Why I Went (Last Edition)

Before Thailand, I remember packing the last of our belongings away in a storage building and holding my breath as I closed the door, hoping I'd remember where I packed that jump-drive and that wok, wishing things to be safe from the elements and most of all, wondering what life would be like when I opened it again. It would be a year down the road, and I would be a whole different person.

And here I am, having nearly reached that point. I don't have a clue where in that maze-of-a-building I stored that stainless steel wok, but it doesn't even matter to me. I'll find it when I find it. The reasons and results of why I packed that wok (and everything else I own) are the things that matter and they've become the newly constructed aspects of myself that I could've never built at home.

The Reasons...

Many people get tangled up in the fanciful notion of travel and its fairytale appeal. Its seemingly unattainable charm becomes akin to our many other unique collections, like our vintage vinyl record collection or autographed baseballs in glass cases. The colored tacks on our map are the same, but they're only locations until we can make something unique of our time spent there.
Having only been out of the country twice beforehand, I don't considered myself particularly "well traveled" when I booked a ticket to Thailand. The term is relative, really. You may do something as cliche as a week in London or as adventurous as a transcontinental bike trail or as ambitious as spending a year in Nepal, but the question remains. Did you "travel well?" Can someone say you left some mark other than the "flag" you planted on your map? If so, you are well-travelled. Can you say you went to that place to enrich and exchange cultures rather than checking it off your bucket list? If so, you are well-traveled.

These are the reasons I left. I wasn't running away from responsibility, escaping reality or avoiding adulthood, reasons unfairly branded on young travelers by those only envious. I wanted to do something wonderful. Philanthropy, in its obligatory sense, is not at all enticing. Working to get community service hours, a badge or a promotion is as altruistic as a text message donation. What I loved about this experience was the "hands-on" kindness, and quite truthfully, I bountifully received more than I could ever give. 
Travel isn't selfish if that self-discovery is unearthed through humble service. It's no walk in the park. But once your reasons for travel surpass more than just personal gain, charm and showmanship, that's when the results pour in. And here, on the last leg of my journey, I am being showered with more sincere kindness and regretful farewells than I could've ever imagined.

The Results...

When Chelsea Lynn and I hopped on the jet to Thailand, we were mere acquaintances compared to now. In hindsight, it really was a risky thing, committing to traveling with someone for a year with how new our background of friendship was. Travel can make or break relationships, and I'm lucky to have been with someone who made it. I couldn't have asked for a more complimentary and dynamic travel buddy than Kelsey Crow. Although I may've forgotten a few jokes and now wish someone had been writing this year's hilarity into scripts, I'll never forget the strength of friendship they helped to form. Someone who made the fondest memories out of days so simple and someone who tolerated my quirks in such small living quarters deserves a lot more than a paragraph in my blog. This era in our lives is over, but I'm thankful for the foundation it has given and the bond it formed. I've not just come away with good memories, I've come away with a best friend and someone who knows me well enough to not only make fun of my quirks, but to be a true confidant. And from the bottom of my heart, I am forever appreciative.

Last week, I walked into my office to find a large, rolled poster on my desk. I removed the rubber band and unfurled papers taped together forming 2 yards of precious messages from one of my classes. Reading their quirky syntax and slightly misused grammar, I couldn't help but fight back the tears. "I wish you happy, healthy & smile," one read. Nuy said, "I'll remember you in my heart forever, good teacher." Another from Pare, one of my favorites, saying, "Thank you for hands and heart to make me wonder at English.  First lesson, so funny & fantastic. You're sweet woman, so kind with smile like an angel. Don't forget me." I've been undeservingly lavished with these and so many other kind words like them. How could I forget? From the bottom of my heart, I am forever appreciative.

I enjoyed a lunch with my coworkers the other day, and as much as they confuse the heck out of me sometimes with their odd choice of words, lack of communication and scheduling, I just adore their hearts. At a table of 30 people, we were ceremoniously recognized, profusely thanked, asked to make speeches and were given our very own embroidered school shirt. Knowing we'd have a place, no only in the city but in the heart of its people, is such a comforting thing. From the bottom of my heart, I am forever grateful.

When I get on that plane, a tug of emotional war will most likely begin. Knowing my family is on the other side of that ocean waiting is what makes it easier. Though I valued them fiercely before, I've since learned their worth to be much more than I could have ever realized at home. They never once questioned my decisions, were impatient with my call to Thailand or skeptical about my future plans. They've never made me feel anything but solace regarding my decisions, and nothing comforts me more. They've always commended my search for the unbeaten path rather than question why I didn't follow convention, and they continue to bolster my morale each and every day with a love I can't begin to comprehend. From the bottom of my heart, I am forever appreciative. 

Final exams were getting closer, and my last official day of teaching arrived with one of my dearest classes. I tried to make news of my departure be the jovial, "not goodbye, but see you soon" type of message, but it was hard to say those words knowing that in all honesty, I would probably never see these children again. Early high-school aged girls who were caught between the age of carefree childhood and clammed up adolescence were a challenging age. There were kids they said "I love you, teacha Jade!" on the first day, and there were those who only crept up to me for a shy photograph on the last day of class. I loved each one. Sometimes I would get caught up in the monotony of lessons or the frustrations of miscommunication, but when I took a step back to see the big picture, I realized that these kids wouldn't remember me as the teacher who taught them Adverbs of Frequency, they would look at me as the foreigner who loved them, tried desperately to learn their names, talked with them and showed them one-on-one affection amongst a sea of thousands of other students. Though some said "I love you, Jade!" from day one, I really think they meant it. 

From the bottom of my heart, I am forever appreciative.

From Blog to Book: A Memoir of Adventurers.

Writing what will probably be my next to last blog here in Thailand is hard to do. On one hand, it's hard to approach the end of such an incredible era, and on the other, there's such a sense of rush and excitement to make that trek home, I get shaky just thinking of it. The fact that we're talking in terms of weeks makes this trip so surreal. When I began this journey, I knew such a difficult yet rewarding year awaited. Imagining what this homestretch would look or feel like was near impossible from so far off, but now that I'm there, I can see why it was impossible.

Coming to terms with change is a task I battle. Looking back on such significant shifts, I see that I've always emerged on the other side a much more contented person than I could have originally foreseen, but the shift itself is a tough one. A culmination of fear and uncertainty for the future, excitement for the newness and a sad fondness for the closing chapter leaves me in a whirlwind. Sometimes if I dwell on it too long, I get nauseous. Then I think about what truly comforts me and try not to let the close of this adventure sadden me. Memories are tricky things. They can bring you such joy, but often that fondness comes at a price. Longing to be somewhere so happy and so comforting sometimes steals your joy and sends it spiraling into a nostalgic sadness. Fear of losing the details of those memories, fear of never recapturing them again and even the fear of no one understanding the magnitude of your memories can be a frightening ordeal.

As I do with most mentally and emotionally taxing parts of life, I write them down. As a source of comfort, a tangible way of mapping through a jungle of thoughts.

Throughout mine and Kelsey's weekly blog posts, many people have so kindly suggested we write a book. The suggestion alone is flattering. After playfully discussing ideas and formats for such a book, our tone shifted from a joking tone to a "hey, we should really give this a shot" tone. We laughed through a list of memories that couldn't have been scripted any better by a professional writer. So many things go unsaid in our blogs. Daily aspects of our living, trials of a vastly different culture, the evolution of our friendship, confined living and the honesty and trust that is built because of them. Our different yet compatible personalities have already created such a wonderful memoir on this adventure. Now it just needs to be written down. 
Whether or not it gets taken seriously to the point of publishable or if the memories will be as hilarious and touching as they were to us, I can't foretell. Even if I printed off a dozen copies, paper-clipped our stories together and handed them to those blessed few who relentlessly followed our journey, that would be enough. So what do you think? As ready as I am to see what the future holds, it's hard to close this chapter without having written it down first. In the end, giving our story some permanence, read by few or many, is the goal, and one that will get me a step closer to being able to close this chapter of my life without tears.

A Year to Rival the Last.

Around this time last year, I was sitting bored and stressed out of my mind in a comfy swivel chair at a bank. As I sat at a desk, barricaded behind stacks of files, I let my mind wander to what I knew would be a life changing 2012. And now, here I sit. Albeit still behind a desk and in a surprisingly comfortable swivel chair, I don't get up and walk 10 yards away to make copies. I get up and go to a class where eager ears (and some distracted, naughty ears... there are still trouble makers in Thailand) are waiting to hear me speak, even if they don't exactly grasp everything. Whether it's English camp, normal classes or extra lessons, it's all so gratifying. Even if some don't listen or learn, I've built relationships, and that's what truly matters.

At this point, I've surpassed every prominent holiday, and I'm not curled up in a heap eating candy from home and wistfully singing Auld Lang Syne. The holidays have spring boarded me forward into the last leg of this adventure, and I couldn't be happier with the outcome.

Due to miscommunication and perhaps too much wishful thinking, we were not given the Christmas holiday off from work. As surprising as it sounds, we enjoyed it. Waking up extra early to an authentic crackling fireplace DVD, drinking hot chocolate in the air condition room with my best friend and opening small gifts my Mamaw had sent was just what I needed. And it was sufficient. The day itself was comfortable and unseasonably cool (a gift we credited to be from Santa himself), we were both able to talk to our families, attend a foreigner Christmas party and have dinner with our dear friend, Off.

Finishing up that week with midterm testing, I looked forward to the upcoming New Year, a time Thais do, in fact, celebrate despite its lack of coherence to their own Buddhist calendar. So we hopped aboard a 5 hour bus ride to our home in the north, Chiang Mai. After hearing, "Chiang Mai, again?" from our families, Kelsey and I considered what an unusual thing it would be at home to travel so far away nearly every month. Something unconventional at home has become the norm here, and it had me reflecting on how shockingly different our life here really is. The attraction of Chiang Mai is its slightly milder weather, its non-Thai restaurants and, essentially, its fast pace, different scenery. Funny how normalcy puts on a cloak of extravagance when you're dealt a modest hand.

So we arrived, having already planned our meals for the weekend, none of which included a Thai word. Doing more damage to our meager bank accounts than intended at the local market, we called it a night and went back to our guesthouse. Diva Guesthouse has become another safe-haven for us here in Thailand. We practically have VIP access to the 6 room hostel even if the website says they're all booked. The downstairs restaurant/lounge is decorated with eccentric kink knacks, secondhand books and guestbooks overflowing with praise. The keeper, who we've affectionately named "Diva," is a lovely woman with impeccable English who awaits our every visit with open arms and a warm hug. The rooms are nothing special. Brightly painted walls, clean sheets, a fan and a sputtering toilet are more than enough. Even the giant rat who waved at Kelsey in the lobby one night won't deter us from staying in such an inviting place. We've consoled ourselves with the fact that a rat that size could never squeeze under the crack of our room door. He'd have to knock first.

On New Year's Eve day, we dodged the crowds on foot and trekked to a nearby Starbucks to meet some Thai friends. I use the term "friend" tentatively, as I've only met the sweet girl once on a bus ride to Chiang Mai Immigration. Kik-Kik so bravely struck up a conversation with me, frantically looking up conversation ideas on her phone, kept up a somewhat steady conversation. This was several months ago. When I received a message from her shortly after, followed by a Christmas gift in the mail, I couldn't help but want to meet with her again. She had so graciously remembered how important the Christmas holiday was to me and my beliefs, and she sent me a hand woven bag and a journal with a note wishing that "my Christmas festival" be very happy. A 21 year old college student from Chiang Mai, who had no investment other than a bus ride together, turned out to be one of the most precious people I've met thus far. After coffee, we met her and her friends for an English movie and later joined them for a gift swap and the countdown to 2013.

So much has filled the gap between this and my last blog. A trip to Sukhothai, the country's first capital, a wonderful English camp weekend with enthusiastic kids and staff, a 3 AM departure on a school trip to the northern border of Thailand, seeing Burma and Laos. And as much as I long to write each detail, I couldn't possibly. Life is what happens between the blogs, and I use these entries merely as landmarks on such a grand journey. 

Resolutions have become cliché code for intentions that have crashed and burned, so I hesitate to create a list. I just know that I want this year, and every year hereafter, to be equally as fulfilling. With the possibility of Graduate school and more of life's steps on the horizon, my only hope is to see them fall into a steady pace as easily as this past year has. Whenever I voice my concerns or worries about what's next, Kelsey is quick to smother them, saying, "Those worries aren't even an issue to me, really. We were brought 8,000 miles across the world more smoothly than we'd ever imagined, so let these next decisions make themselves."

And she's right. I know, and God knows, the desires of my heart, so if the sparrows are being taken care of, I know we will be too. So here's to what I'm convinced will be a year to rival the last. Happiest of New Years, everyone! With love...