Thai Cat Soup

My service in Peace Corps Thailand is coming to an end… in 4 months. Lately my mind has been occupied with personal reflection.

 Sometimes people ask me, “What does it feel like to be almost done, to be leaving soon?”

My answer is… “All of them. ‘All of the feelings’ is how it feels.”

 Thankful for this opportunity and for all of my people – Thai, American, and others met along the way.

 Sad to leave my Thai family and friends.

 Relieved that it’s almost over because I have days of extreme homesickness and missing intimacy.

 Overwhelmed by the thought of packing/shipping my stuff, saying goodbye, and especially by the thought of starting over.

 Worried that I won’t slip back into my old life easily, and paradoxically, also worried that I will.

  I’ve had to face some difficult truths over the past two years.

·         Sometimes people leave you unexpectedly, through death or maybe by choice. It doesn’t get easier, and pretending that it didn’t happen only delays the pain.

·         There are some things that I don’t like about myself, but that’s okay. No one is perfect and I have room to grow just like everyone else.

·         I am not my mistakes.

·         Choose compassion over judgment. Your future self will thank you.

 On the way out of the house this morning, my host sister Sy asks if I’m going to the Tessaban. I say yes and she says me too. I ask why. I understand her response as, “box-ING.” So I think, “Hmm, ok. We are having some kind of boxing event at works that no one bothered to tell me about.”

Then when I arrive, there are all these dogs chained up and cats in cages under our activity awning. I put two and two together and I’m horrified. I try to find someone to confirm this situation but most of the English speakers are busy or not at work. So I go sit by one of my coworkers and ask in Thai, “What is this?” Again, I hear, “box-ING.” Then she points to the cat in the cage next to us and says in English, “big, big,” with the corresponding hand motions. I think, “Oh my gosh! That cat is totally gonna kill all the others!”

At this point, I’m very concerned. More dogs and cats are arriving and there’s a lot of angry barking happening. I decide to leave. I pack up and on the way out, I see my counterpart and I tell him that I can’t stay and watch this happen.

It’s only when I get home and talk to my other host sister Sym that she clarifies- “Oh no. They said VACCINE. Sounds the same.”

Oh how interesting this life is. I thought about emailing Kathryn to tell her of my small victories of late: my gradual increase in Thai language proficiency, my close relationship with Sym, my slow ease into "teaching," if that's what it can be called, and a new found friend.

That made me think of how akin we, as PCVs, are to toddlers, being sent off to preschool. We have to learn a new language and use it with unfamiliar people (other toddlers and teachers). We are apprehensive about everything at first, but eventually we make a friend and have adventures our parents (or Peace Corps staff) know nothing about.

As I read my friends’ Facebook posts about being cat-called, as I hear other volunteers in Thailand complain about having to be home before 6pm, as I walk faster than usual at night, clutching my purse and scanning around me, one thing is apparent to me-

It is frightening to be a female in our world today.

Women are constantly sexualized, and when we speak out against that sexualization, we are punished for it. You’re cat-called and you say no and ask the person to stop. Either you’re harassed further, or ridiculed because after all, it was “only a joke.” Women who are less lucky get a response of violence. And how does society react to this situation? Oh, women shouldn’t be allowed to be out at night alone. Our response is to lock away the victim. Remove the temptation because men just can’t help themselves. Why are we encouraging this behavior? Men are NOT animals. They can control themselves. And if they can’t, they should be the ones who need to be home before 6pm so they don’t cause any trouble.

I’m sick of living in fear because my gender dictates that I’m an object to the dominant gender instead of a person. Fuck that. And fuck anyone who thinks that way. If you’ve ever been intimidated or cat-called, or worse, you know it’s a big deal. I’m tired of pretending like it’s not.

It’s been 7 months since I said goodbye to everyone and everything I know and love in America to embark on this Peace Corps journey in Thailand. As I sit in my hospital bed in Bangkok, reflecting on the last 7 months, I’m at a loss for words. Where to begin… I’ve avoided writing any blog posts for awhile, trying to process, not knowing exactly what to say. I hesitate to talk about my struggles, not wanting to invite pity; and I refrain from writing only about the victories for fear of telling half truths and seeming fake. I’ve allowed myself to be paralyzed into silence by worrying about what other people think. Realizing that simple fact, has me questioning who I am. In America, I never worried about what others thought before speaking my mind. But here… There’s something about being outside of your comfort zone that causes you to question everything. But now, it’s time to peel back the curtain. This is my blog, after all. I’m the only one who can speak my truth.

Since the beginning of 2017, I’ve experienced an exceptional amount of loss and grief. In November, I met my soulmate, Avery, only to turn around in January and leave him behind while I embark on my new journey. It hurt to leave, but this is my dream, and after many discussions, we decided that our love is strong enough to make it through the 27 months apart. The good part is that I already know who my other half is. I found him. How many people can say that?

After about two months of training, I found out from a friend back home that one of our friends died from an overdose. I made excuses to distance myself from feeling pain. “We weren’t that close.” “I knew he had a problem.” “He’s at peace now.” But it still had an impact on me. He was at my going away party and now I’ll never see him again, which is surreal to me. He was 36 years old.

During PST (Pre-Service Training), I had various health issues. Twice I had stomach infections so bad I had to be put on antibiotics to stop the diarrhea, stomach cramps, and fevers. Throughout the three months I had severe back pain that made it difficult to bike long distances, sleep at night, and even concentrate in language classes. This also made me pretty unpopular with a couple of the volunteers at the time. As much as they resented me for my physical disability, I resented myself for it as well.

On the day we were given our site placements, I was disappointed. Nothing I’d hoped for worked out. I hoped to be near Liz, my “sister from another mister” who lived in the house next to mine during PST. That didn’t happen. I hoped to be near anyone I was close with. That didn’t happen. I hoped to be near the beach or the mountains, somewhere beautiful. That didn’t happen. I got Angthong - a site about 40 minutes from the Golden Dragon Hotel where we were staying in Central Thailand. All of the reasoning made sense - to be near Bangkok in case I needed physical therapy for my back, etc. But I was still disappointed. I took the day to feel it and the next day I chose optimism. I would wait to judge until I got there.

When I did get there, it seemed that I was the only one waiting to judge. My host family was extremely overbearing. The kind of people who just want to love the life right out of you, and teach you and learn from you every single day from dawn til dusk. The only person who I felt loved me unconditionally was my little 5 year old brother, Pu. He would take my hand and kiss the back of it and look up at me and smile. I’d lay in the hammock and he’d come lay across my belly and stay there while I rubbed his back. We would dance and play Spot It and color together. He was my favorite.

From March 22nd until April 8th, I thought this would be my home in Thailand for the next two years. On April 8th, all of that changed. An incident with one of the family members made it unsafe for me to stay in Angthong and complete my service there. So on April 9th, Peace Corps officials removed me from my site and I went to Bangkok for ten days before being granted leave to go home to the U.S. for 14 days to recover with friends and family. The worst part about leaving Angthong was that I had to leave without saying goodbye to Pu. I left him a drawing and my Spot It cards. The silver lining to this very dark cloud was an unexpected reunion with my love, Avery, and my family and friends. It was difficult working through my feelings, but I’m not sure I could have continued to serve and complete two years here without that break.

My return to Thailand was timed so that I came back during Maycation, a vacation in May on an island called Koh Mak, planned by the 128s (the group before us - we’re 129s). This was the perfect way to come back - relaxing on an island with all my PCV friends. The following Monday at 8am, I was off to my new site in Lamthap, Krabi in a Peace Corps van with my favorite driver, Arun. It was a 13.5 hour drive. We would be taking a break in Surathani, about 2.5 hours from Lamthap.

On May 8th, about an hour into the drive, I got a message from my mom that she had to put down our cat, Lucy. This was unexpected. We had no idea Lucy was sick and just like that, she was gone. I cried for a couple minutes in the van, but it was so quiet, I started to feel awkward, so I stopped. I thought, I’ll wait for a more appropriate time, when I’m alone, to grieve for my cat… but I never really did. After that, there was so much newness, so much anxiety to deal with, that grieving for my cat was no longer a priority.

Things went fine for awhile. I really liked my new site. Even though school started when I arrived in Lamthap, everyone was very nice and gave me plenty of time and space to get adjusted. I couldn’t have asked for a better site or a better counterpart. I had more time, so I was talking to Avery on the phone every day, thankful for the reliable WiFi in my room. I loved my new host family, so kind and funny. My host sister speaks English and is relatable since she’s closer in age (20).

Then came the storm again. An annual burn I go to, Wickerman, came and all my friends back home went, including Avery. I knew they’d have fun and I wanted them to, but with no reception on the mountain, it made for a lonely 4-5 days for me. When the burn was over, I was happy to talk to Avery again. The next day, I woke up to some not so happy messages. My friend Ken had died over the weekend. He was 65 and very sick, but that did not make it any easier. He was one of my best friends and I would never see him again.

Unfortunately, the same week, my host grandfather (who is 94 years old) got very ill and was admitted to the hospital. It became a very lonely week for me because everyone was either working or sitting with Dtaa at the hospital to make sure he wasn’t mistreated or robbed. The following week, my host cousin, Model (age 14), was hit by a car while walking home from school and sustained a serious head injury. The good I decided to take from this, was that I was thankful to be living with my host family. If I had to live alone and be in an empty house all the time like I was for that one week while Dtaa and Model were in the hospital, I’d be depressed for most of my service.

At this point, I felt the emotional burdens were too great. I decided to call PCMO (our doctor) and ask to speak with a counselor. I was able to make some parallels that helped explain why everything was hitting so hard. My friend Ken who died reminded me of my dad. Ken’s death allowed some feelings from my dad’s death to resurface which amplified my sorrow. Model’s head injury mirrored my own head injury that I sustained at the age of 10, and made me worried for him. Mostly the counselor just listened to me without judgment and gave me a safe space to share my feelings, which I desperately needed. It was good and I felt better after the call was over. I told her that Reconnect was coming up and then I’d be able to see my friends and get lots of hugs and I’d be fine after that.

So I went on a beach trip with some friends, which was great for me. Then to Reconnect. Then my friend, Lauren and I traveled to Singburi together to visit our old host families from PST. All of that was great fun. Then, on the way back to Bangkok, I started to feel sick. Well, Friday I felt a little sick, but you get diarrhea here a couple times and it’s really NBD. Saturday, I got progressively worse, until at 1am I was calling PCMO from my hostel saying something was very wrong. Luckily, I ran into my sweet friend, Olivia who put me in a cab in the middle of the night to the hospital. I was admitted. They ran tests. The next thing I know, I’m missing my flight back to Krabi but I don’t care because my insides are coming out. Four agonizing days later, we get the results back. Salmonella and Campylobacter. Two different kinds of bacteria. That explains it.

From my hospital bed, on the phone with my host sister, Sym, I find out that Dtaa’s caretaker, Pa La, quit her job, moved out of her room next to mine, and changed her phone number. I am devastated. She and Sym are my only two friends at site. Were my only two friends. Yet another person I didn’t get to say goodbye to that I’ll never see again.

So what is the meaning of all of this pain and grief? During Reconnect, my friend Libby was kind enough to give me a tarot card reading. My cards were: Guilt, Letting Go, Friendliness, Trust, and Maturity - in that order. During this reading I realized that I felt a lot of guilt around my feelings of grief. I’m always so caught up in trying to be positive, trying to be okay, that whenever I’m not okay (which is a lot lately), I shame myself for it. I realized that I haven’t been allowing myself to feel my negative feelings which only makes things worse. The truth will come out one way or another. If I don’t let myself grieve, I can’t let go. I can’t be friendly. I won’t let myself trust. I’ll never mature past this point.