The Period of 'Just Visiting' is Over, The Struggles and Triumphs of Settling-In
Learning to Be
A few days after arriving in Thailand, we were taught how to say “I cannot eat spicy food.” In fact, our orientation teachers made sure to repeat this phrase multiple times, with their eyebrows raising and their arms dramatically criss-crossing into x’s each time they said “gin pet mai dai!!” They taught us this phrase as if our feeble, American bodies depended on it (for some of us, this was true).
Our teachers taught us to add the prefix “Pe” to the name of any older person, as a sign of respect, signifying someone as your older brother or sister. They taught us that anyone can be your "brother" or "sister" in Thailand.
They taught us how to order takeout and taxis on the app called Grab. They taught us how to hail a tuk tuk and a songthaew, and how to confirm the price before the drive. They taught us about the King of Thailand. They taught us about the temples. They taught us about bidets and motor taxis and anything that might trigger our inevitable culture shock.
During our three-week orientation in Bangkok, my Fulbright cohort was taught how to be in Thailand. We learned the fundamentals of getting by and getting home. However, what we did not learn, and what our generous hosts could not fully teach us, was how to stay.
There’s a big difference between being somewhere and choosing to stay somewhere - and for the past month, while settling into my new hometown of Mueang Chachoengsao, I have been experiencing and grappling with this difference.
Bursting the Bangkok Bubble
We left Bangkok in the morning haze of a Thursday. Everyone in the cohort was leaving that day, dispatched to different faraway towns in Thailand. When my group left at 9 AM, visible waves of heat flickered above the asphalt driveway of our hotel. Our suitcases sagged with drooping weight when we heaved them into the trunk of a van.
Once the van was loaded, the four of us - Rowena, Jordan, Emilio, and I - climbed into the backseat and drove eastbound toward Chachoengsao and Chonburi.
I’d like to say that I stared out the window the entire drive. It would have been cathartic to review my first few weeks in Bangkok, to figuratively watch vignettes of memories reflect off the glass in front of me. I also wish I had taken out a notebook and detailed my goals and dreams for the next nine months. But the truth is that I was fast asleep during the two hour drive, oblivious to the world and the changes around me. I was unconcerned about the move to the city of Mueang Chachoengsao and I was ultimately unready for the series of difficulties that would follow.
I woke up groggy and befuddled when we pulled into town.
The City of Headlights
Chachoengsao is a province in Eastern Thailand, nestled in between Bangkok and the Cambodian border. It is known for its deep and winding river, the Bang Pakong, which gives the province its name - “Chachoengsao” meaning “deep canal” in the Khmer language.
Chachoengsao is the province where my mother grew up. She was raised on the second floor of her father's barber shop in a city called Bang Khla, which is only half an hour away from the city I live in now. By understanding my family's connection to this province, I feel a sense of indebtedness to it - a beautiful connection, but also a pressure to find a home within it.
I suppose that is a little bit of what I was feeling when I woke up in the city of Mueang Chachoengsao on that hazy Thursday morning. I felt an obligation to make the city my home.
My first impression of the city of Mueang Chachoengsao was that the town was just a highway - a single highway with auto shops and guey dtiew (noodle) restaurants built along it.
After all, the main road Maha Chakkraphat was the first thing I witnessed. It was buzzing with songthaews (truck taxis), food vendors, and motorcycles snaking in and out of moving cars. As far as I could see, the town was an endless stream of headlights.
I also caught fleeting glimpses of pedestrians, shuffling down sidewalks in their plastic sandals. I saw aproned shopkeepers sweeping the entryways of their open-door convenient-stores. I watched when they looked up from their brooms, hoping the next passer-byer to be a customer.
I also noticed the buildings, three to four storied structures built parallel to the street. They stood side-by-side, displaying alternating green and yellow and pink edifices. Coconut trees lined the highway’s median. Power lines tangled into frightening clusters above doorways.
Eventually, our driver turned left off of the trafficked highway and pulled through the amber yellow gates of a school campus. I immediately recognized the green school buildings surrounding us from Google Image searches I had made earlier that week. We had arrived at Chachoengsao Technical College, the school that Rowena and I would be teaching at for the next nine months.
Within minutes of arriving at the school, Rowena and I disembarked and introduced ourselves to three Thai teachers on the curb. We hauled our bags out of the van's trunk and were ushered toward a conference room full of faculty.
That day, we met a lot of people while in a rush. We dashed from errand to errand with little forewarning. We were transported up and down the busy Maha Chakkraphat Road, pondering what of the city was not the highway.
In the evening, we moved our hefty luggage into temporary apartments because our long-term leases had not yet begun.
I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I had not yet felt awestruck by Chachoengsao.
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That night, I pulled two heavy brown curtains shut, dimming my gaudy yellow room into near darkness. I hurriedly walked to my bed on the heels of my feet because I don’t like my bare feet touching unfamiliar, dirty floors. I chose not to use the bathroom that night because I was too nervous to use the handheld bidet. I flopped onto a table-hard mattress that had no give and I called my boyfriend, flustered.
I found comfort in his voice. He made me giggle and he knew what to say to relax me. I focused on him, as a familiar and stable reminder of home.
Deming’s voice that first night was enough to let my initial feelings of discomfort subside. My culture shock was minimal, I told myself, and every day would get better as time went on. It was two days before Christmas and I told myself that it wouldn’t bother me, spending a holiday so far away from my loved ones.
Not only did I tell myself that I’d be okay, but I convinced myself I would thrive. I would apply all the tips I had learned during orientation and also draw inspiration from my inherent connection to this country and province. I went to bed eager to wake up and make Chachoengsao my home.
A Bit About Chachoengsao
Though Chachoengsao is the province’s official name, many Thai people refer to the region as Bpàaet Riew, which means “eight slices.” The region earns this nickname from legend - the Bang Pakong River used to be teeming with ginormous snakehead fish. These fish were so big, that each fish had to be cut up into a total of eight slices before being cooked.
Balancing on Curbs, One Foot in Front of the Other
During my first week of living in Chachoengsao, I believed that my most pressing and essential goal was to make the town my home. I wanted familiarity fast and I was desperate to attain it.
So every day that week, Rowena and I set off on foot, antsy to see the sights. We ventured down the busy Maha Chakkraphat Road, peering into cafes and auto shops. We maneuvered around welders working on the sidewalks. We weaved around outdoor dining tables, nodding respectfully at the restaurant cooks at their grills. We walked for miles everyday, in the beating midday sun.
That week, we ate at a different restaurant for every meal. We bookmarked temples and markets in Google Maps and made sure to visit them.
We searched for the best boba and10-baht stores. We stumbled upon live music bars and riverfront restaurants. We found the park, the garden, the grocery store, and the river walkway because we were determined to know the town.
I treated my first week in Chachoengsao as if it was my first and only week in Thailand. I thought that to become a new community member, I had to immediately learn and experience everything that Chachoengsao offered. I felt pressure to do it as quickly as possible, so as to expedite the process of “settling in.” In many regards, I was like a tourist: eager to check my boxes and complete the itinerary.
I don’t regret having this mentality. My eagerness led me to places of escape, kind people, and comfort food that ultimately softened my transition into living in Thailand. And I learned that I enjoyed Chachoengsao and found beauty in its unassuming streets. Though it was not yet home, it would gradually grow into one.
What I was not prepared for was for my adventurous mentality to wear off. Eventually, the adrenaline I had carried with me from orientation would start to fade and leave me feeling directionless and lonely.
The Struggles of Settling In
Around the two week mark of being in Chachoengsao, a feeling of temporality wore off. I realized that I knew only how to be somewhere, rather than how to stay somewhere.
Rowena and I moved out of our temporary apartments and into our year-long homes. Our new apartment building was tucked away on a quiet street near the park, Suan Somdet.
After a month of living out of our suitcases, it was finally time to unpack our luggage. I transferred stacks of clothes from the depths of my duffle to the confines of new wardrobe drawers. I arranged books on my bookshelf and bought rugs for my barren floors. I realized I needed groceries and household items like soap dispensers and silverware (wow, so domestic!)
What had felt like a vacation before, now felt like life. Gone were the days of sightseeing; the struggles of “settling in” were among us.
I started to feel lonely.
Though my teaching position had not yet begun, Rowena's had and we started showing up to campus everyday. With very few responsibilities, I sat idly at a desk everyday, eavesdropping on the faint sounds of Rowena’s virtual classes. I wished that I was teaching.
The school campus echoed with quietness. I waited patiently for the rare moments of interaction between our colleagues. I savored every time that a teacher stopped by our room to say hello.
Though it was such a gift to be able to rely on Rowena for companionship and comfort, I was hoping and searching for more social interaction with Thai people. Rowena and I had created a close friendship with each other, but I think we were both craving community with others.
Everyday that week, when Rowena and I walked home from school, I stared longingly into storefronts, searching for amiable faces to become my friends.
Rowena and I started doing this together. At nearly every restaurant and cafe we went to, we would scan the room uon entry. We would intentionally make eye contact with each other if anyone seemed particularly friendly. Once we took our seats, Rowena would lean across the table and whisper excitedly, “I think they could be our friend!”
We tried to start conversations, tried to get numbers from cashiers and cooks. These interactions were usually sweet, fun. But these chats usually fell short or ended in confusion because of our insufficient Thai speaking skills. Though we often left people smiling about our talkativeness (and/or laughing at our Thai), we failed at developing lasting connections. We never made hang-out plans for the future.
Soon, Rowena and I started spending less time with each other too… decreasing our average14 hours a day together to a total of 10 (I felt so deprived!)
On some evenings, I would return to my studio apartment to lie in bed. I’d watch the sun fall lower in the sky with each hour. I busied myself until nightfall, or the hours that Deming and my best friends Anya, Olivia, and Abi would be waking up on the other side of the globe.
At the time, I didn’t have the words to describe my feelings of loneliness. Even if I did have the words, I would have felt too ashamed to use them - to admit that I felt sadness during what appeared to be the most exciting period of my life.
When you choose to leave all of your loved ones behind in order to embark on a great adventure thousands of miles away, there are great expectations for you to enjoy that adventure.
That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy myself those first few weeks. Of course I had moments of enlightenment and discovery and so much fun. But the difficult truth was that moving to Thailand was also hard, harder than expected, and I may have been too prideful to admit that at the time.
Furthermore
I want to clarify that in no way are the following, or prior, sections complete representations of my time in Chachoengsao. This essay is primarily focused on the ways that moving to Thailand has been challenging, but I want to be clear that my time in this country has overall been beautiful, rewarding, and full of joy. I believe that all of these feelings - of gratefulness and joy, of loneliness and pain - have existed simultaneously. That is a lovely thing, to experience both the struggle and triumphs of living abroad.
This section is dedicated to admitting to some of the ways it’s been hard to live in Thailand. I hope that by sharing these experiences, I validate some of the struggles that my readers have felt, or are still feeling, while adjusting to living in countries new to them.
New climate, new food: physical challenges
Before moving to Thailand, I thought my biggest challenge of living here was going to be adjusting to the heat. I was not entirely wrong; as expected, it is scorching here and I find myself shutting down a little bit whenever Rowena and I walk across town or eat outside in the middle of the day. My back is perpetually drenched in sweat. Sometimes the heat makes it hard to socialize or to think clearly. However, the heat has not been the most pressing physical challenge to me. Most unexpectedly, eating Thai food has been.
This is a shot at my ego because grew up on Thai food. I like and can handle spicy food, and I'm very familiar with most of the ingredients that I consume here each day. However, during one particular weekend in Bangkok, I started to feel a sharp pain in my chest. The pain lasted for about two days. I figure it was acid reflux and that my body was reacting to the amount of fatty, spicy, and acidic foods I was consuming. Since then, I’ve had to be very conscious about the dishes that I choose to eat. My heart hurts occasionally. I have heard from a few other Fulbrighters in my cohort that their bodies have also taken some time to adjusting to the cuisine.
Lost and lonely: the language barrier
Nowadays, it is commonplace for me to be seated at a table, surrounded by Thai friends and family animatedly gossiping. It is likely that I have zero clue what is being discussed. Sometimes, it takes up to ten minutes of swiveling my head back and forth, or seriously mulling over the few recognizable words, to understand what the conversation is about.
Sometimes, someone will generously offer translations and include me. But oftentimes, I am left to decide: how dedicated am I in that moment to deciphering the Thai language, so that I may engage? This is a tough decision to make as an extrovert. I heavily rely on meaningful social interaction, but in Thailand, I lack the language skills to have it.
This is not to say that I'm always lost in translation. Actually, I am pretty conversational in Thai and have a lot of fun using it with Thai friends and family. However, I am far from fluent and unable to keep up with the speed of a natural conversation between Thai people.
My inability to fluently converse in Thai sometimes leads to feelings of isolation and exhaustion. It’s tiring to constantly translate or to never be fully understood. I also constantly feel that Thai people don’t know the real me because I am ill-equipped at presenting my thoughts and my humor in their language. I bet that they feel similarly. It must be just as exhausting for Thai people to engage in conversation with me.
I recognize that the language barrier is a burden I must carry myself. Studying and practicing Thai was an important motive for me to move to Thailand. It is my responsibility to do my best in learning the language, so that I limit my reliance on Thai people knowing English. I’m working hard at this and I know I am always getting better. However, it’s safe to say that the process is difficult and can be lonely at times.
Long distance and heartbreak
There’s very little I will say about this topic on my blog, for the sake of privacy. However, it feels crucial to at least acknowledge that the most painful and difficult aspect of moving to Thailand has been experiencing the effects it’s had on my relationship with my boyfriend from home.
We broke up a week ago, ending a two-year relationship full of love.
There is no easy way to explain what happened or how I feel. The only thing I can say is that my heart is in so much pain right now and I’m sure that his heart is too. This breakup is excruciating. There’s not a day where I don’t feel sick about it.
There’s something about going through heartbreak while living abroad that feels so tragic. Maybe it’s so tragic because I’m the one that chose to leave - both him and the U.S. Because of this, it’s impossible for me not to feel responsible for our demise. Every day I battle the demons in my head screaming “what would have happened if I chose to stay?!”
I’m battling a lot of other painful thoughts too. I can’t write about it without crying.
Right now, heartbreak is a monster that consumes my life, swallowing me whole over and over and over again. The monster won’t leave me yet - I’m learning to live with it in Thailand. A 12-15 hour time difference, as well as the entire Pacific Ocean, separate me from the friends who are supporting me. A 24 hour day of travel keeps me from the one group hug I need.
Snippets of Sweetness
You'll be happy to hear that this is the end of my pity party. It has been important and therapeutic for me to process and write about some of the challenges of moving to Thailand. However, it is just as crucial for me to recognize and celebrate the moments of jubilee, beauty, and triumph that I’ve experienced while living here. I hope the snippets of sweetness below portray just how touched I am to be here, and how willing I am to learn how to stay.
- A blooming Golden Shower Tree, called Ratchaphruek in Thai, stands tall in the front lot of my apartment building. The tree's flowers match the golden light that hits the apartment at sunset. Luscious green bushes and Birds of Paradise grow outside my room's window. These are things that I love to look at.
- On my third night of living in Chachoengsao, my cousins drove all the way from Bangkok to visit me. We gathered around an outdoor table at P'Oum's favorite local restaurant. We chit-chatted, passed dishes around, and dropped spoonfuls of food onto each other’s plates. Later that night, my cousins and I walked hand-in-hand across a bridge to an ice cream stall they liked to eat at in high school. We savored the chunks of cake that came with our ice cream. We walked back to the car in the nighttime breeze.
- In the evenings, the park is the center of town. People in matching pink “Town of Chachoengsao” t-shirts jog the running loop. Teenagers quip at each other on the basketball court and the futbol turf. Families wander the market for take-out dinner. Every Tuesday at 5:30, Rowena and I join a group of older ladies for dance aerobics at the pavilion. It makes me smile. I don’t know all the moves yet. They keep me coming back for more.
- On the corner of the street I live on, there’s a cafe called Nai Mueang. It has become my place of comfort - like a homey living room for me to spend my evenings, writing and reading at its wooden tables. The cafe is cozy, warmly lit, and always temptingly inviting when I pass its glass doors in the afternoons. The owner is a kind-eyed and gentle-speaking man named Aout - he sits behind the counter and always flashes a gracious smile when I walk in. Sometimes when Aout serves me food, he plops down at my table to ask a question about English or about my family. But most times he just sits on the couch nearby and works on his computer while I work. Our quiet coexistence brings me peace.
- I love studying and speaking Thai. Thai is a language that feels right to me. I love its complex tones, its swirly script, and its simple sentence structures. I love talking to people in Thai, listening to other conversations, and practicing - even when I fail. Thai people have been so patient and encouraging about it - they offer feedback and compliments and wide, wide grins. I feel like this language runs through my veins - it’s a treasure to hear and understand the language that my mom has always spoken, and a gift to be able to study it.
- Teaching English to my students brings me so much energy. I teach mainly boys, ranging in ages 20 years old. They are bright and polite and inquisitive. They listen in class, participate. They call me "teacher" and add the polite "ka" to the end of all their sentences. We like to chitchat in a mixture of Thai and English. They like to talk about video games, music, and sports. Many of them are Manchester United fans. I know that teaching a class will always turn my day around for the better because my students are so sweet.
- There’s a restaurant with sidewalk tables and pink stools that serves the best khao pat (fried rice) I’ve ever tasted. Rowena and I make our trek there at least once a week when we need our comfort food. The owner is like a sweet mother-figure to us, though she has know idea we feel this way. We return every week to fill our tummies with our favorite rice.
- My teacher friends are silly and relatable and have welcomed Rowena and I into their friend group. We meet each other for lunch in the school’s canteen and sometimes we splurge and go out to eat at local noodle restaurants. We gossip in between classes. They laugh and tease each other. They bring gifts of food and offer words of affection. They say things like “you are strong” and “you are beautiful” and these comments really do help me get through the day.
- Even from all the way around the world, my best friends from home have shown me love. Olivia, Anya, and Abi continuously show up for me - calling me when I need a distraction, strategizing and processing my emotions with me, giving me the words of affirmation they know I need. On Valentines Day, they surprised me with a virtual card, in which a handful of my friends had written sweet notes. Somehow, they always know exactly what to do. I feel indescribable gratefulness and adoration for my bestest friends, and I'm can't wait to show Olivia and Anya how much I love them, when they visit me in Thailand in April!
- On the weekends, Rowena and I take a train to Bangkok to spend time with my cousins. This has become the best and most meaningful aspect of living in Thailand, having a chance to experience the great love of my Thai family. My cousins are so strong, compassionate, hilarious, brilliant, and hard working. They are always showing each other how much they care.
In the week after my breakup, my cousins became my team. P’Oum gave me space when I needed it, implored that I stay one more night in her home, and then sat with me to cry when the tears came. P’Soon called on her girlfriends to come over and give me a good time - we sat around with drinks and they shared stories about their college days. Now, P'Soon texts me words of encouragement in the mornings and calls me when I just want to sit on the phone in silence. P’Save drove to Bangkok the night of the breakup and gave me a big hug. He cooked me food, poured me drinks, and he and his wife P’Kik gave me teary-eyed toasts on how much they loved me. P’Krit knows how to make me laugh and knows how to listen. And as always, P’Nut stands beside me, steadfast and reliant, intuitive to my needs and eager to provide.
Every Sunday when Rowena and I take the train home from Bangkok to Chachoengsao, I think of my Thai family. I think about all of us crammed into the backseats of cars, sitting on each other's laps, parading around Bangkok. I think about all the meals we share, the knowing glances we make at each other when we think the food is delicious. I think about how we used to be kids, riding around in the beds of pickup trucks - and how now we are adults, leaning on each other in times of hardship.
I watch as the sky turns purple and I enjoy the scene of the Thai countryside rolling alongside us as the train moves forward. The tracks beneath us rattle soothingly and for a moment, there is a calmness in my heart. I am reminded that my family and my connection to this place are the reasons that I chose to be here, and they continuously provide me reasons to stay.
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