It ain’t easy being stuck in here!

As it’s the half term, thought I’d partake in a little self-indulgent navel-gazing.

Dear friends, family, lovers, colleagues, acquaintances, the guy in the shop, and anyone else I have to interact with…

I know I’m a nightmare to live, work or otherwise deal with. I know I’m a pain in the ass. I know. I have to live with me all the time. The only time I get a break from it is when I’m asleep, or able to finally lose myself in another world for a while.

I know I’m a klutz. I don’t need a reminding eyeroll or a tut when I drop something. I know. How do you think it feels to drop or knock over nearly every single thing you try to pick up? And cock up every fiddly little thing you try to do because you can’t get your dumbass hands to do what your dumbass brain is telling them?

I know I’m socially awkward and panic and flap, then say or do the *absolute* wrong thing every time. The ground just never opens up fast enough. But, trust me, I’m perfectly aware of how absolutely ridiculous I look and sound. I’m giving myself a hard enough time already. Please don’t you tell me too.

I know I talk way too loud and a million miles an hour when I’ve had anything containing sugar or something exciting is happening. That’s just the part comes out, you only get a fraction of it. Imagine what it’s like inside my brain at those times. Picture what’s happening to my heart rate and my breathing. I don’t do it on purpose, if I could help it, I would. I hate it too. A gentle, loving reminder to slow down is all I need. Please don’t snap at me, I’m already fraught.

(Plus, I know I make weird sounds. Like, all the time. Even I can’t explain that one. They just come out. But I’m not sorry about those. The world needs comic sound effects.)

And I know that the flipside is inevitably a crash. I know I seem moody. It’s not you, it’s clichéd old me. I’m done. It’s exhausting being me, being stuck in here with this hot mess all the time. I just need to be catatonic for a while. Anyway, didn’t you want me to be quiet 5 minutes ago? 😉

I know I’m oversensitive. I know I overthink everything you say. That’s not a lot of fun for me either; trust me, I’d give far fewer shits if I could! But it also means that I am incredibly sensitive to you – your wants, your needs, how things are making you feel – I notice it all. And it means that I listen to everything you say – your hopes, your dreams, your wishes, your fears – and I remember them. I keep them with me always.

I know I want approval and affection all the time. But that’s because your smiles mean you see past the nonsense, all the things that make me a pain in the ass, and see me underneath it all. Because, when you wrap me up in a hug, all the noise stops. All the nonsense falls away and I feel a rare moment of peace, quiet and perfect clarity.

I know I’m a pain in the ass. But I know I’m worth it too. And knowing that you know that too calms me down better and faster than any number of pills I can pop or breathing exercises I can do.

 

Ruminations on Social Grief

Why do we give ourselves such a hard time at the hardest of all times?

Grief is such a personal thing. We jealously guard it, and our memories of the deceased. We are almost territorial about it. Yet, for such a private feeling, it’s also oddly constrained by social considerations. A strange thing I have noticed: when someone passes away, we unconsciously rank our proximal relation to them. Gauge the level of bereavement we feel permitted to. Instead of just getting on with being sad, we wrack ourselves with questions of “how upset am I allowed to be? How upset am I supposed to be?” Essentially, we beat ourselves up about “am I grieving right?”

This adds unexpected levels of sensitivity to an already traumatic emotion. If we weren’t very close to the departed, we may find ourselves feeling insufficient when we observe the poignant grief that those closer feel. Perhaps, deeply unconsciously, even jealous of their clear-cut right to grieve without justification. If we were close, we may find ourselves feeling guilty that we’re less upset than we think we should be. If the illness was long or difficult, we may even feel a sense of relief. And then hate ourselves for it, becoming defensive if we suspect anyone is close to discovering we feel that way. I am convinced that poor, grieving souls shed more tears trying to reconcile what they do feel with what they believe they should feel, than they shed just plain mourning their loved one. Understanding what you’re feeling and why is the hardest part of grieving.

And while we’re trying to muddle all this out, we inevitably have to deal with many other equally muddled people who are at different levels and stages of grief. We can’t help but compare – dare I say, compete? We find ourselves surprisingly possessive of the memories we have. Perhaps even to the point we deride the little mistakes those less close inevitably make: “Why is he calling him Billy? He can’t have known Bill at all. I knew Bill and I know he hated being called Billy. Does this person even have any right to talk about Bill?” Then we realise we’re being horribly unfair to someone who is probably totally at sea having to publicly speak about someone they are very aware they didn’t know! When we realise how unfair we’re being,  there’s that self-disdain and guilt again.

Grief is ugly. It rips you up and forces you to feel unfair, horrible things. Grief is rotten. It is, bar none, the most harrowing emotion. Worse so because it never leaves. You just grow around it; let it become part of you. Another battle scar. It rears its head when you least expect it, a punch in the stomach. And yet, as fragile humans with our fragile places in our fragile hierarchies, we make the hardest times of our lives even harder by wrapping ourselves in cycles of jealousy, doubt, self-loathing, possessiveness and guilt. What is wrong with us?!

Unfortunately, there is no answer. We are who we are and where we are. This is just how it has to be. Primates who have orchestrated societies so complex that we unconsciously filter every emotion, instinct or reaction through generations of social conditioning. There is no solution; we are bound to torture ourselves with these conflicting feelings. But, I find, just being aware of that fact helps. We are far too smart for our own good, but we are not rational about our emotions. In all things, we are deeply motivated by fear, insecurity and social anxiety. Accept it. And if your irrationality throws up unfair thoughts about yourself or others, let those thoughts come. And let them go. Acknowledge that you’re perhaps acting unreasonably, apologise if you need to, but don’t make it another rod with which to beat your already battered self.

Creed

I’ve recently returned from an absolutely glorious – and much needed! – holiday in Bali and the Gili Islands. I was utterly exhausted from a long term at school, and it was all I could do to flop into a lounger with my book.

I don’t like being exhausted. I don’t like what it does to me, or my faculties. I don’t like the destructive side it brings out in me. I don’t like the way it interferes with all the pleasant little particles of life that I’ve woven into some semblance of ‘self’. It disrupts my reading, it stops me writing, it stops me pottering about in the kitchen listening to the Archers. Even if I have the same number of hours free, I don’t spend them doing the quiet, constructive things I love to do. I spend them drinking and bitching about how exhausted I am.

I like being busy. Busy is great. It keeps you buoyed up, makes you feel useful. But busy is to exhausted as a fifth cup of tea is to a fifth round of tequila slammers.  Exhausted doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve worked particularly hard or long hours (though, in teaching, it often does). It means that your reserves are, well, exhausted. Drained. And different things drain different people. You might only rack up 40 hours this week, and those at quite sociable times, but there’s chasms of difference between 40 hours spent on something you find energising, and 40 hours of something you find draining. Some people find interacting with people draining, and need quiet solitude to recharge. Some people are quite the opposite. Most people are a happy little fudge somewhere in the middle. (Mmmm, fudge…)  Exhaustion comes when you spend day after day doing that which you find draining without having (or taking) the time spend on that which you find energising.

Even before the end of this last school term, I was exhausted. Totally done in. Oddly, instead of trundling home after work and slumping into my bed as you’d expect a self-proclaimed ‘exhausted’ person to do, I’d find myself rebelling – out til all hours letting off steam, shirking responsibilities, over-indulging in everything going. Yep, that really helps you become unexhausted. Smart work. It’s a vicious cycle. When you’re exhausted, you stop taking care of yourself. You eat crap, you skip exercise, you drink and smoke and swear like a sailor. And, quelle surprise, you end up more exhausted, flabby, spotty and scared to look at your bank balance. It doesn’t take a psychoanalyst to see that that’s the slippery slope to depression and burn out.

Here’s the thing, though. And I’d hazard a guess that it’s the thing for so many teachers. It makes you question, it makes you doubt. Is this what I should be doing? Is this where I should be going? Am I any good at this? Is this any good for me? Currently, I have no answer to that. I flatter myself, not unreasonably, that I’m good at teaching. I can definitely do this. But this last term has really made me question: do I want to? I’ve thrashed since childhood with what I want to be when I grow up. I’ve toyed with every idea from mermaid to teacher to journalist to librarian to solicitor to teacher to pyrotechnician to librarian to teacher. Now hurtling towards 30, I’m still not any clearer. I’m thinking about starting over again with mermaid. Or pirate. Pirate mermaid?

Teacher comes up very often in that cycle, as does librarian. But there is one underpinning constant that I never dared formally to add to the list. Writer. The only thing I have always wanted to do, always loved to do, always been able to do without feeling like a bluffing imposter, is write. Why didn’t I add it to the list? Well, I don’t know. I suppose I thought it vain and presumptive to think I could just ‘become’ a Bronte or a Woolf. I’ve always doubted that I could be a good enough writer to get anywhere. I suppose I felt disapproving pressure to get a ‘proper’ profession and squeeze writing in around that. I suppose I was scared, and perhaps a little embarrassed to share my secret hope with the world. We’ve all read Keep the Aspidistra Flying.

Now, here’s the point (finally). I don’t get exhausted writing. It energises me. It fills me with 100% pure Liz Power, and makes me my best self. Even if I just spend a little time doing it. Now, obviously, if I spent 20 hours a day doing it every day of the week, every week of the year, it wouldn’t take me long to get exhausted. Any work is exhausting if you do too much of it. But I really am coming to understand, perhaps believe is a better word, that – if you have the luxury of choice in the matter – one should really be doing a job that keeps you busy, but leaves you feeling buzzing with self.

I’ve another year left on my contract at this school, and I’m going to use this year to consolidate everything I’ve learned about teaching, and everything teaching has taught me about myself. But I’m also going to use it to try, and I mean really try, to be serious about my writing. I’m not making any grand gestures or any big decisions. Perhaps something will click, and I’ll find a way to be an awesome teacher without draining myself flat. Or perhaps I’ll find my writing taking me to new and interesting places, leaving the classroom standing for dust. A year is a long time, and everything can change irrevocably overnight. But one thing is clear to me, I’m committed to do this for another year, but I obviously need to take more care to recharge and not be exhausted. If that makes me better at teaching, great. If that makes me want to continue teaching, also great. I really do love it. But if that is the step on the road to a glittering new career as a writer, who am I to complain? Really, making time to do something you love every day, even if that does take discipline, can’t be bad for you.

So, loosely sketched, here is my new creed. My promises to myself. The three undeniables:

• Write. Write your socks off. Write something, anything. Just write. Write every day.
• And read. Read like fury. Read everything. Read every idle moment. Fill your brain.
• Take time to reflect. Carve a little island of peace out of each day. Let no-one invade.

That island is your sovereign fortress. Sit, gaze, walk. Just be.
(And roll those islands up into a glorious holiday at least once a season.)

If I can find discipline to do these things each day over the next year, whether I become the next literary sensation or just a more rested and effective teacher is immaterial. Because one thing I know is I will be less exhausted, and much happier.

Back on the Horse

Well,  it’s been over 18 months since I last wrote, ironically about writers’ block! In that time, a lot has changed.

After writing that post,  I decided to take charge of the rut I was stuck in. I upped sticks and moved to Myanmar in June 2014 to work as a Primary class teacher. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind,  and it’s a pretty full on job,  as any school teacher will tell you.  I’ve barely had time to take stock, let alone write.

OK, that’s a cop out.  There’s always time to write, if you really want to. But I fell out of the habit and the months ticked by.  Then recently a friend asked me to do a piece for her travel website about my experiences in Myanmar. I found I had a lot to say, and slimming it down to a brief overview was hard. Harder than actually writing the stuff.

The experience has given me a fresh enthusiasm for scribing, and editing the piece has given me a lot of outtakes and ideas to use for future notes and queries.

So, without making any promises(!), here’s the piece I wrote for my friend’s site.  Do take the time to read the other wonderful ‘postcards’ on there too,  which are infinitely better than mine:

http://www.mymarcotravel.com/postcards/magnificent-myanmar

Hopefully I can conjure up some more gumph to keep you by turns entertained and informed. There’s a lot to be said about this place, being an expat, and teaching wee cherubs full time… But no promises, mind.  It’s a busy old life being an International Woman of Mystery!

Bloggers actually Blog

A short while ago I wistfully opined to one of my friends that “Maybe I’ll be a blogger when I grow up,” to which she retorted, not underisively, “I don’t think so. Bloggers actually write in their blogs”. Ouch! Burn! That one stung my delicate ego.

But she has a point. Writers write. And I’ve been doing a distinct lack of writing, and not just lately. Throughout my life. I’ve always told myself “I’ll be a writer one day”, but never written with any kind of drive or discipline. I tell myself I’m gestating, absorbing, preparing… but really I’m just not writing. Currently, I’m not a writer. I’m a linguist, an English teacher and sometime professional scribe of other people’s ideas. I can write, I just don’t. There’s always some excuse, but if we’re being honest, it’s one of two things. Either I’m not able to ‘be a writer’ for whatever reason, or I’m somehow stopping myself from ‘being a writer’.

I could self-indulgently navel-gaze on this theme at length, psychoanalysing the various ways in which I ‘block’ myself, but I suspect that would be boring for everyone, me included, and entirely counter-productive. Most of what my friends would call “the trouble with me” is a ludicrous propensity to over-analyse everything. So I’ll just let that one ride. For whatever reason, I’m not writing. And, if I really want to be a writer, I probably had ought to address that. What to do? Well, write. Obvs.

Write what? Ah, now that one’s a little trickier. I can’t seem to entice myself with anything at the moment. I have failed abominably at consistently keeping a diary throughout my entire life, regardless of the number of beautiful, kitsch notebooks I buy. My latest acquisition is sitting accusingly on my desk as I write. The first few pages enthusiastically filled (with an equally kitsch matching pen), the rest a yawning blank. I can write letters it seems, betimes. Until recently, I was writing a sort-of-diary in the form of a booklet of letters to a dear friend telling them all about my adventures and (oh so witty(!)) observations. I could do that no problem; I always knew what voice to use. That’s the thing I can’t stand about diarying. It’s the same feeling as recording yourself and playing it back. Urgh. Writing to someone else, speaking to someone else, you’re never as conscious of your voice as of the message. But writing letters doesn’t seem right anymore either. Beneath my most recent failed diary is another notebook, bought with the intention of penning a thousand epistles to my dear late mother. I thought I had so much to say to her. But I can’t even open it, my mind is a blank. A guilty, gaping blank. And I can’t think of a thing to write to my dear old friend either.

So what about my blog, this blog? Well, look through my archive. Speaks for itself. I’m averaging less than one post per month. The last three have been nothing to do with the blog’s original intention (keeping my friends abreast of my adventures, and offering reflections on teaching), just feckless navel-gazing. I have drafts in the offing, they’ve been sitting there for months. Clever titles with no content; sketchy bullet points of half-baked ideas. All my ideas seem stale and lustreless; boring, uninspiring. Bleugh. I occasionally grace social media with the odd (half-)witty epigram, but even that’s dried up lately. It’s all I can do to share a link with more than a half-hearted, hackneyed adjective.

Recently, I’ve taken on some extra-curricular copywriting work. But so far, I haven’t done much writing, mostly editing. Now, this could be because the guy who commissioned the work is actually a very good writer himself, and furnished me with a wealth of raw material to use. I honestly couldn’t think of anything else to add, it seemed that he’d said it all. But I can’t help thinking it’s because I can’t write, because I lack imagination, lack propulsion, spark. Devoid of ideas, perhaps I’m destined to be an editor. A tweaker of other people’s genius.

Perhaps, and there’s nothing at all wrong with that noble profession. But that doesn’t stop me wanting to be a writer, it doesn’t douse the constant compulsion I feel to pen my thoughts, even if I never seem to get round to it, or cringingly recoil when I try to put pen to paper. And the fact remains: if I want to be a writer, I have to write. And if that means forcing myself to write, metaphorically dragging my lazy wordsmith ass out of bed, then so be it. As Stephen King perspicaciously notes in his fabulous ‘On Writing‘, just write. Write whatever, write every day, and hope that some of it will be good.

What does this mean for you? Well, not a lot really, and well done if you’ve followed this ridiculous, self-indulgent and largely circular thought process to this point. Either standby for a deluge of half-baked, quasi-philosophical and doubtlessly ill-conceived posts herein, or wryly observe a predictable return to being a blogger who never blogs; a writer who doesn’t write. I’m hoping for the first, but my money’s on the second…Que sirrah sirrah, we shall see!

The Joy of Non-Participation

Songkran thumps on outside, but here I sit in a suspended bubble of calm. I could go out and join in, and it would probably be a lot of fun, but there’s a kind of guilty pleasure in staying in my peaceful little apartment, with nothing much to do. I’ve spent a quiet morning baking some muffins, occasionally observing the Songkran madness from the lofty safety of my balcony, and listening to a wonderful audio book. Almost coincidentally, or at least not consciously, it’s “The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year”, by the late, great Sue Townsend.

I started listening to it this morning without making the connection; I didn’t remember that Ms Townsend had recently died until I started listening to Caroline Quentin’s comfortingly familiar voice. Having run dry of Archers episodes, I just felt the urge to listen to it. This isn’t the first time I’ve listened to this audio book. I first listened to it about a year ago, still reeling and repiecing myself after my mother’s death. I listened while walking lost and lonely around and around a brisk and beautiful Edinburgh, a million miles from my now-contented self, escaping the tropical heat in my little Chiang Mai apartment. Listening to it then helped so much. It hurt and it helped as it offered a comforting channel to wring the diffuse and suffocating pain from my broken heart. I wished then, and still dearly wish, that my mum had read this book. She would have found it in equal parts comforting, sympathetically infuriating, and hilarious, echoing her life and dreams and dashed hopes. Maybe it would have given her the strength to go on, though probably not for long – nothing could. The fact that the audio book is read by Caroline Quentin only compounds this feeling. Aside from being one of the funniest women alive, she reminds me so much of my mum. Always did. They have the same composed and vital beauty, the wry smile and twinkling eye privately laughing at a secret joke. The same open warmth and kindness, the evident inner strength tainted with the weariness of the good-hearted.

I’ve always been cautious of ‘turning into my mum’ – of falling into the precipice that I know is there, just out of sight, of becoming a broken person – and therefore wary of the urges I sometimes get to recede. By the end, my mum could hardly leave the house. When I arranged a Tesco delivery for her, she had to hide in the living room while the dreaded stranger left the food in the kitchen. The more she let herself pull away from the world, the harder it was to face it again when necessity beckoned.

Whenever I get the urge to stay in and do nothing, I can’t help worrying that the next day it will be harder to leave, and the next day, and the next day, until I too am forced into frightened hermitude. But I have to remember, I’m not my mum. I am her, and I’m not. She told me everything, she showed me the way even though she’d lost it herself. Consciously and unconsciously, she taught me how to make the most of the good stuff while avoiding the fall. And I must remember that ‘turning into her’ really wouldn’t be such a bad thing; despite her flaws and her brokenness, I honestly think she’s one of the best people who ever lived. It sounds cliched, but if you knew her, you’d understand. I can’t count the lives she touched and healed in her small, kind and loving ways. If I can be even a fraction as kind and intelligent and all-loving as she was, I’ll be proud.

At times like this, I try to remember that sometimes you just have to listen to yourself and what you really want, not what you think you ought to want. This is who I am. It’s who she was too. I can’t change that, and nor do I want to. I like me, and I loved her immeasurably. And we are just the kind of people who, sometimes, like to stay in and potter about and not do much.

When I come to think of it, I realise that was never the problem with mum. The problem came from the weariness; the crushing thankless weariness of a life spent giving and giving and never taking, like Eva in Townsend’s wonderful book. Like so many mothers of my parent’s generation, trapped between the glossy, stylish lifestyles sold to them en masse in the likes of House & Home, the burgeoning days of the enviably powerful new ‘career’ woman, and the stark reality of domestic expectation. The confusing frustration of realising your youth and best years are gone, ploughed into the propagation of progeny plus husband. The hollowness and conflicting emotions stirred by no longer being constantly needed, used and in demand as said progeny fly the coop. The bitter realisation that, in that time you’ve attained approximately none of the treasured ambitions of your dewy-eyed youth. Some women can take this in their stride, and enjoy full and exciting autumn years, living for themselves for the first time in 20 plus years. But some people feel too deeply. Sometimes the pains and the bitterness that stretch over a lifetime are too much to bear. In writing my mother’s eulogy, I could track her fall. Understand the spiral of her grief. In retrospect, it is clear to me now that my mother, and her parents before her, had deeply-ingrained depressive personalities. The cruel disappointments and bereavements that plagued my mother since her mid-thirties came so thick and fast, each worse than the last, that their pain still resonates now. Knowing myself now, and knowing the parts of me that are her, I can see now how she was never able to heal, never able to pick herself up. She was never off-duty. She could never stop being mum, being wifey, being sister. She never had the time and leisure to retreat and just be herself, happily contented in her own company. She’d spent so long contorting herself to everyone else’s needs and wills and whims that she’d forgotten who herself was.

When I think about my mother in those terms, I can perfectly understand the importance to her, and to me, of sometimes, just sometimes, retreating. Quietly, peacefully, and wholesomely spending some quality time by yourself. My mother never got enough of that when she truly needed it. Unable to find the time and calm to process the complicated emotions that welled and were repressed within her, she turned instead to drink and oblivion. Consequently, in the loneliness and sadness of her final years, as she saw her life and opportunities fluttering away, she overindulged in the peace of solitude, pulling the folds of grief and disappointment tight around herself and isolating herself completely.

So, you see, although it might not seem ‘healthy’, when I feel the urge to excuse myself from society, I know it’s best for me to obey that as the need arises. I know mum should have done more of that when she was younger. And I know I should do it not grudgingly or anxiously, but joyfully. To indulge in it, but just a little. It may sound selfish, but it’s important for me – and I think for everyone – to make that time for yourself. See musings passim on the difference between selfishness and self-care. Give yourself the time off! Stop worrying about missing out or ‘being boring’. I’m never bored when I’m on my own – in all honesty, are you? Who gives a flying fruitcake what other people think – chances are they’re probably envious anyway. It’s vital for your mental health, and your happiness, to just do what you gotta do, but via a healthy and wholesome means. For me, that’s occasionally spending a day withdrawn from the noisy, confusing, and exciting world, quietly pottering. You’ll know what it is for you. Listen to yourself, know yourself; understand when you need to push yourself into something you don’t really want to do, but also when you need to say “OK, forget about ‘should’, let’s take today off”.

Love Yourself – Happy Valentine’s / Makha Bucha Day to Me!

Valentine’s Day can go suck an egg, so far as I’m concerned! It’s become an over-hyped exercise in commercialism that’s increasingly isolating – for couples and singles alike – with its enforced heteronormativity. Most years, I can pretty deftly ignore it. This year is no exception – thank goodness! But this year is a little special too. This year, Valentine’s Day coincides with Makha Bucha day – a Thai national holiday – so I have the day off work.

The spiritual aims of Makha Bucha day are: not to commit any kind of sins; do only good; purify one’s mind. OK, fair enough – these concepts seem generally good, and are open to interpretation. Most Thai Buddhists spend the day praying at the temple, and making merit. I’m not Buddhist, but I think we can all do with reflecting on the coincidence of Makha Bucha and Valentine’s.

Is romantic love sinful? Many traditions would have us believe it is, on some level. Particularly in its physical expressions. But I don’t think so; it’s good and wholesome and natural – and, well, fun! Anyway, I’m not interested in that today, but if you are, take a moment to consider the ways romantic love is beneficial to you and others (do only good!), and how it is harmful. It can be both things. Consider the difference between benevolent love and violent appetite.

Why stop at romantic love? Isn’t that how Western Valentine’s day has become so disgustingly over-balanced – this obsession with romantic fulfillment? Instead of spending the day lamenting the shortcomings of your romantic life, consider the joy brought to your life with other kinds of love – familial love, platonic love, the general love you feel towards the world, and which you feel reciprocated when you feel peace. The love you have for your interests and passions. And – this is my focus for today – the love for yourself.

Now, I think we can all agree the first of those types of love – familial, platonic, general, passionate endeavour – are generally good, wholesome, and not sinful. (Though, sometimes they can cause us to act sinfully.)  But that last kind – love for yourself – is that sinful? Is it wrong and selfish to love yourself?

I’d argue that self-obssession, and relentless self-interest are, indeed, sinful (in the sense that they are harmful, damaging), but that proper love for yourself is, in fact, healthy, pure, and important. Self-love, self-acceptance, self-knowledge: they are the very keystone of your interaction with the rest of the world. All other love, understanding and action begin and end with your attitude to yourself; how it affects your interpretations of the world – whether it distorts and skews, or deepens and augments.

I’d go so far as to argue that, until you can love and accept yourself wholly, honestly, and exactly as you are, any other love you give or receive – romantic, familial, general – will contain a harmful or disruptive element of distortion. Your own insecurities and fears will (unconsciously) skew each action and reaction. I truly believe that this, and almost entirely this, is the root cause of all relationship problems; an incomplete knowledge of yourself. To love fully and freely, you must have a complete, honest, and frank relationship. This is true as much for yourself as it is for others. If you can’t be fully free and honest with yourself, how can you be with others? And without that freedom and openness, how can you ever love fully and well – without sin, or harm, or selfishness, or whatever you want to call it?

So, this Valentine’s / Makha Bucha combo day, Buddhist or no, single or otherwise, take the time to give yourself a little love and attention. Look inwardly, lovingly and honestly, and accept what you find there. Enjoy its uniqueness. You have a special relationship with yourself that you can have with no other being. Take the time today to enjoy it and reflect on it – not sinfully, but purely. Do yourself some good, and by extension those around you; those you love.

As a corrollary, I would note that I don’t think a little indulgence is sinful either. In fact, as with everything, a little indulgence is a good thing – only an excess is harmful. And what better way to consider and enjoy self-love than with a little healthy self-indulgence? Pander to those little desires that only you fully understand, that special ‘me time’, whatever form it takes. You know what it is; that which makes your heart light, gives you that warming thrill,  and leaves your mind free and easeful. Maybe it’s as simple as a quiet cup of tea and a biscuit, or a walk in a green space. Maybe it’s a lie-in or a long shower. Only you can know.

As for myself, this morning I’ve enjoyed the luxury of quiet time with myself, indulged in a little navel-gazing, a little self-learning, and a bit of yoga. And I’ve treated myself to a delcious brunch treat. Perhaps a little unhealthy, but didn’t we agree a little indulgence is good for your soul?

Valentine’s Self-Love Brunch Treat – Bread & Butter Brunch Pudding

I was going to make myself pancakes, but I had some chocolate bread that wants eating up…. this little idea popped into my head nearly fully-formed. A bit like eggy bread, a bit like bread and butter pudding, it makes for delicious brunch!

I’ve used chocolate bread, but you can use any bread you like – brioche or some kind of tea bread is probably best. And I think only yeasted bread can give you that lovely texture and flavour. I’ve also used raisins, cashews and almonds because I had them to hand and quite fancied them, but you can use whatever dried (or fresh!) fruits, nuts, seeds you fancy.

You will need:

• Sweet bread of some kind (chocolate bread, brioche, etc… up to you).
  1-2 largeish slices, depending on appetite.
• 1 or 2 eggs (1 egg per 2 medium slices, or 1 egg per large slice)
• A wee slosh of milk (about 2 tbsps), or cream if you’re feeling very naughty
• Sugar and lemon juice (optional, to taste)
• A small handful of dried or fresh fruit, nuts, seeds (optional, to taste)
• 1 tbsp Butter or veg oil (for frying)
• Whatever you want for ‘topping’, honey, chocolate sauce, syrup, yogurt… depends on personal taste, bread choice, fruit choice – use your imagination! (Though I used honey, it pours easier…)

Method:

1. In a large bowl, beat the eggs until well combined, and beat in a wee slosh of milk, about a tsp of sugar (if adding, the type is up to you – I used demerara for rummy flavour) and a wee squiz or lemon or lime juice.
2. Stir in your chosen fruits and nuts.
3. Place one slice of bread in the mix. Let it lie for a couple of minutes, then carefully turn it over (be gentle or it will break!).
4. Let it lie for a couple of minutes on that side too. If you’re doing more than one slice, carefully remove and set on a plate (if you’re just doing the one you can let it lie in the mix til you’re ready to cook).
5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 for any additional slices of bread.
   Top tip: If you’re having coffee or something similarly fiddly with your brunch, you can get it on now while the bread soaks. Once you start cooking, that will take all your attention. This is a needy little treat!
6. In a frying pan, heat the butter or oil on a low-mid heat.
7. Carefully lower one slice of soaked bread into the oil (a good spatula or fishslice is a godsend for this job!). If you have a large pan or small bread, you can put them all in, but don’t crowd the pan. If your pan is small / bread is big, cook them in batches. They keep warm a good while.
8. Let the bread fry for a couple of minutes, until you see the egg on that underside has cooked and is starting to brown.
9. Carefully turn the bread over (use 2 spatulas, or a spatula and a fork if it’s veering to floppy, as the actress said to the bishop).
10. Cook on this side until the egg is cooked and starting to brown.
11. Continue turning and browning til it’s done to your satisfaction – about 2 or 3 minutes each side. (Remember that egg continues to cook out of the pan too, so if you want it a bit soft and gooey, take it out when it’s still ‘not quite’).
12. Turn off the heat, carefully remove the bread from the pan, and arrange with all due ceremony on a serving plate.
    
13. Anoint with your chosen topping – honey, yogurt, dew collected at dawn…
14. Enjoy with full awareness of just how good you are to yourself.

Feeling Fruity…an Apple for Teacher?

It’s been a fruit-themed week for me – the senior teacher at my school keeps giving me fruity gifts. She really is so sweet. I brought her in some real Scottish shortbread by way of thanks (what a cultural exchange!). I got it from the supermarket near my apartment, which has loads of (quite expensive!) Western food. It’s Walker’s, so lovingly crafted in bonny Scotland and imported to Thailand. A bit like me (well, lovingly crafted in Grimsby, then matured in Scotland. Oak-aged, I think!).

This week, she’s kindly presented me with: half a hand of Thai bananas, a Thai orange, and best of all – forever earning herself a place in my affections and perhaps my will – mango sticky rice (my most favourite thing in the world ever these days)!! She also kept telling me about the Farmers’ Market on Saturday morning, where she gets all her fruit cheaper than the supermarket, and fresh from the farm too, with no chemicals. Though cautioned me that I must get there as early as possible. She goes at 6.30!! I told her getting there for 9 was more likely for me, and she looked like I’d said I sleep til noon – and said everything would be gone by then. Sufficiently guilted, I acceded to going earlier if possible… and I thought my 7am ‘lie-in’ was pretty Spartan! (You need to get up early here if you want to get anything done as it’s just too hot between 11 and 1, so everything, and everyone, stops for a siesta!)

By way of augury, perhaps, I’ve also had some near-mystical fruity encounters with the lady at the fruit stall in the college cafeteria. I usually get a bag of fruit from this lady for an after-lunch treat. She is like an old, Thai version of Juliette Binoche in Chocolat… well, not so much the riverside frolicking to gypsy jazz with Johnny Depp (though that might explain the twinkle in her eye!), but more the instinctive knowledge of what you want even as you approach her stall.

I point at a portion of fruit, usually something new and different, a bit odd, and say “anee kaa” (that one, please)… “Nooooo” says she (in Thai) “not that one for you, my child” (I imagine) “for you, this is the fruit…” (possibly, my Thai is not so good, she might just be saying “here, have this, it’s on the turn”). Then she hands me a bag of something else. Sometimes she gives me a wee taster beforehand too. And, dammit, she’s always right! Like some kind of fruity mystic. Just like the Binoche in guessing her customers’ favourite chocolates.

Maybe she does dance with the Depp by moonlight after all…

Oooh…. it makes me weak at the knees!

Anyway, all this fruity buzz made me think perhaps I should forgo the Saturday lie-in and head for the Farmers’ Market as my colleague suggested. I got up as early as I could manage – about 6.30ish, which is impressive considering I stayed up very late catching up on Bake Off Masterclasses! Though by the time I’d done my customary fannying aboot, and got all my suncream and everything on, it was getting on for 8 by the time I reached the market anyroads.

It was pretty busy when I got there, mostly ladies-of-a-certain-age, who, like ladies-of-a-certain-age the world over, are merciless when it comes to markets. They certainly don’t suffer lumping great farang oafs getting in their road and taking happy snaps. Still, I managed to get a few – see below.

What always amazes me about Thai markets – which you don’t really get an impression of in the pictures – is how quiet and peaceful they are. Even when they’re rammed. There’s a calm sussuration of hushed voices, and people moving slowly but carefully around each other. No shoving, no shouting, no “FIVE BANANAS FOR A POUND!!!” or “HOT PIES!” or other beer-bellied oafery from stall-holders. They just quietly and neatly display their wares, and the customers quietly and respectfully peruse them, and negotiate politely round each other. (Though sometimes they do the classic wheeling out without looking manoeouvre well-known to ladies-of-a-certain-age everywhere, but that’s your fault for not being psychic. And if you’re in the way, you will get a quiet tut!).

So here we are, this morning’s fruity adventure to round off quite a fruity week. A good haul, all told. The only thing I couldn’t find was mango, but I suspect they might be out of season…

First up, I go through the gate and, as I always when I enter a market, I get immediately confused and have no idea where to go. Then get tutted at once or twice! Miraculously, a coffee stall appears almost immediately to my left, and they’re serving fresh hot coffee. Win!! Thank you, coffee gods. I buy a cup, and take it to a wee table to get my bearings while I fuel up on caffeine.

Inside the market, viewed from my wee coffee perch.

More market, contemplating while recaffeinating

Caffeine gauge back to ‘civilised’, I plunge into the depths of the market and do a good couple of circuits. A bit too busy to take pics, but the market spills out onto the streets outside too, where I came across this:

Yep, that’s an actual truckload of pineapples!

The pineapples again, with some pumpkins and papayas. This must be the P truck.

I bought a wee bag of cut pineapple to munch, and continued on my rounds.

Next up, this caught my eye:

Enough Garlic to do Pattinson for good and all – now there’s a thought…

More piles o’ produce…

Pumpkins and Nanas, oh my!

More garlic! And onions and chillis and bananas, such natural bedfellows.

And it’s not just delicious edibles available, there are some craft stalls too. Like this one:

Beautiful basketry! I was very tempted. Imagine going round the market with a wicker basket… might treat myself after pay day!

More elegant basketry. In the back of a pickup!

The traffic outside the market – it’s a very popular destination! Even the traffic is moving politely.

Not sure if you can see through the railings. I’m outside the market, munching my pineapple, and this man is inside hacking the tops off coconuts with a machete. As you do. His truck is full of them. Coconuts, not machetes. I hope.

After my pineapple, I further breakfasted on a curry puff (like a wee curry-filled pasty) and a steamed aubergine something-or-other very spicy lovely curry treat, in a banana leaf. Not pictured, as both were messy work and took all my attention.

Well fed, and pleased with my morning’s adventurings, I return home victorious with this goodly haul – and it’s only just past 9!

Some lovely ‘nanas (green for ripening over the week), some oranges (this variety is more yellowy-green than orange, but delicious!) and some limes (which likewise are yellowish here, but utterly scrumptious inside – for slicing into tea / drinks, seasoning food, etc). Artfully stacked, in honour of Monsieur Southall. That pile of books to the left are next week’s lessons, part-planned…!

Blurry market fruit stack… whoa, psychedlic! But the colours are nicer sans-flash.

So there you go. Up pretty early, and all stocked up on healthy fruit. Lovely end to a fruity week, and start of a lovely, fruity weekend. The sun’s out today, and it’s glorious.

This afternoon, I went to another market – a fairtrade craft market up to the North – but like a dolt forgot to take my camera. It was lovely, not quite typical craft market fare; a bit nicer. And most of it for charity. It abuts a HUGE garden and plant market, which has a good-sized (and cheap!) food court, where I got a lovely noodle soup for lunch, only 30B. To one side is a giant Tesco Lotus (boooooo, hissssss!) and to the other a very posh part of town that’s seething with expats. I stopped by a covered marble shopping arcade for a coffee ice-cream which was delicious, but cost more than my lunch. Also in the arcade, the fabled Rimping western / Organic supermarket (like Real Foods meets Waitrose), of which I’d heard tell but never visited. I duly bought a bar of Lindt Extra Dark, which set me back a cool 95B (more than my lunch and ice cream combined). I will ration it.

Heading back home after, I turned off the main street and back into the now-familiar Sois of the Chang Puak area of town. I was suddenly aware of the difference between the highly-polished area I’d left, and the classic Thai jumble of the area I was entering… And of feeling immediately much more comfortable; of being back in ‘real Thailand’, after a brief foray into the gilt-and-marble ex-pat’s paradise… I didn’t realise how uncomfortable I’d felt until then, but I was glad to be back among normal folk just going about their day, and away from the rarified and slightly colonial-feeling atmosphere of the craft market and its concomitant posh, middle-aged foreigners. Still, I suspect I’ll be back despite myself. I saw a stall selling mince pies and Christmas puddings (already?!) at the Ex-Pat market. And they have second-hand book stalls…and there were quite a few Thai folk there too; I guess I’m just a little sensitive to anything that appears even remotely colonial and my own Western guilt complex. This is Thailand, after all, the country that never let itself be colonised by anyone (well, except the Thais, but that’s another story…)

Next time, I’ll remember my flipping camera and get some pictures for you!

Right, that’s enough wittering. I’m off to finish planning next week’s lessons and laze around with my book somewhere! I think an iced latte is in order, what? 🙂

First Fortnight… Done!

And I’m into week three already!

Apologies for the radio silence, it seems that working is a shock to the system after over a month off! And it’s no secret that teaching uses up a whole lot of energy! When I’ve not been working, I’ve mostly been eating, sleeping and listening to the Archers, and falling asleep reading! Getting into the swing of things now though, and I’m awake enough to start doing more with my free time (including yoga and swimming to try and undo some of the eating and sleeping!!).

So, without further ado, here’s what I’ve been up to. (Those of you who aren’t teachers may find the ‘teaching tips’ section a little dull, but I hope those of you who are find it useful!)

The Gig

24 hours a week at a vocational college, young adults (aged 16+), Elementary to Low Int level.

I am commissioned to teach them speaking and listening – the Thai teachers take care of the grammar sections (woohoo! though I do like a little grammar…and occasionally you have to slip some in to speaking and listening classes). Over the course of the week, I teach about 400 students, in classes of about 30 students at a time (though some classes are 9 or 10, and one class has 40 students!!).

The good bit: They are all following the same syllabus, so I can teach them all the same lesson! I also teach two, 2-hour ‘English Conversation’ classes. So that’s a total of three lessons I have to plan per week! Sweeeeeeeet! And we’re working from set books, so planning is a lot quicker than when you have to devise the whole lesson yourself. This is a really good gig, but it’s still hard work.

Although the planning load is relatively light, there are still other challenges. Remembering 400 names being one!! And delivering the same lesson 20 times a week can take it out of you – there comes a point (about Tuesday afternoon) when you suddenly feel the most surreal sense of deja vu. Actual real deja vu. You’re writing the same thing on the board for the umpteenth time and saying exactly the same thing, and you’re not 100% sure which class you’ll see when you turn round…!  Of course, all the classes are different with different needs and personalities, so there is a lot of variety too; those groundhog moments are relatively rare compared to the number of surprises those kids can pull out of the bag! It’s amazing how differently each class approaches the same exercise! What was a simple question in one class draws blank stares in another, but that same class then goes on to finish the exercise in a tenth of the time of the first class… All this repetition is basically trial and error, so you’re constantly tweaking your lesson. By Friday, that one lesson is stream-lined as heck. And then it’s time to put it away and start over with a whole new one…. c’est la vie!

One of my favourite things about my new school is definitely the canteen. They have a huge selection of really tasty Thai food – noodles, curries, stir-fries, som tam, fruit, grilled meatstuffs – and all for about 20B (40p) per dish, 10B (20p) for the snackages! One of the most excellent perks of teaching fo’ sho’!  I’m trying to have something different for lunch every day. There’s no menu as such – a series of hatches in the wall with pictures above indicating what they sell. You queue up at your chosen hatch, and then select your dish (usually by pointing for me). The staff do speak a bit of English, but they assume that I know what to ask for… I don’t know what many dishes are called, so all I can express (in English, Thai, Swahili, or otherwise!!) is that I want noodles, and chicken or something similarly vague. Which of the million varieties of noodles with chicken, I cannot say! I always come away with something delicious, but never the mysterious delights I see the students with. I will need to start learning the names of some dishes so I can ask! There are just soooo many, and infinite varieties of each! I’ll just have to eat my way round all of them.

Hi-lights so far have been: A very tasty red curry, steamed chicken (Hainanese chicken), assorted stir-fries (optionally with a fried egg), including one with lots of yummy greens, a selection of yummy fruit from the fruit stall, iced coffee for 10B!!

Some surprises: Liver in my noodle soup (actually I quite like liver, if I don’t chew it too much, but it’s most surprising if you’re not expecting it), some unidentified smoked fish / seafood (possibly abalone) which I thought was tofu (again, quite pleasant but surprising when you’re expecting tofu), and the iced cocoa is actually not overwhelmingly sweet… (most surprising for Thailand)

Yesterday, I had my first Som Tam for lunch in the canteen. I hadn’t had one at all yet, at school or otherwise, because I’d heard tell of its legendary spiciness. Yesterday, craving some veggies after a carb-loaded weekend, I decided it was time. And, my my, it was DELICIOUS. Yes, pretty darn spicy, but sooooo tasty with it. Nom nom nom.

First Day…

I’d been told to ‘dress politely’, so I opted for a neat white blouse and black skirt… turns out this is basically the students’ uniform…! Ooops. The other teachers found that quite funny 🙂

Fresh off the production line… Teacher Lizzie reporting for duty!

There’s a big emphasis on setting an example for the students, so teachers are required to dress very smartly (dressing like the students: optional!)

Fortunately, there’s a market near my apartment that sells a variety of interestingly-coloured blouses, so I stocked up on a few more!

I arrived at the college about 45 minutes early (!), so got to see all the students arriving. They gather in the main courtyard at the front of the college each morning for daily assembly and prayers.

The main courtyard, as yet free of students

The students begin to arrive and assemble in the courtyard

The students neatly assembled

While I waited for the students to complete their assembly, I took the opportunity to get a look at my new classroom:

Ah, so quiet… for now!

View from the front of the classroom – soon to be filled with boisterous students!

The classrooms look pretty basic, but most of them have a projector that can be plumbed into a laptop. Some of the rooms even have PCs linked to the projector. However, I’ve yet to use one… a possibility I may explore in the future, but the students are responding well enough to their books and worksheets – and craftily-devised games – at present! 🙂

Tips for Teaching Thai Students – Based on First Impressions

Of course, all students are different regardless of culture. I am loath to make generalisations, and can only speak for my students, but here are some things I’ve discovered that are a little different than teaching in the UK… make of them what you will!

1. Aim for Fun and Lively

Thai students are (on balance) a joy to teach, but you need to be prepared – and entertaining. Have lots of tricks up your sleeve! They love moving quickly from one activity to the next, and love playing games – even if it’s just a barely-disguised textbook exercise. You may need to get creative in giving and rephrasing instructions too. They are industrious students, and will work away at an exercise until it is done, though they prefer a varied lesson with lots of small activities. Although they will do any task you set them, they won’t thank you for a long, boring class conjugating verbs. It’s really not hard to get them motivated, and they will go for most things with enthusiasm if you present it in a fun way. Keep it mixed up and lively, and they (and you) will have some really enjoyable lessons with very little effort. Even just giving instructions in a novel way makes things more fun. The students love getting involved; let them be your little classroom elves! Get fast finishers to write answers on the board, or set them off on a wee speaking round-up with their fast-finishing pals.

2. Just Let Them Speak Thai – you can’t stop them anyroads!

The first couple of lessons, I could not get my students to talk. Not to me, nor to each other. I couldn’t figure it out…! I tried it every which way: pairs, groups, as a class. Turns out, they were just painfully shy of the scary new farang teacher. Now they’re used to me, they chat away happily. Mostly in Thai, but I occasionally get a bit of English out of them! One of the first things I learned: Abandon any rules you have about ‘only English in my classroom’. Assuming you’re teaching a monolingual Thai class anyway. Trust me, it will help you – at least I’ve found as much with my students. And there’s no stopping them. However hard you protest, you’re fighting a losing battle. They will talk, and it will mostly be Thai. But don’t worry, it’s actually mostly constructive. They are more than happy to help each other do an exercise. Sure, they might chat a little bit, but mostly they’re talking about the exercise in hand, and helping each other do it. Just let them – they are still learning even if you can’t join in. Monitor unobtrusively, but closely, and you will soon figure out what they’re stuck on even if you can’t understand what they’re saying. Give them a few pointers, and they’re off again. They’re happy to ask you when they need help or want to check something, don’t worry! (You’ll soon be hearing nothing but “teacher, teacher!”, even in your sleep…!)

3. Keep Calm and Giggle On

Next, and very, very importantly: Don’t get stressed! Sometimes, the students can be infuriating. All students can be. Especially if they’re being ‘made’ to take English, and it’s not their main course of study. Understandably, in those circumstances, their priorities – and attentions – are elsewhere.  Just accept it. Your class might be the most important thing to you, but it’s not for them. C’est la vie! If you get cross about it, no-one is going to enjoy the lesson. If you’re having trouble getting their attention – or getting them to shudddduppppp for one godddamm minute and put their flipping phones away – don’t get angry, and certainly don’t raise your voice! Try (if you at all can) to get their attention with a laugh and a smile. A little jokey ‘mock’ anger is fine, they respond to that. Smile, giggle and say “Guys! Shhhhh”, like you would with your pals. It works. Trying to be the stern school mistress does not, they don’t like that and the rest of the lesson will be frosty and difficult.

This is the biggest thing I’ve learnt – in all aspects of classroom management, not just discipline. A warm smile and a bit of a giggle go a loooooong way with Thai students (and Thai people in general). Whatever you’re doing, smile and make it fun, and they will respond in kind, and actually listen to your instructions! If you’re being stern and dull, they won’t listen and you’ve got a battle on your hands.

Above all, heed what Freddie says.

4. Get Used to the Two-Step Instruction Process

Giving instructions for tasks is also an exercise in patience! However clearly you explain the task to the class, you will almost certainly need to go round each pair / group individually and reiterate the instructions. Just accept this as read – give the instructions and model on the board (model everything on the board, it really helps. Say it, write it, say it again) – then go round each group and give the instructions again. Once a few of them ‘get it’, the news will spread round the class apparently telepathically and they’ll complete the task in no time. Standing at the board hashing and rehashing will only draw more blank stares – and make the students panic and therefore clam up. Keep your instructions as brief and visual as possible. Same for ICQs and CCQs – anything remotely complex in this area will confuse them (I suspect it’s not a techniqute used by Thai teachers, they don’t seem familiar with the concept) – so just keep any questions dead simple.

5. To drill or not to drill….

If you read anything aloud, the students will automatically repeat after you. Don’t be disconcerted! They drill like billy-oh over here. After a few classes with you (devise your own ‘listen and repeat’ or ‘just listen’ gestures), they will soon figure out when you want them to drill and when you don’t.

I’m still experimenting in this area, as I’m not sure of the benefit… some drilling is  useful for them, as a lot of them are too shy to ‘perform’ and practise in front of the class, so it at least gives them a chance to speak in class. Make sure you model clearly if you’re going to drill. But be cautious of getting carried away. Most classes will drill like the clappers with unfettered glee, and conducting them is great fun (especially with intonation), but remember that drilling has limited benefit. You need the ‘meaning’ to be clear and well understood in order for the ‘pronunciation’ knowledge to hang off it successfully. Who ever remembered to pronounce a word perfectly if they had no clue what it meant? It’s more important the students get to work using the language naturally, getting to grips with semantics and such, than that you get to play Lloyd Webber to their a capella orchestra. So far, I’ve found the CELTA system to be successful… model the new vocab briefly initially, but let the students complete meaning and controlled pracitise usage exercises before you do some limited drilling. After drilling, follow straight up with some meaningful controlled and freer practise exercises – preferably with a pairwork or small group speaking task. Emphasis on meaning and usage first, then pronunciation. Monitor the tasks, and do some on-the-spot and/or post-activity correction on pronunciation if required.

I’ve found that drilling works better as a fun filler between tasks – which happens to practise pronunciation – rather than as an exercise in itself. With this is mind, over-emphasise the point you’re teaching (e.g. intonation, stress, the zzzzzzzzzzzzz in isn’t) – the students love it and it can be great fun. Up the fun factor using gestures and facial expressions for emphasis, or get different parts of the class to repeat different phrases. My students are great mimics, and love an opportunity to copy my English accent in phrases like ‘we do too’. Great! Let them do it, it’s fun and they’re bound to remember it.

I think that about covers it for now! I certainly don’t consider this list complete or exhaustive – just a starter for 10 based on my first impressions. Subject to change! And I’m bound to come up with more little tactics as time goes on – there’s certainly still a LOT to learn about my students, but I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun learning it.

Please do leave comments if you have more tips that I haven’t mentioned, or think I’m mistaken in anything. I’m still new to this gig, and learning as I go! All advice very welcome!

‘Til next time… 🙂

(PS The 7-Eleven next to my college has a bigger selection of steamed buns than the one near my apartment… watch out for further forays into the land of steamed treats on my page 7-11 Steamed Bun Pot Luck!)

Mr Ping Pong the Visionary

While handing out CVs, I passed the Nakornping Aphibalkit School of Nurse Aide… might as well give it a try, I thought, I bet English is handy for nurses to know. Turns out it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve made so far! (7-11 Steamed Bun pot luck being a close second, but that’s another story…!)

Inside, I met Mr Ping Pong, the husband of the director. The nurses’ school couldn’t give me any paid work (though volunteering may be a possibility), but Mr Ping Pong had an idea. He has connections with an elementary in school in Wang Phang municipality. All schools need English teachers now, as English is the common language of the ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) economic area. More rural schools are in particular need. Mr Ping Pong is part of an association promoting ASEAN connections throughout the region – with particular reference to shared culture, music and language.

Mr Ping Pong and I talked about this for sometime and, with great enthusiasm and many diagrams, he explained his project for bringing English to Thai village schools. He outlined a possible career for me, starting as an English Teacher, and step-by-step working my way up to English Advisor for the region. It sounded fascinating, and worthy. We talked for some time, and he was keen to stress, that most foreign (farang) teachers have their priorities backwards, by Thai standards. Most foreign teachers think about the salary first and the job second (so says Mr Ping Pong… I certainly wouldn’t say all, but there is a significant portion…). To Mr Ping Pong’s mind, this is backwards – job first, salary after. You have to do it for the love of the job, because it’s what you want to do. I suspect he may be right – I am certainly much happier now I’m doing a job that I love, even though it’s a significant pay cut from my previous work. I’m not even that bothered about the salary, so long as I have enough to live off (though I’ll admit I’m accustomed to a certain level of comfort, and have a double-headed iced coffee and mango sticky rice addiction to keep up).

Suffice to say, Mr Ping Pong was delighted that I was similarly minded, and expressed interest in going to teach in a rural school when he suggested it. He told me that, if I went there, I would be made incredibly welcome, and “they would love you like a sister, because you have heart of gold. So important!”. You cannae say fairer than that, eh? We talked some more, and he called one of his contacts at Wan Phang elementary school asking if they’d be interested to hire me. We spoke briefly on the phone, and she said she would speak with her boss on Monday, Mr PP would call me back to let me know what was what.

So that was that. Mr PP showed me his museum of ASEAN (and the rest of the world!) musical instruments, and we chatted a bit longer. I left feeling great for having such a lovely conversation (probably the longest I’ve had since I arrived!) and continued on my merry way, feeling reassured in my quest.

Looking at Mr Ping Pong’s ASEAN musical instrument collection

The remainder of the weekend passed peacably enough, and Monday came, bringing with it Mr PP’s promised call. His contact’s boss was pleased with their idea, and would like to meet me. I went back to the nursing school to discuss details. We were to go to Wang Phang the next day where we’d meet the Lord Mayor (!), who is also in charge of schools in the Wang Phang municipality. Very exciting! However, I was supposed to be going the next day to Chiang Mai Vocational College, where I had been offered work, to meet the co-ordinating teacher there… awwkwwaarrrd…. I really wanted to go to Wang Phang, but I didn’t want to refuse the work at the college either. Fortunately, the teacher at the college very kindly let me change our appointment to the next day. I could go to Wang Phang after all!

The next morning, I was up super early (by my unemployed standards!) to head round to the Nursing School for 8pm. I got there a little early, but Mr PP was already there. We were waiting on another man, a professor / doctor of political science and agriculture, who would be coming with us. He too was to be introduced by Mr PP to the Lord Mayor for the possibility of working in the school in Wang Phang. We would both become part of Mr PP’s ASEAN integration network in Wang Phang municipality. Mr PP and I passed the time discussing the plan, and chatting about our home towns and adopted home towns. Mr PP showed me, in greater details his ASEAN / world instrument collection, and demonstrated a few for me. He had one of the nurses take photos ‘for memories’ while we chatted. Mr PP asked me if I might be able to get hold of some bagpipes for his collection. I told him I would try – any one coming to visit from Scotland willing to help out? Mr PP will reimburse!! 🙂

Mr P showing me how to play this Vietnamese instrument

He also introduced me to the nursing students, who were bustling about ready for a day off-premises somewhere. They were really lovely, and were thrilled when Mr PP said I might volunteer to come and help with their English. We all posed for photies out the front of the school, and with much smiling and waving the nurses were off.

With the trainee nurses are the Nursing school

Soon, the Doc arrived, and without much further ado, we set off for Wang Phang. It’s about a 45 minute drive from Chiang Mai, and my second-ever sight of Thai countryside. Beautiful! On arriving in Wang Phang, we headed straight for municipality HQ where we were whisked straight into a meeting with the Lord Mayor. I was delivered into the care of Apple, the lady I had spoken to on the phone, who would act as my translator and guide. Genuinely one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met! She immediately put me at my ease, and I could definitely see myself working with her.

The Lord Mayor spoke in Thai for a bit; I smiled and tried to look interested. It worked a little too well, as they asked, with some surprise, if I understood. When I said ‘No’, we all laughed, and Mr PP roughly translated (he was talking about education policies). I was asked some questions, which Apply and Mr PP translated, and then asked if I could start working next month. I explained about the Vocational College, and said I would love to come and work in Wang Phang in 4 months, after my contract was up, but would like to stay in town for a bit first. This is what I’d decided overnight, seeing as I am still new here, and a little too used to Western comforts. Best to ease myself in to rural life. However, even as I was saying it, I felt torn. The people I was meeting were so lovely, I wanted to up sticks and work with them right away.

The Lord Mayor talked at length with the Doc and Mr PP about agriculture and so forth. Meanwhile, Apple and I discussed details. It’s a curious feature of Thai meetings, that people are free to answer phones, nip in and out, and talk among themselves. It’s more like a roomful of concurrent conversations than a chaired meeting (although the LM was undisputedly in charge of the meeting). Apple and I talked about what I would get paid (she’d need to check with the LM – most teachers earn 8000/month out there, but farang possibly higher), and where I would stay (with Apple, of course! She said, a little sheepishly ‘I’m single’, by way of explanation, and was thrilled when I said I was too. And she wouldn’t hear of me paying any rent). I explained that I wasn’t bothered about a big salary, so long as I had enough to live on and a little extra for flights home and trips about the place.  She was pleased to hear that!  She said perhaps I could start in the new academic year (in 4 months’ time). She would need to speak to the LM.

Presently, I was asked to introduce myself and explain a little bit about the Scottish education system. I was a little taken aback by this – in the UK the TEFL sector is very distinct from mainstream schooling, so I did not expect to be asked about regular schooling at all. If I’d thought about it, I would have clicked that (obviously) in Thailand , TEFL is part of the state school system, like we learn French. I explained the basics of Scottish schooling well enough to satisfy them, but I felt a bit like a phony. Mr PP translated (though I was told most of them can understand English, just can’t speak it themselves).

At the municipality meeting with the Lord Mayor

Seemingly satisified, the LM went back to talking to the Doc and Mr PP in Thai, and Apple and I continued to chat. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with a fullness of the bladder, and the meeting went on and on! After about 2 hours (no joke!) Mr LM finally concluded the meeting, inviting us all to lunch at a lovely restaurant by the river. They caught the fish they served on site (uh-oh… should I mention I don’t really eat fish as it sometimes makes me ill? Decided to bide my time on that one…)

We all posed for pictures outside:

With the Lord Mayor, education board and teachers at Wang Phang municipality HQ.

After which we headed off to the restaurant. On arriving, I saw that the table was already set and the fish dishes laid out. Was glad I’d kept schtum, as it would have made things very awkward! We all sat down to eat, and I decided to brave it with the fish. It clearly wasn’t flat fish (which makes me exorcist ill); everything else usually just gives me a bit of a sore tum. For the sake of politeness, I’d just tuck in and suffer whatever consequences later. Besides, I really do quite like fish even if it does make me ick. It was delicious! Really, really tasty. So fresh it didn’t taste at all fishy. One fish was fried in a light batter, the other was steamed, stuffed with lemon grass, lime and chilli. Alongside was a delightful stocky soup, and some kind of squid green curry. I was really pleased I hadn’t made a fuss and just got stuck in – one of the best things I’ve eaten so far! Turns out, the fish didn’t make me at all unwell, either. Not even a niggle. It was river fish, and I think previously I’ve only eaten sea fish… perhaps that’s the answer?

At that delightful lunch of fresh river fish!

After lunch, the LM took his leave and headed back to do some important Lord Mayoring. Mr Ping Pong, the Doc, Apple and I, accompanied by one of the other teachers (a wee sweetheart called Jett, who asked Apple if she could call me ‘sister’!) headed over to look at the school. As it’s holidays, none of the students were there, but the teachers were. We sat in the teachers’ room and chatted for a bit, while more photos were took (seriously, I was photographed more than Princess Di, I swear!), and I was invited to a teachers’ activity day in the National Park – the next week when due to start at CM Vocational College! I said I’d see what I can do, and once again was really torn… I hadn’t signed a contract for CMVC yet. Could I let them down and just come to Wang Phang instead?!

At the school, after lunch, discussing our plans

Afterwards, Mr PP asked me to speak to the teachers (really awkward, I wasn’t prepared) and tell them about myself. They were invited to ask me questions. Proper awkward! But they’re a really nice bunch. We were then ushered outside for more photos, and the teachers presented me with a gift. It didn’t seem expected that I’d open it right away, so I just held onto it, burning with curiosity!

Mr Ping Pong explains our plans to the teachers

Talking to the teachers at the school

Talking to the teachers – can you tell I’m nervous?!

Receiving a lovely gift from the teachers at the school

Next we went across to see the Child Development centre, which was in action despite the holidays, as it’s the nursery… and it was coming up for nap time at the nursery!!

Oh my goodness, those were some of the cutest children I have ever seen (except my darling nephew). Especially the ones getting snuggled on their wee mattresses ready for nap time! Some of the other classes were more lively, especially the very young group, and they crowded round and stared with their huge brown eyes. One of the nursery teachers got a few of the young ones to wai, and my heart just melted!

With the teachers, and some of the nursery children from the child development centre

I wouldn’t be teaching the nursery if I were to take the job, I’d be teaching the older primary students. Still, I bet they’re quite sweet themselves…! A plan was forming: the Doc would teach them the basics this term, and I would teach the more advanced (though probably still Elementary level) students when I start next academic year.

Signing the guest book at the Child Development Centre

Having seen practically all there was to see, and after Mr PP had made a brief visit to the hospital, we said our goodbyes and headed back to CM. I was struggling to stay awake in the car on the way back, though strove gallantly to hide it! Mr PP and the Doc chatted away in Thai, and I looked out the window, thinking about whether I should go strang to Wang Phang or stick around CM for a bit first… After seeing the school, I was all for taking the job there right now, leaving CM next month. However, as we drove back into town, with its busy streets and bustling markets and restaurants and coffee shops, I became aware quite how empty Wang Phang is. I felt a strangely strong affection and attachment to Chiang Mai – already so familiar – after only leaving it for a couple of hours… torn!!

After being deposited at the Nurses’ College, I thanked Mr PP and headed back to the guest house. On my way, I stopped at a coffee shop for a delightful iced latte (my new vice), while I mulled things over. Yes, I really wanted to go to Wang Phang, but I still had so much of Chiang Mai to see. I’d only been there a week and a bit. I was aware that I had to decided sooner or later, as I was due to start at the college the following Monday (in 6 days’ time). Decisions, decisions!

When I got back to the guest house, I crept straight up to my room to open my (still unopened!) present. My curiosity was killing me. It was a largeish box, that made a queer noise when I (gently!) rattled it. It was a desk clock that stood like a greetings card, with a picture of the King and Queen on one side, the clock on the other. For some reason, that was the last thing I expected, but on reflection, of course it was bound to be something like that! I’m really quite chuffed with it, though it needs a battery.

I was still deliberating all evening over what to do, and was starting to feel a little nervous about it… what to do? What to do?! When I woke up the next morning, though, I knew that I really wanted to stay in Chiang Mai just now, and go to Wang Phang later on, if I could. When I’m more used to Thai culture, weaned off Western comforts, and more confident in my teaching (that’s what worried me most – I’d be the only farang teacher there, so I probably wouldn’t be able to ask for much by way of guidance when it came to the finer points of ELT). The kind folks at Wang Phang were willing to be flexible and let me start next year. Very generous of them. If it had been now or nothing, I probably would have just gone for it, but seeing as they were giving me the opportunity to do both, it would seem a bit foolish not to – seeing as that’s what I really want to do!!

So that’s that. I’m teaching at Chiang Mai Vocational College for the next 4 months, after which I will possibly (hopefully) be off to Wang Phang to teach with the lovely people I met there – if they still want me! Once I’d seen past my panicked deliberation, I realised it really has worked out wonderfully for me, as I get the opportunity to experience both worlds. And all thanks to Mr Ping Pong! 🙂

Moral of the story: Drop in seemingly random places, talk to people, and listen to their ideas. It’s amazing where it can lead!