A/C Gym Dreams

I opened the door and entered a pre-heated oven. In a few minutes, I felt like I was an over-baked chicken, which had been cooked so long that all the juice and flavor had evaporated out. I didn't have any energy left to do anything, much less run hardcore for 30 minutes on the treadmill and do toning exercises on the weights.

Oh ye who work out in perfect temperature controlled gyms don't know how lucky you have it.

I used to be a lucky one. I had a shiny golden card which allowed me to go for free whenever I wanted to California Wow, one of the gyms in Bangkok. I had gotten a deal for a free membership through a friend and savored it. Unlike some of my friends who discuss working out as torture they must endure weekly in order to feel better about themselves, Im one of those weird people who actually enjoy the thrill, the sweat, the challenge, and the joy I feel after a good workout.

I reveled in walking into the refreshing air of my old gym, getting my card swiped, skipping past the many autographed profile photos of famous people I had never heard of who love my gym. Then right before the escalators meeting the huge poster of a woman's face who has a pixie-haircut, a perfect smile, and eyes that wink at whoever walks by like she is saying, "Welcome back friend."

I used to go in the mornings before work, or on my days off at times when it was the least busy. The gym became my adult version of a playground where I could play on any of the hundreds of treadmills, ellipticals, and other cardio machines; bend, lift, turn and twist on the wide array of machines in the weight area, and stretch my worn body in the section full of mirrors and mats.

Or of course there were the free classes I could go to at any hour of the day, but all taught in Thai with only a few English numbers or phrases tossed in. Yet, if I observed closely, I usually caught on fine.

But then it happened: my glorious, beautiful free year membership ended; my golden card became void and added to the pile of the useless cards I still kept in my wallet for nostalgic reasons.

And we moved, to a new apartment complex which had a gym--one of the main reasons we chose to move there. Of course, in Thailand, at a mid-range apartment, the gyms aren't much. They told us it didn't have A/C, but to my tough husband, it wasn't a big deal, we could handle it. I wanted to be tough too, and agreed, yeah, it wouldn't be that big a deal. This was during the somewhat cooler season, when the temperature is around 85 degrees.

The first week I was rather miserable, I missed the variety, familiarity, and cold air of my old gym. The machines in our new one are all made in the 80s and somehow have lasted until now. Long gone are hundreds of cardio machines, now I can chose between only two treadmills and two bikes. And our air conditioning substitute is five low-powered, lint-covered overhead fans spread throughout the whole room.

I got used to it though, and it was nice having the freedom to go whenever I wanted, be able to work out easily with my hubby, and for him to meet new guy friends through it.

But then it happened: the crazy hot season rolled in. I think the temperature must average at around 95-100, but even if it is around 90 or so it still feels like 100 because the air doesn't move at all; it just sits there like the heat has scared all the cool breezes and winds away from Thailand forever.

So thats why this week I have been running as fast as a 100 year-old turtle, sweating through my shirts in minutes like I'm a large 53-year-old man and sucking water out of my bottle like Im a 3-month old starving infant.

At least next year when I go to an air-conditioned gym, or run outside in the morning in 70-degree weather, I will work out with thankfulness cuz of how lucky I am--and if you got that now, be grateful and please say a lil prayer for me every time you work out, that I will survive being baked in my Thai gym oven.

Drama Queens

Chicken quesadillas. Guacamole. Cilantro. Mango salsa. Fun conversation with a fun friend.

These are a few of my favorite things.

Last night I got to meet up with a Thai friend whom I hadn't seen in awhile and eat over-priced (but quite delicious considering the fact we live quite east of the border) Mexican food--one of my long lost friends I miss immensely.

I enjoyed the food like crazy, and my stomach was so excited to eat cheese again it didn't know what to do with itself.

But I love how when women get together for lunch, coffee, or dinner, the food or drinks are always just a sidenote, something nice to gather around while we pour out our hearts to each other.

I listened to my friend's stories that were bubbling with new loves and lost loves and the many other crazy things going on in her life. I introduced her to the word "drama" and she was so delighted to start calling herself a "drama queen".

We decided that when women get together and share their stories it is like watching a movie of each other's lives. The food is just the popcorn you eat while you are engrossed in the story, empathizing with the actress starring before you.

How fun it is to be a woman--to have a lead role, to share your stories with an avid audience, and to always have a good story to watch and listen to.

Hope you get some popcorn and enjoy a movie today. :)

Gold

I wish I was 75 years old. I wish I had a head full of wisdom and white hair. I wish I had grandkids who came to visit. I wish I had a beautiful kitchen where I could make them cheesy omelettes and banana pancakes. I wish I was retired in New Zealand and lived on the side of a hill overlooking a Hobbiton-like town.

I wish I could say Dominic and I have been married 52 years and are more in love than we ever were before.

How I envy those older couples who hold hands quietly as they walk down deserted beaches together. It seems they have developed ESP over time, so there is no more need for words.

They have battled the winds, rains, and tsunamis of life together and made it through. These storms have somehow transformed them from scraggly saplings into solid oaks, and they now stand, without quivering, through the worst gales of life.

They have their battle scars, but time, forgiveness, and love mixed together have healed whatever pain they ever brought to one another. They have beaten the odds and stuck together till the end.

But it took so much to get there. So many misunderstandings, so many tears, so much figuring out each other to not keep hurting each other.

It took so much forgiveness, so much acceptance of imperfection, so much unconditional love.

I wish I could skip all the hurricanes and just poof, become that solid oak.

But then how would I gain the gold I seek everyday: wisdom? How would I be able to help those who are struggling understand that it will be ok?

I admire those who have made it through and are still standing strong. You are my inspiration.

I envy the wisdom you have already gained through your tests of life. Please don't be afraid to share some with those of us who are hungering for some too.

Cotton-Candy Blue Moments

Cotton-candy blue waters chilled my sticky like glue, hot like an overheated car body. Little shouts of "Ah, cold, wow," escaped from my lips, but really--I couldn't have been more delighted.

Future Muay Thai boxers (aka skinny Thai boys with arm muscles slowly coming into bloom) practiced sparing with each other on the limestone rocks surrounding the pools. The other kids on summer vacation were screaming, laughing, and pushing each other in the nature-made water-park. The tough ones would swarm like bees around a smaller victim until they were able to yank him to the tiered waterfall's sliding rock and shove him down as he screamed with fear/delight.

The dirty, messy hike, over rocks in the river, up unsteady steps made of rickety planks of wood, on walking bridges dangling precariously on ropes above the waterfalls' river had led us to our final destination: the top of the seven-tiered waterfall.

Each of the first of Erawan's waterfalls levels were so tempting; I just wanted to stop there and not go on. They were like the snacks I always want to eat before dinner because I'm so hungry. We watched the mix of European backpackers and Thai families frolicking in the emerald green or sky blue waters with little fishies nibbling their toes. The explorers would hide behind the mighty curtain of the falls or clamber up as high as they could go on the slippery rocks. I loved watching so many cultures mix together and come out with the same product: refreshment.

I'm glad we decided to not swim until we made it to the top. It made the experience taste better than it would have if we had stopped early. I loved to watch my hard-worked sweat and dirt be swept away in the clean, pure water's flow. I loved sharing in it with my husband as we held each other and laughed and took pictures in the waters, trying to somehow make the fleeting like a shadow moment last.

I wanted to keep this forever with me. I wanted to hold onto it and be able to replay it over and over until I had it memorized like my favorite movies. Why do precious times like this have to slip away so quickly?

I always feel somewhat bittersweet feelings whenever Im having a perfect day because I know soon it will disappear. I will be back to normal life, and it will become only something we tell others we did the other weekend, and it was great.

But I guess that is rather pessimistic of me. I hope I can enjoy every moment more and squeeze all the savory and sweetness out of it and then know that when that delicious time passes another one is just around the bend.

Women's Work

My mundane work week was over. I was reveling in the fact that now I was sitting in a comforting chair, sipping a heart-warming mocha, with my sweet, handsome husband of 2 months sitting next to me. Warm, gushy feelings were filling up my insides so quickly I thought I might burst and flood super-sweetness over everything if I didn't let some of it out soon.

So the vessel I chose to pour my abundant delight with the world into was my mother-n-law who was sitting in front of me innocently nibbling on blueberry cheesecake.

"Dominic has been so sweet to me! He makes me dinner since I work late, and he helps with laundry and cleaning too! He really cares for me so well!". No, I wasn't just trying to be a-suck-up-to-mother-n-law-to-get-her-on-my-good-side-wife. I just wanted her to feel encouraged about how wonderful her son was. What mom doesn't want to hear stuff like that?

Dom blushed, as much as his caramel-toned skin will allow him to, and translated my words to my mother-n-law. She sort of half-smiled and chuckled and then said something in Thai.

I grinned as she spoke, trying to put the puzzle pieces of the sing-song language together. But alas, since the smile-nod-hug language is the only one I have become fluent in since living in Thailand, after much effort, I still had no clue what she said. I assumed it must have been something like, "Im so glad he cares for you well! Im so proud of him!"

Dom nodded as she spoke. Then sat back in his chair, starting to look at the magazine in his lap again. I tugged on his arm, "So what did she say??"

"She asked how much do you pay me for doing the housework."

What! I was astonished. Here I am trying to laud her son, and all she thinks is that I'm commenting about how lazy a wife I can be because my husband does the work that I should be doing.

I shouldn't have been surprised though. I remember when Dom and I were first dating and I had asked him what he spent his Saturday doing and he said he had been doing "women's work" all day. What??

In Thai "women's work" is the phrase for cleaning, laundry, etc., all things women apparently do. I told him that in English we say "house work" and please can we stick to that set of terms from now on.

I don't hold it against my mother-n-law, or against Thai society because some of them are still having their minds pried open to the idea that a woman doesn't always have to be the only one who stays at home and does all the dirty work.

For example, right now Im the one who provides the income as I have a full-time job as a SAT writing, and book club teacher, while Dom is working full-time on his masters thesis in Telecomm Engineering. Im thankful that Dom doesn't mind sharing the dirty work and working together as one.

Hmm..but it would be rather nice if his mom didn't think I was a lazy, American girl who pays her husband to do things for her. But Im eager to be part of conducting opening mind experiments on her over these many years before us.

Modern-Day Angels

After a discussion with my hubby this morning I felt like I was failing, and not a good enough wife. It was just about something silly, and he had no intentions of making me feel that way, but for me and my fragile self-worth, silly things easily turn into serious things.

On my walk to work this morning the weight of my invented expectations were still pulling me down. I felt as though I was going to sink into the broken sidewalk. The heat, stress about my upcoming work day, and the thought replaying over and over again that Im not whom I want to be, made me feel so low that I had become a slug, slowly pulling myself along, leaving slime and gunk to everyone in my wake.

I had been praying that I would somehow be encouraged, that I would be refreshed and that joy would come to me in the midst of my silly storm.

I stopped at a street-side drink vendor I have always wandered by but hadn't tried out yet. I ordered a Thai-style iced cappuccino, for only 30 baht ($1 ish). While the barista worked quickly and expertly, I tried to smile at her, to try to leave her out of my gloomy world. She smiled back as she handed me the tall, perspiring, pink plastic cup with a simple flower and the word "blooming" imprinted on it.

I took my first sip of the iced capp as I walked away. The sweetened condensed milk, espresso and foam mixed together in my mouth and all the sudden it was like someone had waved a magic wand over me and said, "It will be ok, feel joy," because that is what I felt, inexpressible joy.

A cooler breeze started to tussle my hair, the fruit the street vendors were selling looked brighter and fresher than usual. Thoughts were running through my head of how blessed I am to get to walk on a Bangkok sidewalk to go to work, that I have a husband full of grace, family and friends from home to miss, and family and friends here to love on. I also remembered that Im a human, who needs to forgive myself and remember Im totally accepted by and acceptable to God no matter what I have done, so shouldn't I give myself the same forgiveness He gives me?

It was like the iced cappucino had made a wrong turn and went up into my mind to refresh it, before going down to my stomach.

Or I can pretend that it was an angel sent to remind me of what joy there is in this world, not only in my relationships, but also in the simple pleasures given to me that bring delight to my soul--like coffee. Because after my soul-refreshing cappuccino came more modern-day angels...a sweet message from my hubby, encouraging emails from friends, and amazing lasagna from the Thai market.

I wonder if joy is always around us, but it is our choice to see it and claim it as our own or to keep slugging by it.

Used Toys

She is beautiful. Her hair is so dark and shiny it is onyx. Her skin is the color of coffee with a little too much cream. Her eyes appear black at first, but then with a second glimpse they have flecks of dark brown swirled in. Her fake eyelashes curl up dramatically and her filled in eyebrows are gentle waxing moons. Her dark mauve lips pucker off her face.

Her long legs are on display in her tight, fake designer Seven jeans which must be size -1. Black, strappy heels lift her 2.5 inches off the ground. Her flat-chest is hidden beneath a billowing, sequin studded, silver shirt.

The words, you are beautiful, sexxxxy, hot, gorgeous, have rolled through her ears more than a million times it seems. These words have lost all meaning to her. They were like a toy that she had always wanted, but once she got it and played with it, she saw how temporary the pleasure lasted and now she wants nothing to do with it.

They know her body, inside and out. But do they know her?

Do they know what kind of movies she hates? Do they know her unforgettable embarrassing story that happened when she was 12? Do they know how to make her smile after she's had a long day? Do they know how much she wants to be known?

She is a delicious meal. They delight, enjoy, revel in, and then leave because their hunger has been satiated for the time being. But she feels like a leftover, previously adored, now sitting cold, alone in the fridge.

Bangkok is one of the most visited cities in the world. And as one of my friend's said,"I wonder why so many people come to Bangkok? The Grand Palace isn't that grand.." It is because of the booming sex industry which draws middle-aged, old, nerdy, sketchy, etc. men who haven't found enough pleasure at home, so now they search for it here along the streets flooded with their dreams come true.

I see pain on both sides and don't know how to help either. The women are attempting to escape from the pain of poverty, the men are attempting to escape the pain of feeling powerless and unloved.

But my heart mourns for the women. Their priceless beauty is turned into something hawked on the street. Their hearts that yearn for a man to save them and care for them are left hungry and starving everyday.

Everyday they become the toy that the boy doesn't want to play with anymore.

Digital Perm Death

My usual curly mess of hair was transformed. It was now smoothed straight at the top, and then flowed into elegant, loose curls. I loved it and my new boyfriend adored it too.

The hairdresser had told my friend in Thai, which was then translated to me, that if I wanted my new look to last for about 6 months, I could get a digital perm. I wouldn't have to do anything but wash it, and it would fall into place perfectly everyday.

How could I say no?? The next week I went to the same hairdresser to get it done. The whole process took 3 hours and two of my friends hung out with me the whole time. First my hair was chemically straightened. Then the ends were curled in a machine that looked like the suckers dairy farmers put on cow udders.

I kept trying to stay hopeful that this rather tedious, strange process would bring about the desired result, so I stayed positive and looked at pictures in a Thai celebrity mag as cow udder suckers were stuck to my head and chemical smells burned up my nose.

Finally, it was over. So my hair didn't look quite as curled and elegant as the first day I came to the hairdresser, but I figured it might need some time to loosen up. The next day I washed my hair, excited to see what would happen. Out of my bathroom mirror peering at me was a girl with straight hair at the top, and frizzy, wavy-ness at the ends. Not quite what I expected or wanted to get from my $200.

I decided to go back, and try again because the hairdresser told me if it wasn't curled enough, she would fix it for me for free. I didn't realize this would mean doing the entire process again. I sat for another 3 hours, with even more hope under the udder-suckers than before.

But the next day, my hair looked exactly the same as the day before. And now, my fine, soft hair, felt like the hair on a long-forgotten Barbie doll. It was coarse and knotted and impossible to run my fingers through. It wasn't until six months later when I went back to America to a hairdresser that I would learn my hair had been completely and throughly fried to death.

The average strand of Asian hair is much thicker and coarser than a non-Asian's strand of hair, and probably 10 times thicker than my strands. So a typical Asian's hair can hold up to a digital perm's harsh treatments, but when my hair was permed not only once, but twice, all life was sucked out of it. After I learned all this it clicked in my head why the second time I went the hairdressers they were saying something about foreigners hair in quiet, confused tones.

So I had to live with this mistake and deal with the fact that I would never again see my once annoying, messy curls that in my mind I now remembered as precious ringlets which I was so silly to be discontent with.

But even horrible hair mistakes don't last forever. After a few months, I noticed that in the midst of my straight hair on top small curls were popping up like waves in a calm sea. This didn't really make me happy though because my hair wasn't any better, now it was just indecisive-- it couldn't make up its mind to be straight or curly. Random people I would meet would say, "Wow, you have an interesting hairstyle. How do you make your hair curly and straight?" Then i would have to go into the death of my hair story every time.

This morning, about one year later, as I was walking through the Metro Mall glancing at myself in the mirror-covered wall, I saw how my hair is almost all curly now. It still isn't completely back to normal. Maybe it won't ever be the same, but Im starting to like the new look.

It hit me how like my hair, I see all the ugly, messed-up parts of me and wonder if they will ever change--will I ever be the stronger, more loving and considerate woman I yearn to be? I think even though I don't see the transformation over night--like I hoped would happen to my screwed-up hair--it is happening, a little more everyday as I let go and let more grace come in to make beauty out of the ugly things in my life.

Locked Up

I am a bird locked in a cage, peering out of the half-open blinds onto Bangkok, Sukhimvit 21 more precisely. I see a Minute Maid orange juice billboard, with curly-q Thai script printed on it. The vivid blue background and orange bottle seem to come from another world, a world that I don't exist in at the moment.  

Cars, busses, pedestrians, street vendors, meander along the street or sidewalks, but they are not part of me either. The site outside the window to another world lures me, it taunts me to come, and how I want to give in and escape. But no. I can only fly around in the third floor of Asoke Tower, and can't leave until I am set free for the day at 7 p.m., only to return to my cage the next day at 11 a.m.

But when I am set free at 7 p.m., I fly down the steps like a jubilant school girl. I don't take the elevator because I can't handle being in another closed in space for one more moment. I breathe the dark, street-lighted air, still stuffy from humidity and pollution, but this doesn't bother me because it's air from the outside world. Everything that was jammed into my head during the day in my work world floats out for a moment while I walk down the city sidewalk and catch a motorcycle taxi to the Skytrain. 

My soul, which was squished and stifled all day, is now regaining its strength. While the motorcycle taxi smoothly zooms around brightly colored taxis and dull-colored cars with the wind hugging me close, my spirit eats up the unrestrained freedom. I am alive again.

Are we suppose to live most of our lives caged up? I hope not. How I dream to one day have a job where I feel free. Where my soul is fully satisfied because I'm doing what I was created to do. 

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that because that's what the world needs- people who have come alive." 

-Walt Whitman

Restful Coffee Beans

I love it when I get to help my students by writing a sample of the writing project I want them to work on. This term my 4th graders are reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and their assignment was to write to Willy Wonka and share with him what new candy he should create in his factory.

Today I will read their assignments and post some of their ideas too. Here is mine:

Dear Mr. Willy Wonka,

 You have many wonderful creations in your factory, but I think there is room for one more. I think you should make Restful Coffee Beans.

 The world loves coffee so much, but people are so busy that they like to drink it on the go, but soon people may be so busy they won’t even have time for that.

 Restful coffee beans will bring so much relaxation and refreshment to the person who eats one that she will be as peaceful as a boat in the middle of a calm sea.

 Once she puts the swirled white and dark chocolate coated bean in her mouth, she feels like she enters into a dream and her stressful world floats away.

 In the dream world, she will arrive at a coffee shop, maybe her favorite one. The barista is so friendly and kind she is a loving grandmother. She makes the dreamer a perfect cappuccino and guides her to a soft, leather cozy chair that hugs the dreamer in its gentle arms.

 The dreamer first stares at the cappuccino. The white foam is delicately swirled into a heart shape. It is so perfectly designed it looks like a painting by a famous artist.

 She then sniffs it. The strong coffee scent is a perfume. The scent is made just for her and is all the smells she loves: waffles, chocolate, clean bed sheets, and ocean breezes. 

 Last of all she tastes it. The foam and the hot liquid mix together in her mouth and the rich, smooth taste slides down her throat into her body like a gentle stream of water.

 Her mind, body, and heart are all at rest, so now the dream must end. She wakes up exactly where she was when she ate the bean, but only one minute later. She feels so refreshed it is like she just got up from a lovely nap. Now she has strength to do anything!

 Mr. Willy Wonka, people are so tired they need something to keep them going! This is the perfect way to bring rest to stressed-out society! Please make it!

 Sincerely,

Mrs. Phengchard

...I wish that children's fiction were reality..oh what a happy place the world would be....