I am sweaty. I am always sweaty. I try to apply sunscreen, but the perpetual sheen of sweat on my face makes it impossible to rub in.
I lay in bed at the end of a long day and reflect on the culture clash and the uncomfortable situations I tried to navigate my way through. I wonder why the heck this Minnesota girl is even here.
Then, I am instantly blown away by how different my life looked this time last year. I was sitting at my desk and aching for an adventure. I try my best to not take one single moment here for granted. I had been longing for exactly this – the adventure of my life.
How do those sentiments coexist? How is it possible to feel so uncomfortable and yet so content? So overwhelmed and so thankful for this opportunity?
During training, we were told again and again that these first few months are the hardest – which was, as you can imagine, nothing but encouraging. Every day I wake up and wonder what the heck that day might hold, and even within the same day it can feel like a roller coaster of expectations, events, and emotions.
But the ironic juxtaposition of so many situations and feelings here are really what makes this such a wild experience. It’s possible and actually more than likely that I will experience two conflicting emotions within the same day, even the same hour.
So, I want to reflect on that: the rollercoaster. The ups and the downs, the incredible and the uncomfortable. Because I feel like a reflection of these first months without both sides of the coin would be ingenuine.
Here are things that coexist in my new life, this rollercoaster.
I get a phone call at 6:30am. Did we tell you, they ask, that we’re going to do a volunteer activity at 7am? I rub my eyes and look at my clock. Of course, no one told me. I never know what a day will hold, even when I ask. This happens so often that I figured out the Thai phrase “Oh, did no one tell you?” without being taught it. For a girl who loves a plan, it’s a growing experience.
My new house has air conditioning in my room, which I am thankful for every single day. I was starting to get rashes on the inside of my elbows because I was always so hot. The cool air is such a blessing. I miss the cold.
One of my coworker’s kids is named Tiger, a energetic young boy with a broad smile that I taught during our swimming camps. He shows me a group message he’s in with all his classmates, and it’s a picture of me. I feel my heart swell – they’re excited to meet me!
I owned zero yellow shirts before I came to site, now I wear yellow every day. Yellow’s never been my color, but I like feeling like part of the group. My Host Dad "accidentally" bought two of the Thai official yellow polos online, so I got to have one. They're so good to me.
My host parents come to pick me up for my birthday. When I open the car door, my three-year old host brother PoohPah reaches out a small, sticky hand to hold on to me. When I ask if he’s missed me, he nods and squeezes my arm. I missed him, too. How lucky am I to have people I miss when I’m gone for just a few days.
I feel that I’m building relationships every day. I was bold one day a few weeks ago and asked if I could eat lunch with a few of my coworkers (if you know me, you know how much courage that took). Now, every day, they make sure there’s something not too spicy that I can eat. They call if I’m not there at lunch time, and they brought me rice when I didn’t have my own rice cooker. I feel so loved by them.
It took me a week to realize that the Northern Thai dialect has a different word for “America”. It sounds a lot like the Thai word for “pineapple”, and there was a lot of confusion on my end around why “pineapple” was the answer to where I’m from. I figured it out. I always figure it out, eventually.
Sometimes, when we’re talking about directions or food or something else I’ve learned, I impress myself with my Thai. Other times, even google translate can’t help me and I have to hope what they were trying to tell me wasn’t important. Guess time will tell.
As I head off to lunch, a coworker yells Don’t get fat! A comment that stabs me in the gut. He doesn’t mean it and he doesn’t know, it’s just part of Thai culture to talk about appearance – I’m pretty sure he’s even just trying to joke with me. But I’ve always had that voice in the back of my head jeering, “don’t get fat!” I didn’t know how cutting it could be when said aloud. He didn’t mean for it to hurt. Culture clash.
More culture clash: at a dinner party to celebrate an outgoing coworker, conversation somehow turns to talking about boob size. They all size each other up, then they turn to look at me. I vividly remember thinking “We can NOT be about to talk about my boob size right now.” But indeed, we could. And they did.
I'm always a little wrong. Days I wear the right thing, I didn't get the memo about something else important... like bringing a lunch. Days I do everything else right, I'm the only one in a skirt. I always feel like I am missing at least one detail about the day, but I've learned to roll with it.
As soon as I feel frustrated, I feel myself take a step back. What other things could this be? Misunderstanding? I am irked that my supervisor brings me to an event to just be the farang (foreigner), and then, moments later, I am thankful to be at the event – meeting people and being part of the team. I didn’t know everyone would be here. I’m not the token farang, I’m part of the team. My frustration was unwarranted.
Last week, I learned how to cook rice. Somehow, it took me until this month to learn. I accidentally cut myself making broccoli, but I ate baked broccoli for dinner and it tasted like home. The cut is small and it feels like independence. Worth it.
My landlord’s wife calls. I’m very thankful for her, she brings me sticky rice (a type of rice I haven’t yet learned how to make). I tell her that I’m in the shower. I hang up and quickly finish my shower. I know, regardless of what I said, that she’s on her way over. She was.
I spent a weekend in Chiang Mai and have another one planned. I felt like an adventurer again, in a new way. Every day at site is an adventure, but it's home. In Chiang Mai, I ate a Caesar salad, walked around and appreciated the Wats like a tourist, and went out with my friends. I talked with taxi drivers and elephant guides in Thai, and I slept by myself in a 12-person hostel room. I felt alive with adventure and independence.
I go for a run. I can’t remember the last time I went for a run. I’d biked so much during PST that I’d lost 15 pounds. Might as well keep on with it, Heaven knows that I’ll have the time. I am followed by dogs, the first time since being here. In the exact moment I think to myself “this could go poorly”, my host dad pulls up in his truck and scares away the dogs. What are the odds of that? Every day, a blessing.
I look around the dinner table at the faces of my family, faces that have become so near and dear to me. Settling in has been hard, but so, so worth it.
These first few months have been so jam-packed with new experiences, overwhelming moments, relationship building, and sweat. It’s hard to sum up just what I’ve experienced or been doing. It took me way longer than I wanted to find the words to convey what it means to be a PCV during the first few months at site. I hope these brief snapshots of experiences offer you a window into my life.
I’ll keep writing about this rollercoaster, I’m sure I’ll need to. For now, I’m enjoying the ride.
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