Rainy Day Dream

Thunder is rumbling, and rain is plit-plattering outside. Just seeing the darkening clouds, and the sky dumping itself out, makes me instinctively want to curl up into a ball next to a warm fireplace on a soft, leather couch under a fuzzy blanket and sip steamy hot chocolate with gooey marshmallows while reading a page-turner.

Hmm..but there are no fireplaces in Thailand. The closest I have come to comfort is splish-splashing through the rain puddles to buy the cheapest coffee drink from Gloria Jeans, a white chocolate mocha, and sip it while I type in my fluorescent bright, sort of muggy office room while dreaming of my hot chocolate fireplace fantasy described above.

2 and a half months till America...

"Our" East meets "Me" West

"They are busy at work, so it's ok if we borrow their car. They don't need it now, so they won't mind." Dom told me while we were in visiting his hometown car-less.

"Are you SURE?"

"Yeah, no big deal!" Dom said, while his eyes said, "Why in the world would this be a big deal?"

So we walked down a few streets over from his grandma's small house to his old high school friend's internet cafe to pick up the car. The store was full of Thai kiddos engrossed in screens covered with millions of blinking chat conversations, fighting or dancing computer games, or hi-five pages full of comments written in Thai.

While the wife of Dom's friend gave someone a password for a computer, balanced her 3-year-old son on her hip as he ate a piece of guava dipped in spicy sugar, she searched the desk piled up with business-type papers looking for the car keys. Eventually she found them, passed them to us with a smile, and then left us to our own devices as she unlocked the cashbox to give someone change for a 1000 baht. "What a woman! " I thought.

For the day we drove around to the ancient ruins, had special hot, sweet and spicy chicken soup for lunch, got groceries at the Big C, brought them back to Grandma's and then took the car back later that night. Dom gave the keys back to his friend, they chatted for a few minutes and we left.

I had this feeling of awe and wonder for most of the day, pondering at this huge difference between our cultures. I was thinking how weird it would be for me to randomly ask my friend I hadn't seen in ages to borrow their car and use it for the whole day, without them thinking twice about it-- as if instead of asking to use their car I was asking to use their bathroom. If I was able to borrow their car, I would feel paranoid and guilty all day, like I had stolen their precious treasure.

When I told Dom this, he thought that was odd that people don't freely share their possessions in America. He had noticed with his American roommate, if Dom asked to borrow his motorbike, he would make a huff-and-puffy big deal about it, let him borrow it, but eventually asked him not to because it was "his" motorbike.

Even though it's not stated, many Thais have an "our" mentality instead of "me". I love this mindset especially when it comes to the way they eat because I love to try new foods. In America, I will even ask people if they want to try my food, hoping they will say yes, so they will ask if I want taste theirs.

But many times in America, most people don't want to try my food because they already have their own and hardly ever ask if I want to taste their dish.

Thailand is a different story. When Thais have big meals together, they order what seems like a Thanksgiving feast number of dishes and sprawl them out at the center of the table. Forks and spoons go flying to this or that dish. We dont even pass dishes in Thailand, we just stretch arms. Many times when Im just eating with Dominic at a restaurant we will order two dishes and share both together. I can't wait to bring this tradition to America: one fountain drink between the two of us and free refills, bring it on!

It may not be very apparent to many Americans that we have this me-focus, but the rest of the world definitely defines us by it. One of my cute-as-can-be Thai co-workers has recently started dating an American guy. She anxiously questions me frequently about the differences between how people date in America compared to Thailand. One thing which is holding her back is she says, "American guys are so selfish. I don't know if I can handle that."

Of course I told her not to generalize, and tried to convince her to test this guy out before she compared him to the stereotype, but it hurt my feelings to think that our culture is known all over the world as selfish.

Thai culture isn't perfect either. The easy-going attitude about everything has led to a lot of political and economic turmoil. As I always say, every culture has good and bad in it, no culture is perfect. But Im glad that I live here, and have learned about this good part of Thai culture. I hope that I can apply it when we move to America. Yet, if I mess up, at least Dom will be there to remind me through his way of living life that truly--what's mine is yours.

Meditations on Mother Theresa

A petite, stooped over wrinkly like a pit bull, but as cute as a puppy, old lady wearing tattered nun clothing.

Im sure that is all i would have thought about her if I had passed by her on the street or seen her on a bus, but wow, Mother Theresa was so much more than a wee, pit bull puppy looking woman.

This week I have been re-reading the book, One Heart Full of Love, which is a series of Mother Theresa's speeches she gave all around the world at different functions and awards ceremonies.

It is so delightful because I can hear her sweet, gentle voice coming through as I read them and it reminds me of my loving grandmother's voice. Her speeches repeat the same stories and themes over and over, and aren't laced with flowery language and are free from theological arguments. Instead they portray, nothing more and nothing less, than a simple, authentic faith.

One of my favorite quotes was when she was going to be awarded an honorary degree as a Doctor of Divinity from Cambridge and she felt unqualified, "You know full well that I have not studied theology. I just simply try always to live it out."

Reading this book has inspired me, but not in ways that I at first thought I would be. When I think of all the work Mother Theresa and her Missionaries of Charity have done all over the world--starting orphanages and houses for the dying, caring for lepers, finding parents for orphans, feeding the hungry, loving the sick, being a friend to the friendless--the list goes on--I thought I would want to forsake my ordinary life and move to the slums and take a vow of poverty.

But the one thing that she spoke on more than helping those who are have physical poverty was helping those who have poverty of the soul, the hardest poverty to cure, which is loneliness. This poverty is what she said we need to focus on curing, and it starts with loving those in our family who are typically neglected by society.

Mother Theresa said how she went to a top of the line nursing home which had beautiful rooms, caring nursing staff, and wonderful healthcare, but as she walked the hallways and peered in the rooms she saw that every person who lived there kept looking out their doors, with sad, yet eager expressions. She was told that everyone is always waiting, for a daughter, son, grandchild to visit, but hardly anyone ever does.

My sweet grandmother's health is slowly deteriorating, which breaks my heart, but I feel at peace because I know she doesn't have poverty of the soul during this hard time. My mom and dad have decided to move her into their home so they can be her care-takers and support her.

My mom will have dinner with her and share about the crazy kids in her kindergarten class that she teaches, while my grandmother faithfully asks about every child by name.

My dad is my go-between on skype when she wants to chat with me while Im at work. He will type out her thoughts to me word for word so I feel like she is speaking to me.

My parents, and Mother Theresa, have set me an example that I hope I can follow after. I can't wait to go home and be near my grandma, to be able to sit and listen to her stories and share mine with her, to make her breakfast and coffee, and to just smile at her and be smiled at.

So even though I do feel at times that I just want to move to a remote orphanage and love on kids all day, I know that first I must love on my husband, my parents, my grandma, my friends and co-workers. Because maybe it is my job to help cure poverty that runs deeper and and wider than any food or pills or money can relieve.

Fortune Tellers

He was in his late 30s, had long, black hair that was pulled back in a pony tail. He wore a plain white T-shirt, and jeans. Except for his longer hair, his appearance wouldn't have been very memorable. But I recalled that the last time I was at this same mid-range Thai restaurant I had seen him too, and everyone who came into the restaurant greeted him like they were old friends. I thought perhaps he was the friendly owner of the place and left it at that.

But this time Dominic's mom pointed him out and said that he was a fortune teller; her clue was his special fortune cards with intricate pictures of his customer's fate he laid out on the table. Im always caught off guard at how common fortune telling is in Thailand, or in Asia for that matter.

A chubby, gypsy woman wearing excessive gaudy jewelry, a turban, and a rainbow colored mumu is usually what comes to my mind when I think of a fortune teller. She has a mystical smile and an eager glint in her eye, mesmerized by her crystal ball she rubs over and over in a candle-lit room. But the perfectly normal Thai man I saw at the nicer Thai restaurant destroyed all my fortune teller preconceived notions.

I also used to imagine people who went to fortune tellers as artsy people intrigued by magical things or normal people who go but never let it out. But here, the women customers who sat at his table wore fashionable funky dresses, and the men polo shirts and black dress pants. Typical mid-upper class Thai people who weren't ashamed to have everyone at this restaurant see their yearning to peer into their unknowns.

Some of my friends, and some of the high schoolers I teach, have mentioned to me that they have gone to see fortune tellers. They don't make a big deal of it. The way they describe it I suppose it's like us reading our horoscopes. Some people believe it is true, others believe some of it and discard the rest.

I wonder why we as humans desire to know the future so much? Why can't we just be surprised at whatever happens next?

I know right now I would love to know when we will finally get the letter telling us when Dominic's interview date for his green card is, or what job Dom or I will do in America starting in August, or what we will do in two years.

I like to make predictions and try to figure out what will happen through thinking so much my brain hurts because it makes me feel like Im more in control of my life. Yet, whenever I think I know what is going to happen next, Im always surprised by how the road Im riding on will dangle off in a direction I never fathomed existed.

Im tired of trying to be my own lousy fortune teller. How I want to be a horse with blinders on. I want to take life step by step, give up my control, and let my Rider lead the way.

Little Eye Lessons

My right eye had become the new target for a laser beam war. Every time I tried to look at a brightly lit skyscraper or fluorescent sign on the road I felt like the light shot through my eye, making it throb with pain. I covered my eye with my hand, and tried to bury my face in my lap.

Im sure my taxi driver was rather confused about what was going on with the foreign woman in his back seat that appeared to be crying perhaps, or about to throw up. Yet, he didn't say a word, but calmly did his job, navigating through the endless Bangkok traffic and dropping me off at my apartment.

The eternal taxi ride with my attacked and beaten eye was the climax of my inflammation of the cornea experience. For two days I thought my flaming eye was just pink eye, which is something I had never had before. I thought, "Little kids get this all the time, if they can handle this, so can I."

But as my eye got redder, more swollen, and more sensitive, even after buying antibiotic eyedrops, I knew I had to do it...go to the doctor.

Of course in Bangkok, not may people just go to the doctor when they are sick, instead they go to the hospital, which always sounds so intense to me. Thankfully, medical bills are not too bad in Thailand compared to the States, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.

The first eye doctor I saw looked at my eye through a hanging microscope contraption and told me that my cornea was infected, if it wasn't treated properly it could turn into blindness, and now I must wait for the cornea specialist eye doctor to look at it.

Dear me, I was freaked out a bit as we waited. Silly Thai soap operas were blaring on the TV above me, while Dom looked at Thai newspapers and I longed for a huge stack of waiting room magazines to distract me from the thoughts of wondering how hard it is to learn how to read braille.

The next doctor reminded me of Christina from Grey's Anatomy who gets so excited when a patient comes in with an interesting case. She gawked at whatever was on my eye, and said, "Ooo, ahhh...you have inflammation of the cornea!!"

Yes, I had already been told this, so I waited paitently for her excitement to wear off so she could fill me in on what that precisely means. She said it had gotten infected from my contact lens which hadn't been cleaned properly so something had gotten in my eye.

She told me to rest for three days, not go to work or do much of anything, put eye drops in every hour, not put water directly on my face, and to keep my eye protected from anything coming in.

I spent most of the next few days laying on my bed, wearing sunglasses in my room when the lights were on, keeping my eyes closed so they wouldn't hurt, and the best part--being fed, eye dropped, hair washed, and looked out for by my wonderful Doctor Dominic.

Being the constant over-analyzer that I am, I always wonder when such not fun, odd experiences happen, what can I learn from this?

I rarely miss work, or get sick. It is amazing how one small particle of something in my little eye could rearrange my schedule for a few days. When my eye was out of order, I realized how vital it was to my life, and I just take it for granted. I could survive without it of course, but life just isn't as fun with one eye.

It makes me think of how many other things I take for granted on a larger scheme. What if one unexpected thing destroyed my family, husband, friends, faith? I could survive without my parents' sweet words of encouragement, my husband's embrace, my friends' caring concern, and my God's hope.

But how empty life would be...how painful...how boring...how meaningless..how empty.

It is silly to compare an eye infection to losing everything I hold dear, but I hope that I will constantly be reminded, through minute or massive ways, how blessed I am. I hope I won't take it for granted, but use my blessings to bless others.

So step one at trying to bless others. Contact wearers, please clean your lenses carefully to avoid inflammation of the cornea and all its lessons to be learned.

Holding On

My roughened, sweat slippery hands gripped the wooden, smooth, chalk-stained bar as though my life depended on it. My legs were in a V-shape, stretched 90 degrees before me. They were shaking so much they were tremors before an 8.0 magnitude earthquake.

My teammates giggled at my legs antics while my coach said in a stern voice, "Hold them up, or drop down." I squinted my eyes closed, trying with all my might to break my old record of 1 minute 20 seconds. Finally my slick hands, and wiggly legs couldn't take it any longer. I let go and with a "poof", collapsed on the soft, thick, blue foam mat beneath me.

"Good job Sherri! 1 minute 23 seconds! Go get some water!"

I grinned sheepishly as my teammates gave me praises and high fives while I limped off to the water fountain oasis on the other side of the gym.

Hours upon hours spent doing pull-ups, sit-ups, crunches, splits, squats, running, stretching, back bends, jumps, turns, penny-pinchers, super-man and hollow holds--molding myself into a pretzel and yanking muscles I never knew existed.

I never really thought much about the importance of all our many strength-building exercises. For most of the 10 years I did gymnastics, I only saw it as the torture time of practice, just another part of our jam-packed three hours of work outs.

Today I was thinking back to gymnastics toning and the groaning and pain and soreness which were the only tangible results I saw of our strengthening. We would always try to barter with the coach to skip out on one or two exercises because "Wahh wahhh..we worked so hard today!" or hope that by working slower on our routines, "Oops! There is no time left for strengthening! Save it for next time!" Surprisingly, our ploys hardly ever succeeded.

But without those exercises, I never would have had the power in my arms, stomach, or back to successfully do a round-off back handspring, or be able to pull myself up in a kip on the bars, or spread my legs enough to do a split leap on the beam, or push my arms off the vault to do a front handspring. Instead, I would have always fallen on my face or butt because I wasn't strong enough--and never would have gotten better.

Im at a place in my life in which I don't feel like Im doing what fits my passions, or what I assume I was "created" to do. I don't see the point in it. I whine about the monotony of it, get frustrated, impatient, and just want to give up. But Im starting to see how perhaps at this moment my Coach is pushing me and training me so I will have my skills honed--prepared fully for whatever is next.

I don't know what is next, but for now, I will keep my eyes fixed on my Trainer and keep going while my hands are slipping, and my legs are becoming noodles, because if I keep hanging on, I will soon be able to collapse, and rest because I have gained what I need for the next task before me.

Mind Control

We finished watching 7 Pounds yesterday and I felt like maybe my husband was going to die soon. My heart beat fast and my arms needed to hold him right away. So I did and said, "Don't die, ok?" He laughed at my dramatics, and I knew I was being silly, but it's amazing the power movies and books can have to control your thinking.

Yet, I love how I feel after I read a book in which the characters become my friends I come to know them so well or watch a movie/TV show that draws me in so much it makes me scream, jump, gasp, or cry; it's like I just woke up from a powerful dream. The remnants of the characters pains or joys still cling to me as the lights go up or the book is closed.

I can't shake Prison Break off me after watching an hour or two the night before. The next day as I'm walking around town I wonder, "What will Scoffield do now that he is in prison in Panama? Oh! I bet he will discover Sarah is dead and be mad at Lincoln..." I ponder sometimes why Im trying to figure it out so much, it's just a TV show, not even reality. But it feels as though the characters are acquaintances I know of, but don't really know, and I want to figure out their lives for them.

Or recently after I finished reading The Secret Life of Bees (a wonderful book by the way) I felt as though I was back in the South, my lips all day were savoring a ripened peach from an orchard in South Carolina. I wondered if the next Thai person would start speaking in a Southern accent and wanted to find August so I could become her apprentice and learn from her about bees and life.

How do stories do that? They stick onto us and, if we allow it, their themes can transform the way we view life. Oh the power words or pictures can have on a person to steal part of their subconscious away and control it for as long as the viewer allows. Writers are the hypnotists of their audiences.

I hope I can use my hypnotizing powers to help others escape the harsh world for a bit and to help plant seeds of hope in minds searching for it.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
-Lord Byron