Breaking Down Barriers: Finding Your Own Communities Abroad

Danielle Lee is a Fulbright-AMCHAM ETA at Maerim Wittayakhom School in Chiang Mai Province. She is originally from Los Angeles, California. She received her bachelor’s degree from the University of Southern California, where she studied Global Health with minors in International Relations and Natural Sciences. She enjoys trying new foods, meeting new people, exploring the beautiful mountains of Chiang Mai, and watching movies. After her Fulbright grant, she hopes to attend medical school to become a doctor and be involved in the international health system. 
   








So far, Thailand has taught me 3 things:

1. How to eat som tum (papaya salad) without sweating

2. Teachers deserve way more recognition than what they currently receive

3. Sports can be a powerful tool for communication when language fails



Number 3 will resonate with me way more than my tolerance for spicy papaya salad and my tenure as a teacher is another narrative of its own. But for me, number 3 is something that I will always hold a place in my Thai heart. I’ve always played sports. I grew up watching my sisters play soccer games on Saturdays while I sat on the sidelines until I could finally play. I grew up playing basketball and running track and cross-country, but when I found Ultimate Frisbee in college, I fell in love.



At first, it seemed like a silly sport: a piece of flying white plastic and people chasing each other up and down the field screaming words that wouldn’t make sense to an outsider – dump, handler, flick. But I fell in love with the sport because it’s a sport unlike any other. There are no referees to call fouls or violations. The players on the field talk it out, a concept in ultimate called the “Spirit of the Game.” Once you start playing, you’re immediately thrust in a whacky, eccentric, yet incredible and tight-knit community that spreads across continents. In other words, friends for life. 

My team at the Chiang Mai Hat tournament, where people sign up as individuals and are randomly placed in teams for a weekend of play. I got to play on the same team as a fellow Fulbrighter, Meg Ziegler!

In Chiang Mai, I was fortunate to find the Chiang Mai Ultimate group that meets 3 times a week for pick-up games at Chiang Mai University. This is a group of local Thai’s, ex-pats, and travelers just visiting for a few days. I soon found my own community away from home, and I found it through this sport that I love. I’ve met people from all across the world through ultimate: France, the Philippines, China, Vietnam, New Zealand, Cambodia, Malaysia, and more. Soon, I’ll be traveling to Malaysia to play with my Singaporean friends who I met at a tournament in Bangkok. The vastness that is the ultimate community continues to amaze me in so many ways: across cultures, borders, and even languages, people can come together under one sport and just play. 

The Chiang Mai Ultimate group recently drove to have a “beach day” where we played ultimate in the sand
and hung out!

During my first week teaching at Maerim Wittayakhom School, I brought out my Frisbee to my class. My students have never seen one before….white, shiny plastic can apparently bring 40-something students to attention. 

They loved it.

I took advantage of this and have never let it go since. Everyone at school knows me as the Frisbee teacher now…jokes on me, I guess.

My students who I usually play Frisbee with after school

Although this valuable weapon is useful in the classroom, it has also helped me grow some close relationships with my students, where they could practice their English, have fun, and also learn a sport that I would love to share. Everyday after school, I would bring my Frisbee out to the fields and just toss with my students. We would talk about life, school, our likes, our dislikes – just a conversation you would speak with a friend. As the weeks wore on, I found interest come in waves, but I saw my students become more and more confident in themselves as English speakers inside the classroom. They weren’t afraid to come up to me and have a conversation, and in return, I learned about their lives, their families, their goals and aspirations. In hindsight, how silly it sounds to credit all this to a silly piece of plastic. 

But it doesn’t just stop at Frisbee. After school, I also run around the track at around 6pm. This is when 30 or so men come out and play some football on the field while I run around. Alongside me, the same people show up to run: the man who works at the hotel next door to school, the 60-something-year-old who always runs exactly 5 laps and then his regimen of sit-ups and push-ups, my friend who is also a teacher at Maerim, and lastly, my 6-year-old friend Ton who lives near school and comes to watch soccer, play with his friends, or ride his bike alongside me while I run. This group of Maerim runners has become a nice sight to see after a long day of teaching because it’s always constant. The same people - with the occasional visitors - has created a community of sorts where we come together for one common purpose: to run. And as a result, we get to know each other. We communicate through Thai, English, Tinglish – whatever can get us through. And at the end of the day we say, “see you tomorrow.” 

Some of the Chiang Mai Ultimate Group that meets at Chiang Mai University every Saturday

Through Frisbee and running, I’ve learned that sports are a truly valuable vehicle for communication, for making connections with people, and for creating communities. I can’t imagine this Fulbright year without the people I’ve met or the memories I’ve created through sports. I was fortunate to find my own communities here, but communities are what you make of it – they can come in many forms. Whatever you enjoy, whatever you love – follow and pursue it, and you will find your place wherever you are because you’ll never know what will happen. I’ve found my home away from home just by following a silly piece of plastic.

A Lesson in the Rain

Kayla was born and raised in Southwest Oklahoma. She graduated from the University of Oklahoma in 2014 with a degree in Elementary Education. Kayla is a 2015-16 Fulbright-AMCHAM English Teaching Assistant at BanKumuang School in Ubon Ratchathani where she teaches 3rd through 9th grade. In her free time, Kayla likes exploring Ubon with her host teacher P’Nuan, and eating all of the Thai food she can. After Fulbright, Kayla hopes to bring a little bit of Thailand back to an elementary classroom in America, and share her experience with her future students.

Wednesday, June 23, 2016

This morning I woke up to the sun shining much too bright, much too early. The days often come and go with the mediocrity and monotony of any other job anywhere in the world. Today I didn’t wake up with plans to change the world; I really didn’t have any plans. These past 9 months I’ve actually learned a lot about letting go of plans, and embracing the sabai sabai, or go with the flow lifestyle. There have been days when I’ve been whisked away by my host teacher after a long day of school, only to return sometime after dinner with several things checked off the to-do-list I didn’t even know I had. Therefore, I keep my daily goal as simple as “have a good day” – whatever that may mean (seriously, it could be anything) and wherever the day may take me. 

Attempting to fit all of 6th grade in a self

Although it is a simple goal it is not as easy to accomplish, as it may seem. I have this agreement with Thailand. We never go to bed angry at each other, but Thailand is much better at keeping that agreement than I am. For every good day there is a crazy, exhausting, “what just happened?!” day, and sometimes at the end of such a day I can’t even decipher the roller coaster of emotions I felt. There are some days I am so ready to give up on Thailand and I want to be mad, I really do, but I never mastered the art of holding a grudge. This day in particular could be classified as a tough and grudge worthy day, but Thailand refused to let me go back on our agreement.

Students trying to keep me warm on a cold day (about 45 ºF)

“Good morning!” I shout to my room of 8th graders. I spot a large, poorly hidden body lying under the floor table, and another group of boys sitting against the wall, their sweat streaking the black wall behind them (insert the smell of 30 sweaty eighth graders here). They are desperately attempting to be invisible as they stare at the ground. I swear I can hear their silent thoughts pass through their heads, and they are not thoughts of English. I hear a few “good mornings”, and I cheerily shout again, "GOOD MORNING STUDENTS!!” The disarray of bodies, much too large to be sitting on the floor, attempt to untangle themselves and look in my direction. Ahhhh, now I kind of have their attention. 

Soccer in the mud with my students

"Good morning teacher, how are you?" echoes the sing-songy phrase that every Thai student in the public school system memorizes in kindergarten. I pause, directing my best teacher look at the student slithering out from under the table, but not before a laugh escapes my mouth. It’s a new laugh that’s developed over the past 9 months. A layered laugh: One layer of frustration, one layer of exasperation, one layer of genuine humor at my life. Here is one of my top students, an eighth grader, on his belly sliding out from under this tiny table. I am exasperated before my lesson even begins. 

My well thought out lesson plan gets off to an enthusiastic start--99 percent of that enthusiasm on my side. Then, slowly but surely, these 14 year olds, sweaty and bored with the performance I’m giving, begin to talk over me, and the chatter of 30 teenagers drown out my voice. My thoughts go something like this: “are they listening to me, no they definitely aren’t listening to me, they can’t understand me, someone, anyone please make eye contact w….” my thoughts are interrupted by a girl in the back screaming because she’s been squirted with a makeshift water bottle water gun. I have to hand it to them - Thai students are very innovative. I confiscate the “water gun” and put it on my desk, only to turn around a few minutes later and notice it is gone. Thai students are also good at teamwork, even if that means working together to get the culprit his water gun back. 

Pausing a takraw game to pose for a photo in the rain

I stop, exhale, and feel the weight of my responsibility as an English teacher. Oftentimes when I’m standing in front of my students this overwhelming feeling creeps in and I feel lost somewhere in the vastness of my own language. There are so many things I want to tell my students, but I know the language barrier is much too big for this conversation. I feel all these words sitting in my chest, then rising to the tip of my tongue desperately wanting to escape, but I know these words will dissipate into the air. So we go back to going over the simple words I’ve chosen for this lesson. The class is rambunctious, and at the end I feel I’ve had enough. The students and I both leave the room with little accomplished. 

Playing in the rain at school

After class I am at a loss for what my next teacher move is. I’m mad at myself because I feel like I have failed my students. I’m mad at my students because I didn’t see any effort. I’m mad at Thailand. Why is it so different than America? Why aren’t things easy? With too many answerless questions I head to the bench in my office to embrace the sabai sabai lifestyle and take a quick midday nap (okay, maybe my life isn’t that hard). As soon as my eyes are closed a rare cool breeze blowing papers off my desk in my office wakes me. Within seconds the rain is pouring down, a sound that cannot be ignored in an open-air school with a metal roof. After months of blistering heat I rejoice at the sight of a storm rolling in. I often joke that I moved to the Oklahoma of Thailand. The sun’s unforgiving rays drain the energy and motivation from students and teachers alike, but this crack of thunder floods my mind with different memories of Oklahoma: of running outside with my siblings pots and pans on our heads, or calling up my cousins at the first sign of a thunderstorm because we knew the red Oklahoma clay would make for great mud to play in. With all the differences, rain still smells the same in Thailand.

The flooded soccer field

I grab my umbrella and walk outside, unsuspecting of what I am about to see. My students, the same ones that found me wildly uninteresting 30 minutes ago are playing sepak takraw (a popular Thai sport) in the rain. It’s pouring, and everyone is getting drenched and laughing. I take my shoes off, tie up my long skirt, and head into the downpour with my umbrella. My students are surprised to see me walking into the rain and stop their game and say hello and then pose for a photo. Now I’m laughing. This time a laugh layered with gratitude, joy, and understanding. I’m laughing at myself and how ridiculously caught up with the differences and little things I can get, and realizing how Thailand and America really are not that different. I am not really that different than my students. Not long ago in a small country school in Oklahoma I was once entertained more by my friends then my teachers, and excited by a thunderstorm. The weight of the pressure I put on myself during today’s lesson is lifted and the rain washes away my frustrations. Sometimes I forget that my presence at Ban Kumuang School is for cross-cultural exchange, not just as an English teacher. I am content with that thought. I’m not here to ‘change the world’ and my students will not become fluent in English. It is my job to play in the rain with my students, braid their hair, give them hugs, high fives, and handshakes, take endless selfies and most importantly to be present. 

Understanding Home

Kelsey Lee is from Lincoln, Nebraska. She received a bachelor’s degree in Anthropology from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in May 2013 and has since served as an advocate for refugees in her home state. Kelsey is a 2015-2016 Fulbright-AMCHAM English Teaching Assistant at Chiang Saen Wittayakom School in Chiang Rai Province, where she is teaching Mattayom 1- Mattayom 6 (grades 7-12). 

Lincoln, Nebraska is my home. I was born there and lived there with my immediate family up until moving to Thailand last fall. Lincoln has always been a stable place that offers me a safe and comfortable life. It’s no wonder that this midwestern city is a site of refugee resettlement – the cost of living is low, the public school system is solid, and job opportunities are numerous. A good number of these resettled refugees represent various ethnic groups from Myanmar (formerly Burma). Over thirty years ago, these communities began fleeing armed conflict and human rights abuses for camps along the border with Thailand. My privileges, a few of which include an American passport and being a native English-speaker, have allowed me to leave my home by choice. Not only is it a privilege to move willingly and freely about the globe, it feels rather unfair that I’ve moved to a part of the globe displaced people call home, and that I am confident in my ability to return to my own home. A central purpose of a Fulbright grant is to promote mutual understanding across cultures. As I learned over the course of this year, such mutual understanding is a continuous effort.


“Miss, swim in the river if you can.”

Paw Spai Moo was thrilled when I told her I would be going to Thailand in the fall. She knew that I had applied for the Fulbright grant and was anxious to hear news. It was a Thursday after school and I was meeting with her and other high school students for our digital storytelling program. Paw Spai Moo is Karen and was born in Myanmar but grew up in Nu Po refugee camp along the Thai-Myanmar border. Her peers in the room are also refugees who grew up in camps in Thailand. I had been acting as these students’ mentor for 2 years - running youth programs and assisting them with schoolwork. These students never ceased to act as cultural ambassadors, eagerly sharing all they could with me about Karen, Karenni, or Zomi culture. They invited me to their community celebrations and to church services. They took me to the Karen grocery store and played Karen music for me. It seems impossible to have not taken an interest in their home and I’m sure I wouldn’t be in Thailand now if it weren’t for their teachings. 

 Karen Dance: Karen youth perform a traditional dance at a Lunar New Year event in Lincoln, NE.

After I shared my good news that Thursday afternoon, Paw Spai Moo and the other students wasted no time pulling up pictures on google images, trying to find accurate depictions of the camps they lived in. They told me to swim in the Moei River when I go to Thailand and to play in the rain, because that’s what they used to do. They spoke with a kind of nostalgia that you would only expect from people who’ve lived challenging and eventful lives – indeed their lives already had been.


In the months leading up to my departure, Paw Spai Moo would often say that she wished she could travel to Thailand with me. I started to regret that I couldn’t simply send her or any of my Karen, Karenni, or Zomi students in my place, so they could visit places connected to childhood memories and family members who remained in the country. To reconcile self-doubt I had to remember my intentions. My students had motivated me to pursue this grant so I could understand them better – where they have come from and what circumstances led them to Lincoln, Nebraska. My role in Thailand would be as an English Language instructor, through which I had many opportunities to seek greater understanding of a home other than my own.


Listen and Learn

Far north of the refugee camps where my Lincoln students grew up, about as far north as you can go in Thailand, is the small town of Chiang Saen. In the early morning, young students squish themselves into vans and commute from surrounding villages to attend Chiang Saen Wittayakom School. Often, the villages they reside in lack schools that instruct beyond Matthayom 3 (equivalent to 9th grade). They are on their way to school long before I even get out of my bed and prepare myself to teach them.


In May, I was invited to join the teachers as they conducted home visits with their homeroom students. We followed the routes of those vans after school, driving along rice fields and through mountains. The purpose of these home visits is to gain a sense of what the students’ lives are like at home. What is their financial status? What family members are they living with? What did they do during the summer break? How do they spend their free time? Some of these conversations happened in spacious homes at large wooden dining tables. Other times we would sit with legs crossed on concrete floors. Some students live with their grandparents, some with other extended family members, others with a single parent. 

Home Visit: Sitting with my host teacher, a student, and his father in a village near Chiang Khong.

A week or two after these home visits, I taught Matthayom 1 students about family. These home visits revealed to me that relevant vocabulary must include “grandpa,” “grandma,” “aunt,” and “uncle,” rather than strictly teaching them vocabulary for a nuclear family. Furthermore, my coteacher reminded me that an appropriate context in which to anchor family vocabulary was the home. It was easier for them to answer “what family members do you live with?” rather than the broader question of “how many family members do you have?”


I can’t be a successful teacher in Chiang Saen without understanding who my students are. Like my students in Nebraska, they have been excellent cultural ambassadors. Yesterday afternoon one of my Matthayom 5 students visited me in the office after school. She had just traveled to Chiang Mai and needed to catch up on the lesson she missed. She sat down and pulled out her phone, wanting to show me a video of an Akha dance performance she saw on her trip. She herself is Akha, an indigenous hill tribe, and lives in a Catholic boarding house in Chiang Saen so she can attend school here. While watching the video, she told me about traditional Akha clothing and her family back in the village. The English lesson could wait – to listen and learn from my students is always just as important.


Hitting Home

I knew we were getting closer to Mae Sot, as the narrowed road carved tight corners around the mountains, which the bus had entered so seamlessly and without warning. Mae La, Umphiem Mai, and Nu Po refugee camps are all located in Tak province near Mae Sot. As I looked out the window into the densely covered mountains, I wondered how close we were to any of these camps - how close we were to things Paw Spai Moo had seen in her youth.

  A sign outside an administrative office in zone C of Mae La camp.

I was traveling to Mae Sot to begin a 6-week internship with The Labor Law Clinic. Mae Sot is directly across the Moei River from the Karen State in Myanmar, so many ethnic Karen have migrated to the city directly from Myanmar or from a nearby camp. Pieces of their identity have migrated with them, just as cultural traits accompanied refugees entering Nebraska, which offered unexpected familiarity in Mae Sot. As I biked around I saw the Karen flag printed on t-shirts and traditional woven bags looped from shoulder to hip. 


One day I was able to tag along with some University students from Bangkok as they visited Mae La camp – the birthplace of many of my Nebraska students. Mae La is just 10 kilometers from the border and has 3 zones: A, B, and C. We visited zone C where various centers and administrative offices are located. Thailand refers to the refugee camps on their soil as “temporary shelters.” Yet, they have been in the country for over 30 years and continue to host refugees by the thousands (Mae La’s population is over 40,000). As you approach the entrance to zone C from the main road, the sight of densely packed houses constructed of wood and banana leaves, are evidence of this massive population.


In a Mae La office, the university students and I were able to learn about the camp and ask questions. Much of the conversation centered around repatriation, or the return of refugees to their home country. For advocates of refugees, the idea of repatriation is met with extreme hesitancy, as several issues remain unresolved across the border. 

After a couple hours, we drove away from Mae La. I had visited the place many of my students call home – granted only a very small part of it. It was a goal of mine, yet it would be irresponsible to see it as something I check off a list. There is no moment where mutual understanding is completed. Visiting my students’ homes in Chiang Saen helped me better execute one lesson, which had to be followed by many more lessons and interactions. My students in Nebraska are not solely defined by their lives in the camps they grew up in. Those camps are the sites of their childhoods, and certainly hold much of their identities. Still, they’ve experienced much more since then and have many years to continue living. In Nebraska, they wear their woven Karen shirts and go to American high schools and universities. They place stickers of the Karen flag on their car bumpers. They are holding on to their homes, while also making Nebraska their home. So, in October I return to a place both my students and I call home. There, it is my job to listen and observe who they are in that context, remaining aware of what they’ve taught me and what I’ve learned along the border.

I AM FULL

Alyssa is from Lawrence, Massachusetts and graduated Valedictorian from Saint Michael’s College with a BA in Anthropology/Sociology and Environmental Studies. Prior to Fulbright, she served as an AmeriCorps Fellow at a Boston middle school. She most recently served as a Fulbright ETA at Jorakhe Wittayayon School in Khon Kaen province. She enjoyed bringing laughter and movement to learning through vocabulary games and her students’ favorite, Bingo. Throughout her time in Thailand, Alyssa has been able to connect with her surrounding community, helping the local veterinarian and playing badminton with teachers. She enjoyed participating in two of Thailand’s half-marathons and forming life-long friendships.



Anne Frank once said, “Think of all the beauty still around you and be happy.” For some time, I have struggled with eating disorders and have forgotten to see the beauty in myself and the world around me. However, Thailand showed me what I was missing. When I was accepted to Fulbright, I was nervous about living in a country with an entirely different cuisine and culture surrounding food. When I arrived at my school in Khon Kaen, the teachers greeted and welcomed me with lunch. I accepted a small portion of rice and a boiled egg. When told to eat more numerous times, I grew nervous and repeated what I found to be the most important Thai phrase, “Im Leu” which means “I am Full.” I worried that I would ruin my relationship with my new friends because everything I had learned so far indicated that I had to partake in this food culture to fit in. However, something amazing happened. 

First experience teaching in Bangkok

I stopped and looked around hoping to find something beautiful and I did. I saw badminton rackets, bicycles, and volleyballs. At this moment, I began wondering what the exercise culture of Thailand entailed. What were all of the sports and activities that my new community partook in? My first taste of this culture was badminton. Every day after school, two teachers and I would play for one hour. We set up a scoring system, allowing us to keep track of points and of who had the most wins. Although I consider myself an athlete, I never won. Not once. Therefore, I often took my turn waiting on the bench. While resting, I laughed and learned more Thai words as the teachers shouted challenging remarks back and forth as well as the word for windy when someone made an error. As the badminton birdie flew back and forth between my two, smiling teachers, I myself smiled and felt that I had found my place here. I didn’t have to change who I was; instead, I was able to blend my love of exercise with theirs and allow my true self to shine through. 

Finish line of the 13th Annual Khon Kaen Marathon!

My next endeavor into the exercise culture was running the Khon Kaen International Marathon. Prior to coming to Thailand, I knew that I wanted to partake in the half marathon part of the event. When I arrived, I was excited to learn other English Teaching Assistants also hoped to join. As the weeks passed in January, I would run every day, training bit by bit for the big day! The psychical education teacher at my school had run the marathon in the past and was thrilled when I shared my training plan with him. My host teacher’s husband also planned to run the full marathon and was set to be one of the oldest participants. I enjoyed being able to talk with him about running. I never imagined that running would be as much a part of Thai culture as it is in my life. When the day finally arrived, I remember standing at the starting line and thinking how everything in my life had changed. I moved to Thailand, I trained for my first half marathon, I found my place in a new community, and I was happy. 

Making friends at Elephant Nature Park!

A happiness that continued throughout the whole race despite some foot pain! Spectators cheered as all of us runners passed by. Everyone around me was smiling, cheering, and enjoying being a part of something that transcends differences. Regardless of race, religion, or culture, people can join together for running. And so, I kept running my way through Thailand. Every visit I made to Bangkok, I ran around Lumphini Park. A taxi driver taught me how to express my love of the park in saying, “Chan chop Suan Lum” (I like Lumphini Park). I ran around the largest lake in Khon Kaen every single weekend. I joined the Valentine’s Day race in Chiang Mai which was the first of its kind. I ran around my school every morning with almost seven dogs which elected themselves as my bodyguards, making sure no other stray dogs bothered me. Every step I took brought me a feeling of closeness to a part of Thai culture that I did not know existed. 

My neighbor, Poolita, visiting me at school!

To my excitement, the exercise culture included even more than running. I played volleyball with my students after school for a few days. I also learned of a game titled, takraw, which can be described as kick volleyball. The students would leap and spin in the air as they kicked a bamboo ball back and forth over a net. In the private of my own driveway, I would practice trying to kick the ball while remaining in one place in order to feel comfortable enough to step onto the court and try this new game. However, as the bamboo ball alluded my feet and rolled down my driveway into the trees numerous times, I realized that this was not an easy game. Soon after, I went to a festival where sponsored teams were participating in a takraw competition. I remember admiring the players as they leapt in the air like ninjas. My host father also took an interest in this sport, which allowed us to bond over yet another aspect of the exercise culture. 


Soon after the festival, an event titled Bike for Dad arrived. Two teachers at my school tossed a shirt at me and invited me to join. I was told to be ready in ten minutes. “Okay!” I shouted as I tossed my bike into the back of their pickup truck and headed to the starting line. I felt so relieved in this moment that I was making friends through sports rather than dining. Several people in the nearby village also joined the event. Some rode bicycles while others stood along the side of the roads. Many people greeted me in the traditional Thai way which is to wai. I attempted to return the act with two hands, but soon remembered that I am not that savvy on a bike. As I continued to pedal past onlookers and rice fields and the sun slowly set, I was again very happy. While running allowed me to see the beautiful cities, the bike ride allowed me to explore the pure, undeveloped parts of Thailand.

Bike for Dad

Throughout all of these experiences and more, my fellow teachers and host mother came to understand and appreciate me in the ways that I was different from them. Teachers gifted me with a badminton racket and a volleyball, and if food was the gift it was either corn or bananas. To close, when I think about the phrase “Im leu” now, I think of how true it is. Maybe I am not full because of all the papaya salad and sticky rice, but I AM FULL of love and happiness from my time in Thailand and from the people who have forever impacted my life. Thailand and the community I became a part of, have taught me to believe in myself, see the beauty around me, and that it is okay to say no as long as you say yes to something else.

Blending in: the Adventures of an Invisible Asian American

Amy Bohn was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area of California. She graduated from the University of California, Berkeley in 2013 with a double major in Political Economy and Asian Studies and a minor in Japanese. Prior to Fulbright, Amy was an AmeriCorps after-school instructor at an elementary school in Oakland, CA. Amy is a 2015-2016 AMCHAM-Fulbright English Teaching Assistant in Ubon Ratchathani, a city in the northeast of Thailand. In her free time, Amy enjoys exploring the cafes in her city and trying all the delicious Thai snacks. After Fulbright, Amy will move to Japan to teach English and explore the Japanese side of her identity. She hopes to work as a Foreign Service Officer one day.




The Guessing Game

“Amy, you are a Thai girl!” Mae Usa, one of my many Thai "mothers" and host teachers, calls to me from across the office. With an amused smile I accept the compliment, one I’ve heard at least once a week since arriving at Triam Udomsuksa Pattanagarn School back in November. I look like a Thai person, but looks can be deceiving. In fact, I am not Thai in the slightest.


My ethnicity and nationality are a guessing game. Generally, people can tell I am a mixed-race person of Asian heritage, but where do I come from? Once Thailand is ruled out, common guesses include the Philippines, China, Malaysia, Vietnam, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Laos, and Singapore. Nice try, but none of those are correct.

My family and I during a childhood visit to Japan

I am a mixed-race Japanese American, born and raised in California. My mother immigrated to the United States from Japan. My father is an American of European descent. Because I am closer to my mother’s side of the family, I identify more with the Japanese side of my heritage. However, in my heart,  I am an American, through and through.



Identity in Crisis
Having grown up in a majority Asian community in California, I never felt that my Japanese and American identities conflicted. Asian-American was the norm in the particular corner of America that I called home. Additionally, for whatever reason, many strangers claimed they could tell I was ethnically Japanese by looking at me. I had always felt confident that my physical appearance matched my identity as both Japanese and American.


It was not until I studied abroad in Thailand in 2012 that I first encountered people who questioned my identity. To my frustration, no one could tell I was American. Strangers kept insisting that I looked Thai or some other Asian ethnicity that was not Japanese. Instead of other people affirming my identity, for the first time I had to defend it on my own. My identity was in crisis.

While studying abroad in Bangkok, I participated in the Wai Khru ceremony at Mahidol University 

with my friend Nit. Wai Khru is a ritual where students pay respect to teachers.

Those scenarios forced to reevaluate how I understood my own identity. I learned firsthand that many people did not think Asians could be Americans. I realized that “passing” for a certain ethnicity was not a matter of fact, because “passing” was contextual and depended on the perceptions and opinions of other people. Most importantly, I discovered that my sense of identity had to come from within. As long as I knew in my heart what I identified as and where I came from, what other people think about my identity should not bother me.



A Case of Mistaken Identity

Armed with the lessons I learned from studying abroad in Bangkok, I felt ready to return to Thailand as a Fulbright ETA and further explore the complexing conundrum of being Asian American in Thailand. Whenever I am mistaken for a Thai person, I feel like an “invisible American”. Here are the main implications of being an “invisible American” whether I am out in town or meeting new people for the first time.


- People respect my privacy and personal space.

I can wander around my city, Ubon Ratchathani, alone without being harassed or hassled on the basis of my race. No one stares at me. Strangers do not stop me not to pose for awkward photos, nor do they randomly snap pictures as I walk by. Unsavory men do not call out “Hallo!”. Hawkers do not hassle me about goods I don’t want to buy. This is all because I look like any other ordinary Thai person on the street.

My co-workers and I at a Buddhist ceremony at my school Triam Udomsuksa Pattanagarn
Ubon Ratchathani.

 - Strangers are surprised that I can’t speak Thai.

Too often, I approach strangers for help in my city. To my dismay, Thai people generally seem confused, annoyed, and sometimes outright agitated that I don’t speak Thai. To them, my face appears Thai, yet my language ability doesn’t match their expectations. I quickly learned that if I want my requests to be received warmly, I must speak Thai properly. Not garbled keywords, but actual sentences with a clear attempt at grammar. Eventually, I realized I could also easily tell people in Thai that I’m a foreigner who does not speak Thai well before making any requests. Now, instead of looking annoyed, people seem curious by my Thai appearance and are happy to help a foreigner in need. Not to mention, I get to practice speaking Thai.


 - My nationality confuses people.

Many people are reluctant to believe that I am an American. Thai people definitely understand when I say it in Thai, but they look confused and ask me why I look Asian or they refuse to believe me. Foreigners, including other Americans, are also skeptical. Too many times, foreigners have insisted that I can’t be an American, that I must be Thai because they overheard me speaking a few broken phrases. People don’t want to believe me because I don’t look like what most people think an American should look like.


People always want an explanation. I tell them that my mom is from Japan and my dad is an Americans of European descent. Some people obviously only accept that I’m American once I tell them my dad is white. I want people to understand: it doesn’t matter where my parents come from or what race they are. America is a country built by generations of immigrants from all over the world. I’m American because I simply am.


- Sometimes people treat me with less respect.

Most of the time, cases of mistaken identity are harmless and can be easily smoothed over with a smile or a simple explanation. However, sometimes people blatantly treat my friends and me differently based on how they perceive our races.


For instance, one of my ETA friend’s school director exhibited a clear bias for white Americans when meeting Fulbright ETAs at an English camp. Although 5 Fulbright ETAs, including me, gathered to teach at the camp, the school director stated in his opening speech that only 3 American ETAs were teaching at the camp. My friend’s host teacher stepped in and had each of us explain our ethnicity to everyone to make it clear that all 5 of us were Americans. After the opening ceremony, we finally met the director. Although we all introduced ourselves as Americans, the school director spoke only Thai to the ETAs who looked Asian while switching to English for the ETAs who looked white. On top of that, the school director lavished the “white” ETAs with questions and compliments while outright ignoring us “Asian” ETAs. I felt frustrated that the school director treated my friends and me so differently even though we were doing the same work.


Although bitter feelings linger from such interactions, I try not to fixate on them. Nothing I do will change such people’s behavior. Thankfully interactions with such people are rare. Instead of focusing on a few negative interactions, I think instead of all the people who have treated me with kindness and respect: my host teachers, my coworkers, my students, my neighborhood shopkeepers, the Fulbright staff, my fellow ETAs, and the many Thai strangers who helped me when I was lost or travelling alone. Compared to the handful of prejudiced people, so many more people have been friendly, welcoming, and accepting of me. These are the people who make my Thailand experience a positive one.



What is an American? What is a Thai person?

My experiences in Thailand not only allow me to better understand my own identity, but also challenge my perceptions of what it means to pass for American or Thai. While interning with the Ministry of Education in March, I attended an English speech contest organized by the British Council and the Ministry of Education. The best students from the top high schools and universities of Thailand were nominated by their schools to compete. Whether they were presenting to the judges or casually chit-chatting between rounds, a majority of the students spoke impeccable English the entire time, many with British or American-tinged accents. They wore the same style of school uniforms as my students in Ubon Ratchathani, yet they were so confident about speaking English. They contrasted starkly with my students, who freeze when trying to speak English with me and switch to Thai instead.

My fellow AMCHAM-Fulbright ETAs and I hanging out at Sukhothai Historical Park (clockwise from the left: me, Elaine, Ia, Edie, Crystal, and Dee).

If I had not already known they were Thai high school and university students, those students could have been from anywhere in the world. The way they behaved and talked, from their level of vocabulary down to their intonation, reminded me of my classmates from high school and university. In the cities of California where I grew up, the majority of my classmates were of Asian descent with immigrant parents, and still we were all Americans. These Thai young adults could have passed for Americans too.


Then it hit me: the idea that people should look, act, or talk a certain way to be from anywhere was ridiculous. At the same time, I also realized that it was not that outrageous that no one in Thailand could tell I was not Thai.



Final Thoughts

As a mixed-race person, I think often about identity and what it means to “pass” for a particular ethnicity or race. Race clearly plays a role in how Thai people and foreigners in Thailand think about “American-ness” and “Thai-ness”. It’s hard not to take it personally when people outright reject your identity. Though I tire of constantly explaining why I am Asian and American, I’ve become better at remaining neutral and not holding it against people. After all, it’s not completely unheard of for a Thai person in Thailand to seem as Westernized as an Asian person who grew up in America. At the very least, I know that by being in Thailand and being known to my community, I am in a unique position to open people’s minds to the different ways race, ethnicity, and nationality intersect.

Thai Kids On Songkran

Amy Cosgrove is a Kansas City native and recently graduated from the University of Arkansas with a BA in Communication and a minor in marketing. She is currently serving as a Fulbright ETA at Ban Bowin School in Chonburi province. Along with teaching 800 students ages 8-15 she enjoys leading dance club and playing American football with her students. Throughout her time in Thailand Amy has loved exploring her home province as well as other cities and neighboring provinces. She's enjoyed eating the food, experiencing exciting cultural festivals and has loved connecting with people both in Bowin and throughout Thailand.

They wait for this day all year. It’s the excitement of Santa Clause, Christmas Eve and Thanksgiving dinner all in one. People travel hundreds of miles to celebrate with their loved ones.

Kids grow up riding through town hanging onto the back of a truck or on the rear of their dad's scooter, soaking everyone in sight with their Hello Kitty water gun in hand. They play with reckless abandon. They're free, the way that kids should always be. And the best part, they do it side by side with their parents- who in turn get to be kids for the day as well!

It's the kind of fun where you play all day and crash into your pillow from pure exhaustion the moment you finish dinner. You quickly fall asleep, replaying the day’s excitement in your head like it’s ESPN’s Top Ten.

There are no teams and no rules. Everyone is your teammate and everyone is your target.

This long awaited holiday is Songkran, or Thai New Years.

My cousin, sister and I ready for a day of Songkran in Chiang Mai. 

This year I was lucky enough to participate in my first Songkran holiday. With my sister and cousin in tow, we made our way to Chiang Mai to join other Fulbrighters in the celebration. The city of Chiang Mai was electric with energy and excitement. Everyone was joyous, excited and very, very wet.

The first day we made our way around the city and celebrated at Taphae gate filled with people from all over the world. We stood in front of our hostel spraying every truck, car and scooter that passed by, occasionally getting drenched in ice cold water and dancing around to warm back up.

The second day we headed through the small side streets in the old city to eat lunch at my favorite shop. On our way we were stopped in our tracks by a group of little nuggets armed with super soakers. Once we turned the corner to see them we stopped, took our water guns out and then one little girl yelled “Bai!” meaning “go” in Thai, and they started charging. So we fought back and were swimming through the alleyway to the other side of the street.

After lunch we walked back the same way and were greeted again by the happiest of Songkran teams. We stayed of course, battling in laughter and dousing each other in water. We were immediately welcomed by their older siblings, parents, and aunts and uncles making our opposing teams one. They were having an incredibly joyous party with dancing, singing, eating and spraying people who passed by. The women were feeding us food and drinks while simultaneously pouring water down our backs in a kind way to wish us good luck. Everyone was excited to have us join them and it felt right- normal, and like we were part of the family.

We were seamlessly integrated into their Songkran team. As we’d see people approaching our territory we would rally the troops, grab the hose to refill our water tanks and go out in a full on sprint shrieking and screaming with happiness. 

This was our second interaction with our new friends.

Time flew by as we danced and played. One boy in particular was around 6 years old and had the best dance moves out of us all! To put it simply, he just had the most flat out swag I’ve ever seen.

Numerous groups of other foreigners passed by and asked me how I knew this family. I responded with a shrug and said I just happened to meet them that day and was having the most incredible day hanging out with them.

We continued to play all day long. Once our bucket ran out of water and the hose stopped working, we ran a few doors down to a guesthouse to refill. There were two backpackers from the UK there and they joined us for a while laughing as the kids made sure to soak them from head to toe. 

The Fulbright gang along with my family 

They also asked me how I knew the family and what I was doing in Thailand. I explained to them how I was a teacher and how these kids reminded me a lot of my own students. I told them how their family welcomed me so graciously into their home and how, well, I was having the time of my life!

One of them looked at me and said, “I’ve never met anyone so happy.”

I stopped a second and realized how incredibly happy I was. But “happy” doesn’t quite sum it up entirely. It was the kind of happy where you’re completely relaxed yet equally excited and high on life.

Later that night as we made our way back to our hostel and I couldn’t stop smiling. These few hours were among the top moments of my experience in the past eight months. I felt like I was right back in my hometown on 71st Terrace in Kansas playing kick the can until our mom whistled us home.

This is my cousin getting drenched by our new friends.

I'm so thankful Fulbright has given me this opportunity to immerse myself in Thai culture in a very authentic way. Before, I might have just walked right by that family and kept to the touristy hot spots for Songkran. However, but because of my time in Bowin, the confidence I’ve gained with basic Thai, and a huge appreciation for the kindness of Thai people, I was able to have a true cultural experience.

It has been far from a cake walk, but everyday is an experience paired with something to learn. I am learning how to figure out who I, Amy Cosgrove, am away from everything that's ever defined me- my family, friends, culture, language, and religion. But because I don’t have those safety nets, I am learning how to live the Thai way.

Looking back at all of the cultural blunders and miscommunications I've stumbled over in Thailand, I realize that I have been able to have an authentic Thai experience- meeting and investing in friendships- because of them. I’ll forever cherish those few hours spent roaming in pure bliss. But most importantly, I’ll always remember how I felt in that moment- free, accepted, and simply, purely and genuinely happy.