa's tomb, the taxi traffic chaos, eating amazing Indian food, the decaying colonial buildings of Kolkata, the Kalighat Temple.

Whew. I've made it back to the States, and I'm now entering a prolonged period of decompression. I now have to adjust to yet another foreign environment (more like uncanny) while digesting the whirl of events that happened in the last four weeks. Therefore, the following entries, on India and on my last week in Thailand will be attempts to make sense of these crazy times.

(from the top left)

1. vs. 3: Respite from chaos vs. the Angry Taxi Cabs of Kolkata
As soon as we stepped out of the airport, we immediately encountered India's unapologetic in-your-face culture as taxi cab drivers fought over who would get our ticket. But we knew this place would hold so many unexpected things, so with a mai pen rai attitude that would make Thailand proud, we soldiered on to the city's noisy greetings. Kolkata is by far the noisiest (and noisome) city I've ever been to: the car horns of varying pitches, the bells of rickshaws, the screech of motorcycles, the zoom of auto rickshaws, the yelling of drivers, were among a sample of discordant noises of the city, reflecting the collective heartbeats of its dwellers aloud. Whenever Steph and I needed to retreat from the unruliness of the city, we would stay at our rustic guesthouse and ponder at the noises, sights and smells of the outside.

2. Visiting Mother Theresa's Mission House
Seeing Mother Theresa's tomb and humble quarters was a powerful experience. Walking through an exhibit highlighting her work really showed the intense suffering India's impoverished population. She spent her days in Kolkata working everyday in Kalighat, tending to the sick and dying. The images of the homeless, to the brink of starvation tugged an emotional ache within me that left an acrid taste in my long after I left the place. Her life was an incredible revelation of devotion to faith, prayer and boundless emotional stamina, even to the point of derangement.

4. Spicy India
My traveling buddy Steph and I will forever worship India's food. With the immense culinary vocabulary, it was hard to try and taste everything we could get a hold of, but what we did eat was just knock-your-socks off awesome. The diversity of spices was awakening, apart from the usual alarm of the chili pepper. From the streets rolls to kebabs, to dosas to kormas to thalis to naans and koftas, eating in India is a surefire highlight of our travels.

5. Colonial-era buildings
One cannot miss the once majestic structures of the colonial buildings peppering the street blocks of Kolkata. Inspiring thought and prose, the towering architectures left by the British are now decaying beneath the crushing weight of modernity and nature's ability to uproot the artifice of man. They are now plastered with soot and grime, and at times, whole trees will sprout out of destroyed cement blocks, seemingly clawing for the light of the sun.

6. The Kalighat Temple
This sole photo of the temple is courtesy of Steph, before we had to leave because a loony old man who started muttering incomprehensible gibberish would not leave us alone.
Never before have I been bullied into good fortune, blessing my family, and a lifetime of fertility until I visited this temple. Heeding the advice of a kind woman Steph and I met at the Victoria Memorial Park, we decided to satisfy our curiosities and visit this popular Hindu temple. We must have just caught it at a bad time, because from the moment Steph and I stepped in, we were ushered in by a fake brahmin priest that would not leave us alone and showed us the the important sites of the temple, without our willing consent. Overall, it was an intense experience seeing our independence run away, forced to make extravagant donations and forced to make homage to goddess Kali in a really vulgar manner (THROW THE PETAL INSIDE MADAM DOOR IS CLOSING!! THROW!). It didn't help that the temple was itself in a pretty shady area and you can only see the top dome because it was surrounded with a maze of bazaars and shops, where persistent touts dwell. It only occurred to me to think of the place in more compassionate terms upon discovering that this was the area where Mother Theresa did most of her work to help the poor.

Overall, spending a little bit of time in Kolkata was probably a good introduction to traveling in India. I am incredibly grateful for having a traveling buddy with an unflinching sense of optimism and the kind of humor that dispels anxieties aside. However unruly and wild, the city itself was also sympathetic to us novice travelers, bright eyed and silenced in awe of its wonderful anarchic chaos.