The days during PST have seemed to simultaneously fly by and absolutely stand still. Some days, it feels like we’ve been in Don Chedi forever. Other days, it feels like we arrived on that double-decker airplane just yesterday. By the end of PST, we will have completed three months of our twenty-seven-month service. A small dent in a long tenure, but progress nonetheless.
Our final two weeks in PST are sure to be a whirlwind. Already next week we take our final language test (LPI), where I have to reach “Intermediate Low” in Thai. Next week we also finally get to find out where our site is for the next two years… an announcement that many of us are impatiently anticipating. And “impatiently anticipating” is a generous phrase. Volunteers have tried everything from coercing it out of their Ajaans (language teachers), asking “So remind me, am I in the North or South?” in large group session, and generally obsessing over where we think we’ll be placed whenever we hang out as a group.
For my part, I have very intentionally tried not to guess where I will be placed or get my hopes up for even any specific region. I have no control over where I’ll be placed, so there’s no use. My YinD Program Managers have done the work to match me to a counterpart and find the best fit for my skills and personality. Now, I just need to “trust the process” (a common theme during Peace Corps) and know that I am meant to be wherever I end up. Which is easier said than done, but I’ll know in less than a week. I can chill until then, right? Right??
Next week is also goodbye to this incredible host family. They’ve already been asking me whether or not I’ll forget them – and I don’t think they realize how deeply they have impacted my life. I can guarantee I will be a river of tears on the day I need to actually say goodbye, which is inconvenient because crying really isn’t a thing in Thai culture.
There is something magical about being welcomed into a home and a family, and then having space to learn and navigate a new language and culture. I showed up as someone who didn’t even understand how to eat dinner, and I’m leaving with a deep appreciation of the nuances within Thai culture. This family taught me so much about their culture, and I will be more successful as a volunteer because of them. It’s hard to put into words the bond that is formed during that level of learning, but this is a family that I will not forget; could not forget.
We swear in as volunteers in late March, and then leave to our sites with our counterparts almost immediately after. Though I could make an expansive list of all the things I’m excited about, somehow my worries are more lingering. More intrusive. With every burst of excited energy, a shadow of worry lurks closely behind.
I’m excited to meet my new community and new host family. Will they like me? Will they be anything like my wonderful host family in Don Chedi? What if this family set the bar too high?
I’m excited for the freedom of learning a new community. But I’ll be by myself. It’ll be so much harder by myself. Can I even do this by myself?
I’m so incredibly excited to figure out my site placement. Will my friends be placed near me? Or will I be isolated and totally on my own?
I’m excited to do the work – to get to know the kids! What if I don’t know what I should be doing and I never do any meaningful work?
I’m looking forward to using my Thai and continuing to learn the language. Will the people at my site even speak the Thai dialect I’ve learned? What if my Thai is useless and all these hours were a waste?
And still, I know that these worries will dissipate when the unknown becomes known. My worries about site location will evaporate when I learn where I am. My fears about my host family will subside when I actually meet them. My panic about isolation and purpose will melt when I’m inevitably greeted by the warmest of smiles from people at my community.
All I can do now is push onward, make it to the next day. I am comforted by how terrifying this whole process was the first time around and how well it has worked out. There’s a hint of déjà vu in this process – we’ve boarded a bus towards the unknown before and I met these people that I love. It was worth the worry, the panic about the unknown.
This time, I go into it with a feeling of home under my belt. Because Thailand is home, at least for the next two years.
So, here’s to the unknown, here’s to pushing onward even when it’s terrifying.
Here’s to the next chapter of this adventure.
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