Just like when one push of a domino could create a blowout, I am in my most vulnerable self as I struggle to take hold of my patience and deal with people with kindness and understanding but I couldn't.
When I arrived the gym, I found that my shoe locker was locked by a plastic string and was told to see the towel department. I went and asked but there was no reply. The man followed me to the gym and then flipped through his chart and cut the string out. I asked for the second time but the reply was, "Misunderstanding!" I went to the reception and asked if the manager or supervisor was around and was told to "just" write my comment or complaints and drop it in their comment box. I went ballistic.
If I am a fireball, the rest of the people in the gym probably died from sheer heat. I got no reply and no explanations and I was late in my gym class. To add insult, my trainer didn't even extend fifteen minutes more of her time even if she is free for the next four hours. When I had my training after two days and still with no explanations, my trainer then met me five minutes late and then dismissed me five minutes earlier. When I asked why the sudden changes, she gave me a shrug. Argggh!
I was home and was giving this thing a thought or two. Then it dawned on me that these people probably go to their respective jobs to do a not so respective work because they are not motivated. They know nothing but just be present in their posts. I am assuming that they are bored or stressed or have no fruitful thing to do but accept the only work available at the moment.
In a way I am also beset with stress the whole time. The thing I need to do is to understand situations and people. I need to remind myself that not all could be like me and that everyone is different. I needed to be more tolerant and give things a different perspective. I needed a vacation and the coming holidays is much awaited as I will be out of my usual routine. Everybody needs a break and everybody deserves one. Have a great break to all and happy holidays.
I was once told by an acquaintance that I will not be happy if I do not know what I really want and what I am to search for. Until now, those words had been true as I do not know where I am heading.Many had come and left and had built lives of their own. Knowing them, I was not far behind and I was even one or more notches better. But to compare their lives and mine, they had gone several notches while I still live in oblivion.
I had fallen in love many times but I wasn't lucky enough to be granted reciprocity. It was indeed sad throughout but I had learned to accept what was for me and what were not. Yet in the long span of circumstances that goes round and round, I still have to learn from those lessons.
Last holidays, I finally met the face behind the words that I had been admiring for a year now. It was a great meet yet it was the most awkward situation I had ever been into. I couldn't retreat to silence so as to admire the beauty in front of me as I was being questioned constantly. The meeting was short but the longing still mingles around my soul.
God knows how much drama I put myself for this meet, preparing for a long haul, and flagellating myself because this is all wrong.It was wrong so I opted for the memories of that short meet- the voice, the smiles, and the polite expressions. A present was given to me to remember our friendship and I will treasure that forever.
I haven't learned any lessons of the heart and all I do is to collect memories. Though now it is sinking in that I am just craving for attention and it was granted, I succumb to something difficult. I do not seek for an exchange of affection but I just wanted to write the moment as a reference. It is indeed a long winding road but I will find the end.
Since I wrote this almost a year ago, I finally found the answer. There are some things not meant to be. They come to our lives to enrich it. They come to our lives like a stone thrown in the water. In stillness, then ripples, then calmness unperturbed. And suddenly gone.
During the past months and with the onset of rain and flood, the plants in my garden had been enjoying the respite from the summer heat that blazed through May and to July. Unperturbed by the rain and seeing that nature is taking care of my garden, I took a long rest in caring for my plants.
I did not notice that two of my precious potted flowering trees had clogged drainage. The potted plants were filled to the brim, come heavy rain or sunshine. One of them survived the odds of having too much water. It had grown some molds round the trunk but is still alive. The other flowering plant did not make it. The water that filled it suffocated the plant as there were no space to drain excess water.
My journey through the years could be summarized by the two potted plants in my garden. The one which survived symbolizes my determination to go on with life. The constant fear of living alone in a big house after some bad incidents, the rising hostility of parents against coloured teachers in school, the unfair treatment I get from locals based on my origin and the uncertainty of life itself had been struggles yet sources of my strength to live and to fight for my rights.
Meanwhile, the other plant had symbolized my hopes to be a part of an accepting community. I planted in my mind that whatever great things I do, they will always be regarded as excesses or show offs especially in the place where I work.
I always have this need to shine so I do more than what others can. I always want to prove that colour or race does not play an important part in making great lives work. I always wanted to be better, not to lead a fight but to connect people together. I do fail but I survive.
So when heavy rains come again and fill my life with hard decisions and struggles, I will hold on to my faith. That one day my work will be rewarded and that my life had a meaning, not only to myself but to others. Giving up is not an option for now, but looking at things in different ways will help me survive.
Busy lives mean more things to do. Busy lives mean more stress and demands. Busy lives mean neglect. Though being busy is not bad at all, the consequences of putting off other important things become a burden in the end. And regret is surely irreversible.
For those who live on a day to day basis, subsisting with their meager income, being busy to bridge the needs of their own and their family becomes a familiar sight. A father who is always absent from home and a mother who is burdened by housework, caring for their children by herself. There seems to be a genuine concern to build a brighter future but the lack of presence triggers a generally probing matter.
As busy as I am with teaching, my health became the victim of my incessant quest to be always moving, always thinking, always being productive. The results had been never pretty and ending up in a hospital became an eye opener. Then I became busy making myself healthy, leaving the tending of the garden to Mother Nature herself. The plants had grown big, the roots had escaped their clay pots and the sights had been unruly. My housework had piled up and ending each day with a sigh and a tired body, sleep was my only friend.
Busy lives are productive when there are goals to pursue but we need to put importance to those that we care most. It could be your health, your family, your friends, your work or your love in life. We just have to remember that we become busy for a purpose - the goal of which is to lead productive and harmonious lives, not of negligent gestures.
I remember living on the top floor of the school where I used to work when I first started working in an international setting. The school was small, housed in a condominium with four floors. The preschool section can be found on the second while the tutorials were on the third. The top floor was my sleeping quarter.
On my third week of school, I received some visitors asking about my whereabouts since the news spread out that there was a new kid on the block. I met Aunt Frances, a very fine fellow indeed.
Aunt Frances is a nurse by profession and they came to the country as expatriates from the US. She graciously offered one vacant room in their house to be my place and I agreed. It was difficult at first since I am not used to living with people who are not my relatives, more so, people whom I just met. But they were very good hosts and through the passing days, I became close to all three of them in the family. I was treated well, and received with warmth and became a part of her family. I am even allowed to use the car during the weekends.
I became part of their lives for a year until they were moved to another country and I had to find a new place to be in. I was very sad to see them leave but as expat families do, they had to go wherever they were assigned. Aunt Frances took care of me from day one up to their last day in Thailand. I am honored to have met such a great family, and deeply appreciative that I meet people like Aunt Frances during the course of my life. I am sure she is blessed for being so kind and loving.
With little expectations, I was told that there was a need of a substitute teacher in a small school far away from where I was currently residing. It was three long rides before reaching the place. In a small quaint house was a school for the locals primarily geared towards the younger age. It was a house filled with activities.
I was introduced to the owner of the school and with her stature as an educator of excellent background, I stood there like a little kid awed. She is Rosemarie, an American educator who worked with the Peace Corps and then started a life anew in Thailand. She started a small school that catered to the need of the people in that village and she became a household name for the years to come.
Her persona is magnified in hundred folds as she is brilliant, caring, and always believe in people. She is a real hero for most, surviving difficulties all throughout and bracing whatever comes her way. She stood up high and became a beacon of success.
I was privileged enough to be one of her first teachers and was equally proud for being the person in charge of helping her establish her preschool in another posh village. I remember riding a pick up truck and going to Chinatown to purchase some supplies needed for the school, a day before the opening. It was fun!
The ride wasn't smooth as it was a new school. There had been problems and issues but resolved under the leadership of this magnificent woman. I was in many troubles with her and she managed to work with me even when I was being complicated. I became a part of her school for ten years from the very start to the flourishing years up to having built my name as an educator.
Until now, she will always be my mentor. I enjoyed my stay at her school and I do wish that all my efforts were not left unfounded. I knew from stories around that I am remembered and cherished. In my own little way, this becomes a fitting tribute to a woman who gave me the opportunity and the chance to become great.
Walking along the planks of a wooden bridge, I happened to noticed a small plant growing from a trunk of a dead tree. I took a shot of it upon realizing that the plant is hanging there to live on its own, making the dying tree its host. I named the picture The Will To Live.
It reminded me of a close friend I had met many years ago. He was a young handsome lad who makes very little money for a living. He came from upcountry and decided to find a better life in the city, a typical story shared by many.
He worked doing many things and the last time I heard of him, he was driving a cab. There was this time that he called me asking for my help as he was very ill. I went to visit and I was in tears finding him in an almost empty room. With no bed to lie on, a very thin blanket and a small pillow, it was a sad sight to behold. He was clinging for his last strength, gave himself a push to muster some courage to ask help from me and it was gruelling to listen to his story. I had helped him so many times that I lost count and this was the reason why he hesitated to call in the first place.
He survived through the help of neighbours, giving him food for lunch and dinner and some money to buy medicines. In my capacity as a lost friend, I helped him out. I gave some money, bought food and more medicine and sat there for some time. When he felt sleepy, I left knowing that he would be fine.
I have no idea where he is now. After that incident, he decided to leave the city and return home to his parents and he had not made contact ever since. I still remember our last telephone conversation. With him crying on the phone, he said that he had learned to love me and I believed him so.
Invited to attend a Christian service, I happened to met one wonderful lady by the name of Laura. She was a stern looking woman but knowing how stern looking people are (I am one!), I immediately took a liking to her personality.
Laura was an accomplished pianist, having played in many occasions including concerts for the royal family. She was well-known in her circle and was loved by everyone. She would be invited here and there and she enjoyed the glitter and the privilege to belong.
Laura was the one who accompanied me to the next person in my tribute line. She was instrumental in making me change, to be a better person. She encouraged me to believe in myself and something that she saw in me that I happened not to noticed. She believed in me as a person, and as a teacher.
People from the school often praised her for her true and vibrant spirit. She always had something for the staff to eat and when I was sick once, she sent some food to my place which was a lovely gesture. She was a family member, my adopted aunt.
We attended parties together, met people and had fun during weekends or holidays. Her songs in school and the music she created while playing the piano still lingers in my memory. We parted ways when I decided to leave.
Coming back after two years of absence, I heard that she passed away from health reasons. She was penniless at that time and one good friend shouldered the expenses to send her home. She was one of the most giving person I had met, that money was not the objective of her existence, but to share her expertise and genuine concern to others.
I cried upon learning her demise and I am proud to have had the opportunity to be with her even for a short time. She will be remembered and without doubt, a great part of my life as an educator.
It's just a number but the need to get 10 in work and play propel us to work harder, to seek advices, to learn from the pro, and to further pursue goals to achieve our full potentialities.
We always strive for perfection and then end up being successful or miserable. Sporting events are competitive in nature and it takes an athlete years to master what he is good at, and perfect it. Cooks and chefs take lessons from master cooks to bring out the best flavours in their dishes, thus to perfect them. Participants in creative competitions push harder and develop world class designs or performances, a need to perfect their crafts. However too much of anything brings downfall, and in this scenario, pursuing 10 beyond our limits might end up to frustrations and defeat. We should know out limits.
I am not competitive but I put more effort in what I do. I go to work earlier than usual and dread being late to an appointed meet. I am told to make a presentation, I do twice what was asked of me. I am to teach but I go beyond by looking into each and every child and dig deeper to their core to help them with their strengths and correct their weaknesses. I put more effort in everything.
To be good is fair enough but to be better is far more compelling. Perfection is a discipline and once achieved, it elevates us to the highest level of satisfaction and success. Nobody's perfect? Yes, but we could perfect some things in life. We should give 10 a chance, to challenge ourselves once in a while. And when we compete with life, we know that our efforts deserve a 10 and nobody can take that feeling of contentment and hard work away from us.
Thus, I give myself an 8 for being considerate, a 9 for being a strong person, and a 10 for loving unconditionally.
After graduating with a degree in arts, I pursued a masteral program in religions through a scholarship from the same university. I wasn't doing anything in the mornings so when my friend called for a part time job, I went to meet the principal.
It was difficult for me to understand the way the principal spoke because I wasn't familiar with her accent. I lost my Chinese when I went to the university and had no contact whatsoever of my Chinese friends. It was tough seated there and trying to decipher the language and making sense of what she was saying. I was rescued by her daughter then when the latter started speaking English.
Knowing Lin Lao Shr after I was hired was a delight in itself. She was a veritable house of knowledge and spoke volumes in terms of teaching skills and techniques. We always ran to her when we were in need of help regarding a student or from an unreasonable mom. She was always smiling and we considered her as our mother.
She was an honorary member of some of the prestigious Chinese schools around. She was invited most of the time to be a speaker and she always shared stories of her life and her beginnings. When I left the school after being there for six years, I heard from some of my former colleagues that she spoke highly of me in one of her talks. She spoke about giving opportunities to all, and giving a chance to those who wanted to work in the teaching profession. Being a male person and a rarity at that time, I became a role model in her eyes and it was her teachings that shaped me to be a good teacher.
I owe her my humble beginnings. I was the grumpy, emotional and self-centered individual just out of college and knowing nothing about the world and teaching. Her guidance, assurance and words of wisdom had helped me find the direction I was intended to. She was the epitome of a great teacher.
This isn't one of author-artist Leo Lionni's famous books, a four time Caldecott Honor Book awardee. However, this is one of my favorite book because it gave me an opportunity to show to the children a delightful and light example of an ethical idea.
I was told by an acquaintance that a mom from one of my former class decided to stop communicating with people coming from my country. I was told that she had a bad experience as someone borrowed money from her and then disappeared. That person was a teacher.
Whenever I see a scruffy looking person in the street, my first impulse is to walk towards the other side of the sidewalk so as to avoid that person. In my mind, I am avoiding getting into any situation that I might not be able to run away with. This is entirely baseless. It is a reaction triggered by constant reminders and stories of mugging, threat or extortion. Something that I am not immune to.
I once took a cab before and the conversation between me and the driver went like this:
Driver: I look at the passenger who hails my cab as I am wary of those who gets in.
Me: The same goes to me though but it is tough to choose since it is dark so I take a chance.
Driver: It is difficult because we work so hard and then we get robbed.
Me: I fully understand as I had been robbed as well. But it is not just the mean looking guys or girls that are bad. Some are even dressed well, and they have bad intentions.
Driver: That's right. The world we live in is different. We do not know how bad looks like. It is always playing chances.
So I walk the field in a way that I am always alert of my environment, sensing danger when it approaches but giving everyone a fair chance to show their colours. We know when someone is not going to be nice, it's an instinct. We move away from them. But we should never apply one bad impression of someone to all. As one of the mouse character in the book called Uncle Raymond would say, " One bad bird doesn't make a flock." It's absolutely true!
In a female dominated world, my profession as a teacher are always tested whether I will survive the challenges of teaching young children, the demands of parents, or the bulk of work associated with teaching. For many years, I am always struggling to cope, if not to belong, in the company of women.
This October, I decided to write things about the many women I have met throughout my career as an educator. It is just fitting to remember the glory and the contributions that gave me the strength to continue with this vocation.
Jean is probably the person fitted to be showcased as my first entry. She was a classmate of mine when I was in third year high school and then again when I was in second year university level. We were seated together in class as we share the same inital letter, when everyone in class were seated alphabetically. We lost contact when we started taking our majors but got together again when she called me up after graduation.
She told me that there was an opening in a school for an assistant teacher. Since I am not doing anything in the morning I accepted the offer. It was tough since I never thought I will be assisting very young children but that experience showed me that I have what it takes to be patient, loving and sincere.
We worked for a year and she left the school and pursued other things. We lost contact but the opportunity she shared to me to work together and be a teacher became my profession. It was the beginning.
I am thankful and just like the book The Giving Tree she gave me for my birthday years ago, each section of that chopped tree represented my inner self: my growth, my learnings and my destiny.
During lunch time, the teachers were chatting about many things. While included in the conversation, it came up, maybe meant as a joke, that I am mean. I was surprised not because it was brought up but because I hear the same thing from the same person for many times now.
I thought of it as a passing joke because I am the only male person in a female dominated school. I thought that a remark like this was meant as a springboard for more jokes. I thought of it as a teasing thing. But today when I heard it again, I am thinking that it might be true.
Right now the only possible explanation I can find is, my transparency towards many things. People know when I am sad or angry. People know if I just finished crying or in a happy disposition. I couldn’t sugar coat my words. I must be very good at describing unpleasant situations thus I am branded as a mean person.
I am writing this so as not to defend myself of which I could actually do since this is my blog. I am writing this so as to remind me that my transparency as a person had done great things for me. I am real without the same nicey-nicey smiles you get but able to stab others incessantly. I am true to others unlike those who remind you they are your friends but are nowhere to be found. It’s me, take it or leave it.
My point is, if I am mean just like what this person is claiming, how come I hear many mean things about this person? Hmmm...need not explain.
Two summers ago, I met one extraordinary child who is not only beautiful but also full of enthusiasm. She has such a great heart and an exquisite smile that she is going to be my perennial fave.
At the end of that summer, she gave me a rose as a token of appreciation for the care and love the teachers showered her. The summer had ended for almost two years now but the rose is still intact.
I left the rose inside the refrigerator to preserve a part of that day longer than expected. Flowers wither but the memories associated with them will remain for a longer time.
There had been many memories I wanted to hold on to because they were sources of inspirations and delightful anecdotes. The stories associated had been scaffold so as learning could be achieved. The bad memories are nightmares but being purged to oblivion.
For now, good thoughts will accompany me wherever and whatever I do as I try to make everything a pleasant experience. My health is important so a good mental attitude is a plus. I will think of good things and I will continue my path of doing well and helping others.
I finished two more art pieces inspired from activities found in an Usborne Book. All these pieces were painted on 60 x 60 cm canvasses.
I washed the background with mild orange colour and drew an elephant in bold red. I used the smallest brush I could find in my house to intricately draw some details.
I used pale yellow as background and drew the foreground like a silhouette. The leaves were very difficult to execute and finishing the artwork gave me a headache afterwards.
Nothing much to do after my surgery but rest, so I decided to do some artworks.
I used acrylic paint sponged on canvas to create a sea scene. I only have size 11 paintbrush so I cannot control the strokes for the corals, making them look big.
Van Gogh used short lines to build up the shape of the trees and the sky. This is my version of an original Van Gogh painting.
I tried using oil pastel on canvas and it was difficult to press so as to create brilliant colours. Anyway, this will do, my version of an original artwork from an Usborne Activity Book.
This afternoon, I went back to the hospital to get the stitches out. The doctor who did the stitching was the one who removed them as well. He didn't let the nurse do it nor an assistant but he himself. I kind of like this doctor who had been caring and gentle to me. While removing the stitches, he mentioned that I am a sensitive person and I told them he was right. He heard from my other doctor that I cried when the latter was about to perform endoscopy. I told him I cried too when I was wheeled to the operating room for surgery. Then I added emotional and sentimental to describe me fully.
A lot of people dislikes sensitive people as they are rather fragile in emotions and weak in accepting faults. However, the sensitivity in me goes beyond being hurt or being called names or when I am subjected to rejection. The sensitivity in me is being aware of what is going on and what is to happen next. I do see the relevance of events. I make sure I am not stepping on people's toes. I try to be more of a listener and a doer rather than a complainer and a speaker. I know when to stop talking. I feel for people, see through them and in a not so good way, become like them, absorbing their energies and thus making me sad at times, but hopeful at most.
I couldn't stand watching war movies, moreso, acts of violence including rape. I cringe at the sight of disasters and desolation. I cry when I see young children begging for alms instead of attending school. Yet with all these things which are real and around us, my saving grace is that I am not callous and that I have not lost the humane part of me: I help, I volunteer and I share.
Crying with no reasons and being weak at the same time would render nothing but lost opportunities to grow. My emotions are released through tears rather than violent acts or loud noises. If I had been doing nothing but to surrender to my emotions, then I couldn't have done many things that I am proud of.
"I don't like the sight of blood.", I told my doctor. "I like blood but I don't like to see people in pain.", he said. "That's good to know and I am glad to have met a sensitive doctor like you."
All is great now. The operation was a success and the experience a great learning process. While I reminisce the events of the three days period I was in the hospital, it gives me pleasure to write them down so as to remember those bittersweet and moments of exhilaration.
When I sneaked in two fish burgers for lunch prior to my operation in the evening, the doctor came in and saw me biting the last piece of the burger and said, “K. Jonathan, what are you eating? You’re not supposed to eat anymore.” “But I was hungry, would you like to go with me for lunch?” The bribe didn’t work so I gave the other burger to my interpreter.
Just before the operation, my interpreter came in before she left for home and send me her best wishes. What surprised were the two sentences she said before leaving. “You always have a smile on your face.” and “You have a great smile.” Now no one will backed her up with these because I am known as a stern looking teacher, a serious conversationalist, and a non-smiling person in real life (proven by all my photographs).
I was awakened by three nurses at six in the morning right after the night of the operation. They were there for my bath which I refused to have. I excused myself to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Right after cleaning the toothbrush, I felt queasy and fell down on the floor hitting my head on the marble top. Clinging on dear life because the fall made my stomach hurt, I was groaning in pain. The nurses were alerted and started to pull me out of the bathroom, sat me on a chair, transferred me on a wheelchair before laying me back on the bed, all through the help of four nurses. I woke up being fanned by ammonia on my face and hearing, "Your colour is coming back."
A good friend stayed for the night so he kept me up and alive in spirit. I thought that it would be splendid to exchange places where I will don casual clothes while he puts on my hospital gown. We wanted to see the nurses’ reactions but because I wasn’t that bad, we aborted the idea.
However, when my friend decided to sleep on the hospital bed and I was eating lunch, a nurse came and went straight to the bed and told my friend to take the medication after lunch. She was confused for a few seconds and then she gave us a big smile. Wink, wink!
“Today, you’ll be getting soup!” and I got two bowls of soup, and I mentioned that it was splendid. When dinner came and I could have something more than soup, it was great. The next day when I received porridge and a piece of sandwich, it was heaven. After being deprived of water and food, whatever was served was a feast.
There were so many kind words and supportive people who accompanied me throughout. The funny jokes exchanged in both operating rooms were witty. The constant visits from an array of nurses greeting me in the morning, exchanging pleasantries in the afternoon, and warm exchanges of conversations in the evening were memorable. The throng of visitors who came and gave me warm wishes were highly appreciated.
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To capped it all, as one of the nurses said, "Oh, do not cry, you are a big boy Khun Jonathan. We are here for you." That's all it takes to grow, knowing there are people behind to support, to love, to believe, and to pray for you. I am bless with good people, the Lord is indeed superb!
Many thanks to Ely and Jepoy for the calls, K. Tik and K. Jum for the food, and the parents of my students who visited me and to those who are still hanging food on my garden gate every morning.
I am feeling uneasy with the acid reflux I am experiencing for some time now so I opted to find the reason by having an ultrasound done. The result was quite alarming at first but because of the prospect of a non-invasive procedure, I chose to take medications to ease the pain.
The medicines work for a while but recently, the burning sensation in my chest rendered me sleepless for two nights. I went back to the doctor who suggested endoscopy and another one who recommended an immediate surgery. It was disorienting to hear them talk as images of an operating table, blood, incision were racing through my fertile mind.
I remember asking my doctor how long will the incision be and when he answered with, "three days!" I was baffled. I asked if I could do some exercise after the operation and the answer was, "stomach press!" and soon I was swimming in confusion. I raced out of the emergency room and demanded an interpreter so as to be clear of all the things I heard.
I got one and after a long discussion, I went home with weak knees. I took some weeks off from work so that I could take care of my health and decided to undergo the surgery. Today, help came in heaps from the hospital staff. They are very supportive and even appreciate my jokes.
A friend called and I told her that I am enjoying the view of KohSamed (an island resort in Thailand) right outside my window. I mentioned as well that I am going to have a baby girl through Cesarean section. I have to be in high spirits because I am alone and will have to face another first all by myself.
When I was wheeled at the operating room this morning for endoscopy carrying my bag of extra clothes, I was bombarded by questions. "Are you alone?" "No family or friends?" The nurses were actually amazed that I brought myself to the hospital without any companions, bags and all. The nurses started to offer their support and I shed some tears. I cried not because I was afraid but because I pity myself.
The surgery will be done in a couple of hours as I type this entry and all I am doing is drilling in my mind the words of encouragement and support I am getting from my colleagues in school and from the parents of my students. And when this surgery is done, I'll be back as the strong person again.
I will remember the people who showered me with kindness and support: Dr. Siriwan, Dr. Chairat, Amika, Nattawan, K. Noina, K. Ann, K. Porn, K. Noi and others from Nonthavej hospital; Corinna and the people from my school; the parents of my students in my special tutoring classes such as Voon and Vaan, Motto, Mind and Mint, Tabby and Bambi, and Elle; and friends like Wasan, Pong and Rommel and a special mention to my sister J.
In a way I am bless because I have the resources to care for my well-being and the love of the people that surrounds me. Believe me, it is difficult to be alone in this world but it is more difficult to live without anyone and anything to hold.
The battering wind and the pouring rain unleashed since two in the morning. By six in the morning, the streets were flooded and the water was knee deep. I opted to walk the long way to reach my work place as it was impossible for a car or a motorbike to pick me up.As I thread the waters of rubbish and dirt, some of the floating matters embraced my legs and I shook them off. The walk was tiring yet the rain that soaked my being refreshed and gave me no opportunity to complain.
I reached the school wet and dirty yet the feeling was different.The short morning challenge was fruitful in terms of battling the odds, in facing the battles of life, in creating a positive mental attitude and in not losing hope.
Some have financial problems while others suffer from physical deficiencies. Each individual faces something which at the start seems inescapable yet with determination and faith, holds the sense of freedom from bonds.
It is very easy to say that a positive mental attitude is all what we need. However, not everyone is blessed to think the same way. The roads taken by some had been oblivious to fear and rejection. For some, they see no light for there’s no one to listen or speak to.So here comes faith, believing that we will go through those odds. Here comes hope, the prospect of seeing a tomorrow. Here comes friendship, the need to be with someone, just ask and be humble.
The flood gave me time to reflect as I wade through the debris and rushing water yet it was insignificant. The lessons learned throughout the experience is, that whatever happens, it is in our power that we survive and that we go on living.
One of the fascinating things about Thailand is the name given to a new born child. Aside from their proper names, they are given nick names that consists of Thai words which has meanings both literally and creatively.
I remember having a class many years ago where three of my students are named after food: Voon (jelly), Donut and Yam Roll. Then there's the other class, former students of mine called Cookie and her cousin Eclair. Throw in a child named Pizza and another called IceCream and I probably had a party that year.
I was fortunate to have two sets of triplets one year in my teaching career and they are aptly called Neung (one), Song (two), and Sarm (three). The first set of triplets were a boy and two girls while the second one were two boys and one girl. Irregardless of their sex, the names are used to distinguish who was born first among the three siblings. One of the set of triplets got another sibling and you might have guessed his name, Si meaning four.
There are many names given to children of which they bring as they grow old such as Mook, Pim, Nat, Pee, Naam, Shin and the like. Foreign sounding names are also in such as Tempo, Ice, Print, Guitar, Mint, Elle, Gunza, and Music.
I have a colleague whose name is Last because she is the youngest in the family while her brother is named First. My subsitute trainer is named Glang which means middle so I was right when I told him that he must be the middle child. He showed me the photo of his brothers and told me that there are three of them in the family. The eldest is named Yai (big) and the youngest is Lek (small) so put them together, one would have three different sizes. For a while, I stopped and smiled as my intriguing mind was making note whether the sizes would mean another thing. Guess I just have to put the matter into rest since there's no way I will be able to find out, naughty me!
If you are wondering what mine is, I mean, my Thai name, it's Hern Fah.
I bought this water plant for many years now. Placed prominently in the middle of my small pond, this Lotus had been producing leaves constantly without giving any flowers for me to appreciate. From the onset of summer and the drying of the pond; it was actually neglected for the most part. The rain had been pouring since last month and out of the blue, I spotted a bulb coming out and then one of the most beautiful creations in the garden emerged, a Lotus flower in the midst of green leaves and murky water. This is a first.
My health is not doing well as I am suffering from a stomach problem. With the inspiring stories told to me by my assistant, I was prompted to see and later joined a local gym. I hired a trainer and had been adamant to attend in the beginning but I am now enjoying the experience. This is a first.
For a year now, I had been trying to ride the motorbike and do find ways to go around the village where I live. I use the bike to do errands such as paying bills, buying food or fruits and for picking up the newspaper or some snacks. Never in my life had I ventured out of the village on my bike. However, the petrol in my bike had been used up. Thanks to my driver who couldn’t come anymore to fill it up, I mustered enough courage and headed out of the village to the nearest petrol station and had the motorbike filled. I was nervous but it was exhilarating riding out of the village with all the cars and trucks and motorcycles alike. This is another first.
All these first time experiences happened this week and I am so glad to have come out of my negligence and fear. For the coming months, I will be attempting more firsts, in a more personal way. Wink, wink!
In one of my few trips around, I met a certain fellow whom for a reason became friendly to me. Seated across the room in a busy restaurant, the server came and greeted me with a smile. "Long time no see!" "You remember me?" I asked, wondering how he could do that when there had been plenty of people visiting the restaurant everyday. My last visit was a month ago where I asked him how to reach the market as I need to purchase some curtains. His joke of "five hours walk" made me smile and I didn't know that he will remember me for that inquiry.
After paying the bill, he asked if I could pick him up after work as he wanted to go out for dinner. I obliged and even when there was rain, I came on time. We walked through the cobblestone pathway quietly while listening to the pitter patter of the rain. I was holding an umbrella while sharing it with him as he push his bicycle towards a small eatery.
We ordered for some noodles and when everything were finished, the story began. His story was indeed moving, same old tales spoken and told by most. While I listened to his woes but with eagerness to survive, I was moved by his honesty and his sharing without barriers.
The rain stopped and we parted ways. While he threaded the walkway towards home I looked back and simply admired his way of thinking. There he was, a mere stranger, wanting a new life. His strength and will to free himself from the bondage of poverty and start life anew in that city had given me a new perspective of what I should be aiming for.
That night, the man wanted someone to listen, and I did. That night, I myself was transformed. My problems are nothing compared to his. I must be thankful. I must learn to give.
I don't get much of letters and e-mails but when I do, it speaks so powerful that I am prompted to share, I mean, publish as to add this piece in my digital diary for keeps.
The one week we stayed in your home was very exciting, fun, happy and also with a touch of sadness. Sadness because it also pains me to see that you're living alone with nobody to take care of your needs like morning breakfast and simple things but I guess that what makes you stronger, as long as you find solemnity and peace in your place, I'll always be happy for you.
The short time we spent together is almost endless to me, you are not just a brother but also a good friend. My family and I will always treasure all the times we spent together.
I wish I could answer all the questions we always ask regarding our family but I guess some things are better off if we just let it be. Always remember that no matter what they say, you are my brother and I'm so damn proud of it! Nobody can change that and I thank God for making you my brother. Please take care of your health always, choose well your friends, and be strong as always.
The Flower is currently my fave book since I acquired a copy last winter break. It tells the story of Brigg, who works in a library, accidentally finding a book about flowers. It is a non-existent thing for him and for the rest of the people in the city. He is so fascinated with the book that for some twist of faith, found some seeds and planted them. Thus the start of a new, bright place to live.
The story is written to remind us as to what could happen in the future. As one of my students commented, "It's a very sad story.". Yes, and indeed true. The illustrations by Lisa Evans are dramatic and very appealing. She is a talented artist and each page evokes the emotions and feelings most likely wanted by the author John Light to express.
I have heard about a safe shelter built for flower seeds and things from nature. The world is getting ready for some changes. It is saddening to know that most will be lost and even with our tremendous work of future preservation and conservation, the change is inevitable.
The beauty of yesteryears could be maintained if we do our contribution. It need not be big, for little deeds put together is a heap.
I was reading a book to my students when suddenly two of the girls started giggling. I stopped as I was reading a serious part of the story where the girl was crying and telling her grand mom about the situation. I asked the girls the reason for the giggling and they said, "The story is sad but your face is funny."
I was in a play many years ago and I enjoyed that moment of my life where I get to play multiple roles and be seen by my students and people I work with. It was a blast afterwards. I walked around the school campus and everyone would just remarked, "Great job! You were so funny!"
I met a person years ago and he enjoys my company so much not because of the wisdom I could impart but because I give him the most funny faces ever as answer to his illogical remarks and observations. I remember him asking me to do the face over and over again. "Please do it, you look so funny!"
I could have been a clown, working in a circus and surrounded by many people. I could have been an entertainer or a comedian in a cafe bar because of my wit and sense of humour. I could be an emcee because of my quick remarks and banters.
My life is not a carnival of events. It is a facade. I may be puckered up and painted with a giant smile on my face but I am always hurting inside. Just like a comedian who has the knack to make people laugh, I am but a simple person whose dark moments shine during quiet times. I am also beset with worries. Just like the emcee whose life is probably filled with excitement and news, I am but a print whose relevance is only at the moment.
Despite the funny face I can muster, I am the complete opposite when I am alone. I cry watching movies when I hear words of wisdom about family, about friendships, and about love. I simply dismiss togetherness seen when I spend dinner time at food courts. I walk without stop when I visit markets passing groups of friends or people beingtogether. I choose to stay home rather than socialize because I am tired to share.
I lost something along the way. I long for something I don't have or had missed. I am born different. I am a paradox and a master of disguise. Simply put, the things in my life are not fun and not funny at all.
