I'm sitting in my office at school, reveling in the air-conditioning, hiding away from the noise of Sports Day as best I can without heading home. School is supposed to end in 3 minutes, but I'm guessing that's probably not happening today, as there are still several sports competitions happening (although some of our kiddos are already bouncing around with backpacks in-tow). I am not trying to escape from everyone... but at the same time, I am trying to escape from everyone. I realized at some point over the last couple of weeks, I haven't been writing. Although I hate to admit it's the case, this usually means I'm in an unusually good place. I've also found, here in Thailand, this is just another side-effect of my limited free time, as there's a lot more that goes into existing here. Biking to the market for food, making food on a single gas burner (not unlike a giant Jet Boil), the incessant sweeping, whole days of laundry (see my previous post), a general minimum 6 hours of travel to leave my province... the time I usually fill with reading and writing is limited here, but I don't mind. I really don't. I find pleasure in the simple tasks of keeping my house and my self and my life here (although I don't always enjoy the work that goes into this maintenance in and of itself).
But, here I am. I'm hiding away in my office, seeking a moment of calm, and I am happy.
And here is the long-and-short of what I've spent for this happiness:
I've spent - and still spend - most days and nights dripping sweat from places I didn't know I could sweat from.
I spent a little extra at Tesco Lotus for an additional fan that I keep in my "living room" - and just yesterday used to dry my wood floor when I accidentally left the upstairs windows open during a monsoon.
I've spent way too much for an iced Hot Chocolate, which is definitely my favorite beverage in Thailand.
I've spent (literally) days on my bicycle traveling to and from work, biking for fun and for exercise, and sometimes just because I need to go - now - somewhere I can disappear for a few hours and not hear the word "faraang" (meaning foreigner). (This last one has not yet succeeded.)
I've spent hours writing lesson plans - sometimes alone, sometimes with my coteacher - that we end up adapting at the beginng of the lesson when it becomes clear the lesson we so carefully pruned to perfection simply won't cut it for these kids.
I've spent hours making materials my kiddos squash and crush and crumble - despite their laminate casing - in the name of learning and fun.
I spent several minutes crying in front of my students the first time I witnessed corporal punishment in the classroom. I spent several weeks trying to work through how best to approach corporal punishment as an institutional concern to be addressed.
I've spent whole days finding work for myself when classes are unexpectedly cancelled... for one or two or three days... for the fourth week in a row.
I've spent weekends traveling to reset myself so I don't go crazy when this happens.
And I've spent months waking up between 4 -5AM to run before school. This is the best form of mental health care I have been able to give myself since coming here.
I have also spent mornings sleeping through my alarms, no fucks were given, and the extra sleep was accepted with a smile.
And there are certainly times I feel like I should be doing more, doing better, doing differently. In these moments, I remind myself I'm doing the best I can with what I have. I remind myself, my every action here is an investment in my kids, my community, my Self. I remind myself that I cannot pour from an empty cup... so on the days I find myself hiding in my office because my head is pounding from the loud music that ALWAYS seems to be playing around here, the screams of my happy kiddos, the general buzz of a school atmosphere, it's okay. I think the foundation of my happiness here comes from the respect I have learned to give myself - to take time when I need it, to give back as often as I can, to say thank you more often than I say "I'm sorry," to appreciate just being here.
And for all the time and tears I've spent building myself into this community, I find the time I've given, the laughs I've shared, and the stories I've exchanged with my students are the most precious and priceless of all. Everyday, these kids are the well of my joy, the wealth of my gratitude.
Every day, I come to school, and I remember why I'm here. I think the not-so-good, the bad, the REALLY bad days are part of the price I have to pay for my best days here.
I suppose that's generally how life progresses: moment by moment, adding up to the sum total of our experiences in this life. And this experience is worth every bit of it.