Comfort and Joy

I rummaged through my purse, searching for my book, The Poisionwood Bible, which has recently engrossed me during my typically dull 20-25 minute-long Skytrain rides. But sadly it wasn't in my bag, it was still sitting on the table in my room at home. 

So I eased myself into a corner by the sliding door of the Skytrain car, resigning myself to play my game of listening intently to those around me and trying to decipher what they are saying in Thai to each other.

As I attempted to tune my ears into one conversation next to me, I quickly lost concentration because all the sudden, my ears picked up a faint melody further down the car that was so foreign to Thailand that I thought foreigners must be making it. It was an accapella group singing Christmas carols! 

I couldn't see the group at first since there were people scattered throughout the car blocking my view, but I could hear their clear voices singing in unison and my heart leapt at the chorus. I almost got goose-bumps I was so excited. 

After awhile more and more people got off the Skytrain car and I was able to see who was actually singing. It turned out to be a group of about 8-10 people, all Thais! I was astonished! I have seen many Christmas decorations, such as Christmas trees and big Santas all over Bangkok--mainly to promote consumerism rather than Christ's birth-- but to hear an accapella Thai group singing Christmas carols in English and sound so professional made me feel at home, like I was back at UNC campus listening to the Christmas concert of Psalm 100. 

I think on the Skytrain tonight, listening to this professional group sing on the Skytrain just to give joy to us bored travelers, was one of my best Christmas moments of the season. I won't attempt to compare the accapella group to Jesus, cuz that is rather corny, but the word humble popped into my head when I thought about the group later on. 

Lately, I have been hit with the thought of how the word humble and God and Jesus and Christmas all go hand in hand. God put Himself into the form of a crying, needy baby and came down from glorious heaven to messed-up earth. He was born in a stinky barn and then he was placed in a box out of which slobbering animals usually eat. How bizarre. What kind of God gives up the right to be God and rule over all and go into the form of a lowly baby to be born in such a place? I love how I worship such a mysterious, humble God who is so opposite the ways of the world.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy.

The Show

I was wearing a cotton, red and white flowered sun-dress. To me it was one of those dresses you can dress up or down, whichever you prefer. I chose to dress it down since I leave all my high heel shoes at work because I don't like to clomp around Bangkok in heels, tripping on the uneven sidewalk as my feet are so squished they are about to die from suffocation.

So I wore my black reef flip-flops with my casual sundress, no big. Dominic and I were on our way to meet his mom at her work, to pass out some wedding invitations. But as we were walking to the skytrain, Dominic made a small comment about my shoes, wondering why I hadn't worn high heels with a dress. I told him my reasonings, and he said it's ok, don't worry about it.

We arrived where Dominic's mom works, a government savings bank. When she first saw me, his young-looking, bubbly, 50-something-year-old mom, was smiling broadly at me as usual. In Thai, she immediately said that I looked beautiful, but was wondering why I hadn't worn nicer shoes.

Dominic explained to her how all my heels were at work. She simply forced a grin and nodded, hurriedly leading us up a flight of stairs to the vice president of the bank's office. 

When I am meeting someone who is in a higher position in a company or in the world than I am, I try to show them the same respect I would my family or friends. I have come to realize that person is just a human like me whom I respect no more or less than anyone else in the world.

But showing more respect for those who are older, above you in a company, status, or in charge in Thai, and most Asian cultures, is a HUGE deal. It is important to not only show respect, but also show that you have it all together, so you will earn the person in charge's respect. 

I knew this Thai concept, but it was drilled into my head all morning. The VP we waited so patiently for, met us for about two minutes. During those two minutes, Dominic's mom, I suppose in order to earn his respect and attendance at our wedding, elaborated on how amazing the wedding was going to be. We would have appetizers, and it would be at the Royal Thai Naval Institute. 

After the our short meeting with VP, we moved on to the next important people offices, then to the less important people, and then to other sort-of important people, riding up and down the elevators Dominic used to play on when he was a kid. 

During all her speeches to each person, again she elaborated on about the wedding details. Then she also added that the reason we were having the wedding on a random day, Tuesday, January 6th, was that Dominic and I would be in America before, so that was the best day for us to do it. This isn't true, but I guess it helps her not to lose respect or face if people are like, what weirdos have a wedding on a Tuesday?

What tickled me the most was her excuse about my shoes. She brushed away everyone's eyes that seemed to look at my flip-flopped feet, by telling the starer that my feet were injured or in pain, so I had to wear flip-flops instead of heels. Also not true, but yet again, the excuse protects her from losing face and being looked down for having a future-daughter-in-law who doesn't know how to dress politely.

Dominic was telling me how it annoys him how Thai culture can sometimes just be a big show. No one was really that excited to be going to a wedding for their boss' son that they didn't even know, how could they be? 

But they smiled graciously, pretending it was something they had been looking forward to all year, for the sake of showing respect to their boss and earning their boss's respect. 

We weren't too thrilled to be pulled around like a new toy a kid wants to show off to their friends, and to have everyone giggle at me when I bow like a Thai person, and exclaim how handsome Dominic is...but in order to show respect to Dominic's mom, we did it.

This is all part of Thai culture. Either I can run away from it crying that things aren't like this in America, or I can accept it, smile along, and learn from it. I was on the brink of the former response, but eventually chose the latter. And American culture has its own special quirks too that I'm sure many foreigners want to run away from. As I have said before and learned, no culture is perfect, right, or wrong. Nope..all of them are just different :)

Behind the Scenes

My hair was an afro. I had never in my life seen all of my hair sticking straight up on my head like a pulled out cotton ball. "Oh dear me," I thought, "these are suppose to be our special Thai-style wedding pictures that will help us remember where and how our relationship first began, and I'm going to look like an 80's punk rock star?"

I knew deep down that my hair wouldn't be left like that, and that Ja would fight for me and tell the stylist to fix it if it did look horrendous, but I was still a little freaked out. Thankfully, the sweet, Thai lady played with my hair and face so expertly that I felt like I was a blank canvas, being worked on by an artist. She seemed to know what she was doing, although I was clueless.

After making my afro, she pinned a curved blob of fake black hair around the middle of the back of my head. I was about to tell her that hair color really didn't match my golden brown, until she concealed it by pulling my teased hair delicately over it. From punk Sherri, I had gone to half-Thai princess Sherri. Not too bad.

I loved how the hair matched the look so well, but wasn't too thrilled about how my face was oozing with white powder, pink blush, dark eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, and shiny mauve-tinted lip gloss. I think Dominic had trouble peering through it to see the real me he is going to marry. But the stylist calmed us a bit by telling us excessive make-up helps with the pictures...

Finally when my hair and make-up were complete, I got to don my old-fashioned Thai wedding clothes. I chose a red-themed outfit out of one of the many books I flipped through at the studio's front desk. I felt like I was getting ready for a Halloween party as I had the red, stain fabric wrapped around the top part of me. Then she held out the skirt. It was so huge it could have covered a king-size bed. I stepped in it, and she pulled it away, and folded it in like one of those fans I used to make in elementary school with colored crepe paper. Then she loaded fake gold rings all over my fingers and laid a gold breast plate thing on my shoulders. I was decked out and ready.

All that Dominic had to do was get his face powdered a little, slip on a funny skirt which was tied up to look like baggy pants, a white royal Thai shirt, elf shoes and of course-- gold rings. "Girls take so long!" he commented. 

It felt so out of place standing in front of a fake set of an ancient day Thai living room and looking out onto a busy shopping mall. The photo studio we went to was in MBK, one of the most popular malls for tourists in Bangkok. I felt like we were on display for all the shoppers to gaze at as they walked by.

The kind photographer was a perfectionist, which I believe is an important trait for a photographer to have. He would make us move our heads and stop, and move it slightly the other way, and then fix it for us if we didn't do it right. He would speak in Thai to me sometimes accidently and then be flustered and try to say his directions in English, but I eventually caught on without the translation. 

He had us hold so many random things, like not only did Dominic get to hold a sword, but I did too! Apparently long ago, there was a Thai woman warrior who went to war in place of her husband or something. I even got to hold what looked like an ancient feather duster, a golden urn, and a wooden, stringed Thai instrument. After holding objects, poses, and each other for about an hour, we were finished and got to chose our prints off the computer.

We picked up the pictures last week and were delighted at how they turned out. My make-up looks a lot better than we thought it would, but of course, since Thailand is a very image-conscience society, all the pictures were photo-shopped--even taking away freckles, and to my dismay, Dominic's cute scruffy goatee. What was left were two glowing, perfect-skinned Thai people. Heehee! 

Im so grateful to Ja and for blessing us with such a wedding gift. I will forever look at the huge, golden-framed picture of us, and remember how God brought us together and how our relationship first began in the land of Thailand. 

What a great start to our adventure. 

The Little Things

I love how living abroad makes me feel more grateful for the little things I would take for granted in America. For instance, I think it would have been pretty lame in America if on Thanksgiving instead of eating a slice of freshly-baked, chocolate pecan pie with one scoop of vanilla bean ice cream slowly melting and making a gentle river around the pie moat, I was instead given a slightly stale, pecan cinnamon roll and told to eat it and pretend it was pecan pie.

But this Thursday, I anxiously awaited going to Au Bon Pain before work to eat my pecan cinnamon roll complete with a cappuccino. It was the closest I would get to pecan pie, so I savored every bite. For one brief moment, I imagined with closed eyes that I was at my parent's house crunching the caramelized pecans with my family chattering around me instead of at an over-priced American sandwich/bakery shop with random tourists I didn't know around me.

When I was halfway through my imitation pecan pie, pondering when I should call home later to see how my family's Thanksgiving was, my phone began to ring and showed the phrase, "Unknown Number". 

It was my parents, ringing me on my Thanksgiving! I felt so loved and grateful to have parents who know to call at the right time. It made me feel like I had one foot in Bangkok and one in Waxhaw. 

After work, I even got to have a Thanksgiving potluck dinner at a pool hall with Newsong (my church) friends. I was so delighted to eat sliced sandwich turkey meat, mashed potatoes, and canned corn. We even had a pumpkin pie which was actually good! And of course we had to have some Thai flavor, so Dominic made a Thai dish, chicken with basil, to make our Thanksgiving truly Thai-American.

I felt so blessed to be surrounded my Newsong family on Thanksgiving, to have a family to be with. I miss my American family and friends, but I also was thinking how blessed I am to have people to miss on Thanksgiving. Not everyone in the world has that.

Not on the Menu

So it wasn't one of the drinks printed in bold, black font on the menu hanging up over the drink-concocting area. But in my Sherri-mind, it didn't matter. I have had it before at another coffee-shop, this shop had the ingredients, so no big deal. Hoping that they will give in to my wish, I made my request to the two brown aproned, bored baristas at Sabrosa Cafe, a Thai coffeeshop I always meander by on my walk to work.

"Mocha Strawberry." Their sullen-faces, now morphed into bewildered sullen-faces. 

Ok, so maybe I had the wrong Thinglish inflection when I asked for it and didn't stretch out strawberrrrry enough. 

"Mocha," Bored baristas nodded. 

"Strawberrrrrrry." The confused look arose again. 

I pointed at the menu which proudly proclaims "Strawberry Latte" and then under it "Mocha Latte". 

"We don't have Strawberry Mocha on the menu. Only Strawberry Latte or Mocha Latte." She said this to me like I was asking her for steak and potatoes instead of just a coffee drink.

The mirage that I was in an artsy coffeeshop in America dissipated. I was hit with the realization that I am in Thailand, where in most places, if it isn't on the menu, it doesn't exist. These baristas seemed computer programmed to only make drinks on the menu and nothing else, or the world will combust. 

I repeated the saying in my head that I learned from a past cross-cultural training course: it's not right or wrong, it's just different. With a longing sigh for the ways of American coffee-shops, I gave in and got a strawberry latte.

I watched one barista with a tight frown on her face, pick up the strawberry syrup and squeeze it into the the bottom of a small, glass measuring cup. Then she oozed on top of it the same amount of sweetened condensed milk and stirred. Her hand brushed the chocolate syrup container as she put the strawberry syrup back in its proper place right next to it, against the back of the counter.

Just to let you know, at Sherri's Coffee-shop (name still to be determined), if you come up with an innovative drink, you will receive the drink for free and perhaps if it is good enough, I will even name it after you. 

"Fall" in the Land of Eternal Summer

October 20, 2006

I stomped, swished, and crunched through the fall collage of brown, red and orange covering the red brick pathway leading away from Franklin Street. My dark gray jacket with its light pink embroidered design was cute, but sadly cute doesn't cut it when it comes up against a chilly fall air. 

I didn't mind the whispers of winter too much though as I slipped through the leaves. It was a nice change of pace from the blazing summer and fall means that I have reason to drink more hot beverages because my little body that gets cold easily must stay warm somehow. 

My mouth tingled as I thought of the mint, hot chocolate that the hip, dread-locked barista would soon make for me at the Daily Grind--just one of the delightful simple pleasures that an American autumn brings along.

October 20, 2008

AHHHHHHHHHHHH! I didn't want to scream, but it was happening all the same. It was like someone had pried open my mouth and was pulling high-piercing sounds out of it without my permission. My head felt like it was a balloon on the verge of being popped, waiting for the shiny needle to make its entrance.

But then, right before the messy explosion of my head, we jerked to a stop and Boomerang was over. We groggily picked up our bags from the other side of the ride and made woozy comments about how intense, and what a thrill the ride was.

To give our bodies a break, we decided to meander to the water park. We eased into the lazy river, the machine-made current gently pushing us past Thai boys wearing speedos, and Thai girls wearing flowery one-pieces. One kid asked Dominic if he was a tour guide since he was surrounded by three of the few only Westerners in a sea of Asians.

Going to a water park at the end of October?? When I was wandering around Siam Park it hit me how bizarre it was to put my American fall mindset into Thailand. In America I only went to water parks in the midst of summer break, June or July. It was always swarming with people, and you had to wait for hours sweating in the sweltering sun just to go down a 28-second long water slide. But in the Land of Eternal Summer, water parks are always open, so Dominic and Ja thought the whole concept of waiting in line forever for a water ride was unfathomable.

It is strange to be in a land where fall constitutes days when rain gushes down so hard that on the way to the way to the gym, Dominic had to pull the motorbike to the side of the road, which was slowly disappearing under the flood. We sat for about 20 minutes, sympathizing wordlessly with the other riders under a dilapidated bus stop. Motorbikes were lined up along the street in front of us like it was a new parking lot. 

Because the only weather change during Thailand's fall is more rain, of course stores in the malls we were browsing last week would be selling jackets with fur trimmed hoods, woolly gloves, and a rainbow of scarves. It makes sense to market cold weather wear in a country where a refreshing day is when it is 88 degrees instead of 95. 

Well, that is if the buyer is an upper-class Thai business person. Dominic told me many workers in the skyscraper towers of Bangkok enjoy turning on the A/C to the max in their office and putting on coats and sweaters. It is apparently the cool thing to do to show off your money. :)

I can't wait to be in America for fall next year and wear a jacket and really need it. Even more I can't wait to experience American autumn for the first time all over again with Dominic. Raking piles of leaves and jumping in them, wearing cosy coats, and of course, sipping rich, hot chocolate with marshmallows. 

There are always things to look forward to...

Malleable Blobs

I was sick of Bangkok. Don't get me wrong, Bangkok has its special joys: savory, spicy street food on every corner, towering shopping malls just a BTS stop away, and strange people to observe everywhere you look. But the hot weather- stuffy air-pollution-and-sweat-infested- people- and-pollution-and- traffic-and-dirty-broken-sidewalks-and pollution can get rather old after awhile. That is why I was delighted when Dominic answered my plea for asylum from Bangkok.

Dominic lives about 30 minutes outside main Bangkok in a suburb called Pakret. Just a motorbike ride away from his apartment is a pier by the river where one can hop a 2-minute ferry ride across to the Mun village pottery makers community, Ko Kret.

I must say the definition of Ko Kret is quaint. That pretty much sums up the winding maze of paved bicycle/motorbike/pedestrian paths that wind through the island full of tropical fruit trees, stilted wooden river houses, and even a blossoming, peaceful flower garden where Dominic and I toured on two rented, rattly bicycles.

The peaceful pottery community was warm to us--not whining at us to buy or look at their pottery like most touristy vendors do in Bangkok. The smiling workers ushered us into their "factory" with a wave of their clay-smeared tan hands.

Three potters were hard at work in the center of an open-air building bulging with recently formed pots waiting to go in the kiln. I could have stood there for hours, gawking at the mesmerizing masterpieces being formed right before my very eyes.

I was most impressed by one man. He had one huge, clay water container-whose height looked to be almost as tall as the man's sitting down- molded already on a plank of wood next to him. But I was still a bit worried for the sad, blob of square, gray, ooshiness sitting before his potter's wheel. How could that goo ever become that pot?

But I need not to have been worried. The potter placed the overly moist Play-Dough on the wheel and with a slight grin behind his dark eyes he set to work. He smushed it down and pulled it up as the wheel spinned rhythmically to a rhythm only he was the master of. He pulled and pulled and swirled his hands around it gently and sweetly like a father caressing the cheek of his child. He patted and pushed a little here and a little there.

I had no clue what was going on of course. It seemed like he was playing some sort of game that I was too slow to catch onto the rules of. So alas, I didn't figure out how he did it, but in the end a huge, water clay pot was before him, being placed next to his other pot.

But the pot wasn't done yet. Dominic and I rode around to the other parts of the island to see the rest of the pottery process. We saw the etchers making minute marks in the softened clay, then the kilners pulling red-brown pots out of the fire and putting gray ones in. Then we bought cute little clay trinkets at many of the pottery shops along the paths.

But in the midst of all this I kept thinking of the mysterious little potter man. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the clay could care less about "helping out the potter". It just did its job by being a malleable blob. Because only by doing its job could it become what it was meant to be.

How I long more malleable and blob-like.

-Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.-

Isaiah 64:8