Like the Game of Jenga

Melissa Vang is Hmong American, 

a 2016-17 Fulbright – AMCHAM English Teaching Assistant (ETA). She teaches Mattayom 1 – 6 (grades 7-12) at Banphaipittayakom School in Khon Kaen province and volunteers at a nursery center teaching nursery kids ABCs (ages 2-5 years old) in Ban Phai. She was born in Eau Claire, Wisconsin and graduated from the College of Saint Benedict in Communication with a concentration in Art. In her free time, Melissa likes to do Zumba, watercolor paint, and DIY arts and crafts. After the Fulbright grant, Melissa hopes to share her teaching experiences back to her community and pursue higher education.

The classic game of Jenga consists of 54 pieces of rectangular wood blocks, stacked with three pieces of blocks on every level. Players each take turns removing a block and placing it at the top of the tower with the game ending when the tower falls. The game restarts after the tower is restacked. While watching my students destroy and reconstruct the Jenga tower during class, I was struck by how the game of Jenga mirrored my experiences in Thailand.

The game of Jenga

Sometimes during the last 5-10 minutes of English class, I give students who finished their work early free time. During free time, students can choose between coloring worksheets, doing word searches or playing board games. However, I have found students of all ages to enjoy playing or watching others play Jenga. Typically, a group of 5 or 6 students will sit in a circle with the Jenga tower placed in the center of the classroom. Many students who are not playing will watch intensely as each student player takes a block out one by one. With each passing moment, the students playing the game will feel the tension rising as each player tries their hardest not to be the one who makes the mistake of taking out the wrong block, which will cause the tower to fall. 

M2/2 students immersed in a game of Jenga

As the players take turns pulling out the wooden blocks, I noticed that the student who makes the tower fall often will get a light punishment from the other players. For instance, players will lightly slap the wrist or forehead of the loser. In every class I teach, I find it rather amusing watching students from my desk play together, and hearing them laugh hysterically as the tower comes crashing down. 

Oftentimes, when I watch students tear down the Jenga pieces, I am reminded how far I have come as a teacher who had the opportunity to teach in Thailand for almost a year. Just like the tower that falls, there were moments that challenged me and made me feel knocked down. 

***

Back in February, I found out I had to host an English camp at Banphaipittayakom School. It was something I did not expect as my predecessor did not have one, putting me under the notion that I would not be responsible for one either. The unexpected meeting about the English camp was brief and ended with instructions to invite other ETAs to participate. 

With the unforeseen meeting, came the pressure and struggle to plan my first English camp. I had no idea what I was in for. The camp was to happen on the last weekend of February, right before the end of the first semester. The timing was not ideal as many ETAs were planning to wrap-up their school year, settle into their internships, and find housing for the month of March. Ultimately, I did not think the timing would allow for the ETAs to come and volunteer. I started to worry that there would not be any ETAs to teach at the English camp. To add to my stress, many Mattayom 3’s and Mattayom 6’s were graduating that week, meaning that many students were likely not going to show up. 

As each passing week went by, I became more anxious since nothing was planned and there was no follow-up meetings from the teachers in the English Department. During this time, I had to hold onto the Thai phrase, sabai sabai. The phrase’s meanings vary but it generally means to go with the flow or what will be, will be. This phrase was something I relied on as the date to start English camp was approaching. In order to fulfill some of my planning responsibilities and to the bewilderment of the other Thai teachers, I went ahead and decided to make a rough schedule of how camp was going to be structured. I needed a rough sketch of how camp would be like and characteristic to an extremely punctual person, I made sure to allocate time slots for each event that was planned for the camp. 

The week before English camp, I got the news that four ETAs had volunteered to teach at the camp. To alleviate some of my stress, materials, snacks, and food were all prepared for by the school the day before camp. On the first day of English camp, I was a mixture of both nervousness and excitement. I was nervous because I was worried by the thought of nobody showing up, and the activities failing, but I was excited at the possibility of this camp becoming a great experience for my peers and me. 

ETAs mini photo-shoot during lunch break

Begin Camp

Time: 8:30 a.m.

Setting: Conference room

Situation: The morning started with the Director making a speech in English. Because I have never heard him speak English, the sight of him speaking English to me, my fellow ETAs, and the dozens of students that showed up, gave me a boost in confidence for the success of the camp. 

The camp had 80 students who all had on sticker nametags. The ETAs, Thai teachers and I began camp with introductions. After introducing ourselves to the students, we jumped right into The Cupid Shuffle, a song and line dance from the artist Cupid. 

Activities: Students were split into five groups and placed into stations. Every 15 to 20 minutes, students rotated from one station to the next. Each station had an activity attached to it like playing bingo, making origami hearts, having students write their names with their butts, taking part in a guessing nametag challenge, and engaging in ice breaker games. 

Closing: After the stations and lunch break, the ETAs and I played ‘Ship Across the Ocean’ with the students where the ETAs and I would call out letters from the alphabets, and if the students’ first letter of their names started with it, they would run across the basketball court trying to evade getting tagged from the staff. The camp ended with the students being put into groups for a scavenger hunt and making posters. 

Students reflecting on their English camp experience

Camp went by smoothly; however, throughout the entire day, I had to keep reminding myself to be sabai sabai. Not everything that I planned took place and we did not keep on schedule. For example, what was supposed to be a thirty-minute event turned into an hour and what was supposed to be a ten-minute break turned into a thirty minute one. Despite not going by my meticulously planned schedule, everything worked out in the end. 

After finishing camp on a high note and receiving positive reviews from students, I began to reevaluate my initial stress and anxieties about the last minute planning. I realized that what I initially thought to be a stress-inducing, hair-pulling, nail-biting English camp, turned out to be a fun-filled, enjoyable time with the students, as well as with the other ETAs that were gracious enough to come. I was extremely thankful to the ETAs for taking time out of their busy weekends to help me make an everlasting and memorable experience for all the participants.

***

The Director, teachers, ETAs, and students at Banphaipittayakom's English camp

It is tempting to avoid the times when things in life get hard. I often experience this temptation when I feel there is a roadblock or large stressor in my life. As my time teaching in Thailand is quickly coming to an end, I will hold onto the Thai phrase sabai sabai when traveling back to the United States. As a person who likes to have a set schedule, I always have to make a to-do list and will check off tasks as I complete them. Because of this tendency to meticulously plan out my days, I am never truly able to enjoy the present as my mind is always preoccupied with the next task that is to come. My experience planning the English camp showed me that finding a balance between being goal-oriented and just allowing life to take its course is a good way to live by. 

Like the game of Jenga, where there is a rebuilding of the tower after it falls, there will always be a rising from difficult times. In these difficult times, I have learned to make the best out of those moments and surround myself with positive people. Similar to the Jenga tower that is rebuilt among friends with laughter, I too was repeatedly brought back up and supported over the course of planning for the English camp by my ETA friends, teachers, and school. 

*English camp photo credits: the fabulous Yeng Her

What Is Unknown, What Is Known

Natasha King is a 2016-2017 Fulbright-AMCHAM ETA in Thailand. She teaches high school at Mae Moh Wittayah School in Lampang, Thailand. Natasha attended the College of William & Mary in Virginia and majored in marketing and environmental science. After her grant, she plans to return home, be a contributing member of society, work in an environmentally-focused sector of business, and learn the names of more birds and trees.

Bangkok was a glorious tangle of new things, a litany of the unknown and the unknowable. I raked through the banyan roots with my eyes, watched slim lizards go scurrying for cover at all hours of the day and night, opened my mouth wide in wonder. What were the names of the trees, the birds? What creatures made their soft sounds in the branches, hidden from view?    

A sacred tree of Bangkok, one of many we passed on our first day in Thailand. 

I leaned out over my dorm room balcony one night and a dark shape blurred past, through the velvet night air below me. As it passed over the light from the streetlamps, I saw the outline of its wings: jagged, outflung, spread for a moment in perfect saw-toothed symmetry. A bat. In America, I had not lived in areas with large bat populations, and so these animals were something of which I only ever caught occasional glimpses.

***

The dark side of the city slipped through eventually. The canals of Bangkok were clogged with plastic trash. The dominant non-human life forms appeared to be pigeons, street dogs, and cockroaches. In places I did not go, factories were spitting out waste. On the beach at the nearby town of Hua Hin, the massive tower of the Hilton dominated; the sea itself was warm, a dull olive. I stood just past the water's edge and a small dead fish rolled over my feet, tugged by the tide. 

One of the nine water falls in Erawan National Park in Kachanburi

After a month we were sent to our respective provinces, and I went north, to the mountains, traded the city skyline for the encircling green topography of Lampang. Here, the narrow corridors of jungle pressed up close to my front door and straggled in verdant ribbons along the roadside. Here, I had the sense that wilderness was just around the corner, but I didn't know how to reach it any more than I had in the city. The rough-edged asphalt roads were just as inscrutable as Bangkok's alleyways. The strangeness tugged at me, prickling at my eyes and ears. Everywhere I walked, things were unknown and fraught with possibility, and yet to my eyes they appeared empty. Empty! Absurd, that the teeming jungles should appear empty.

The view from the Mae Moh viewpoint park.

In truth, I understood that I simply didn't know how to look. In America, I had built a hobby out of sitting and watching. Paying attention: I had thought that was the secret. It was how I had caught ospreys diving for fish, voles crouching by the side of the road, herons brooding sleek and beautiful at the edges of lakes. I hadn't realized how much that ability relied upon my familiarity with the landscape. Here, the jungle was layer upon layer of unfathomed terrain, and I had no idea where to begin searching. The heat and the shrill chatter of insects sapped my will, sent me groping for the door. I spent my free afternoons stretched out in the bedroom, working or reading, side-eyeing the AC unit that rendered the room tolerable.

I missed the easy comfort of identifiable birdsong, of insects I could name and banish. The jungle trees were strange and enormous, their bark ragged, their leaves bigger than my face. I itched to learn names, grimaced in frustration when my clumsy attempts at identification or translation came up short. "How do you say leopard in Thai?" I asked my students. "How do you say cobra? How do you say kangaroo? How do you say seal?" Suea dao, ngu hao, jing joh[1], meo naam—the words soothed my curiosity but couldn't sate the hunger entirely.

Some of many students who patiently taught me Thai vocabulary.

***

Every Tuesday my host teacher and I made dinner together on the cement patio of her house. One afternoon a bird landed nearby while we were cooking. She told me its Thai name, a few unfamiliar syllables that slid, despite my best efforts, almost immediately from my brain. "There's a story," she said. "Once there was a boy and he would ask this bird to sing and wake him up early for school. And every morning the bird sings and wakes the boy up. Then another boy throws stones and kills the bird."

"And then what?" I said, interest flaring inside me.

She shrugged. "Nothing. The boy woke up late."

A little disappointed by the abrupt end to the story, I eyed the bird which flitted around the patio in a friendly manner for another ten minutes or so. Thailand has nearly one thousand recorded bird species; this one was jet black with white wing bars and a long tail. Later I looked it up. Oriental magpie-robin. One of several hundred species of Old World flycatchers, it is known for its boldness and for its beautiful song. So why does the second boy throw the stone?

***

Winter brought cool, misty mornings, shivering students who adamantly refused to tolerate an overhead fan, and afternoons as dry and ferocious as cracked bone. In the early evenings as I would run, as the light dimmed through shades of fuchsia and gold into the deeper purples of evening, the wind tasted of smoke and each breath cut my lungs. Fire on the hillsides: up in the mountains, forests were being burned.

"It's for mushrooms," the other foreign English teacher told me.

"For mushrooms?" I said, disbelieving.

Later I looked it up. Astraeus odoratus is a prized variety of fungus which grows partially submerged in soil and which can be blanched or cooked into various curry dishes. I had seen it laying in pungent heaps at street markets, without realizing what it was. In Thailand it is believed that fire increases the growth of this mushroom; in fairness, forest burning does clear the land of leaf litter and any sort of undergrowth, and therefore probably makes the earth-colored fruiting bodies of A. odoratus easier to find. Deforestation is of course a complex issue with varied causes, and mushroom-gathering is only one contributing factor, but burning is unfortunately a frequently used method due to ease and cost. Therefore each dry season heralds weeks of smoky, hazy air as acres of vegetation are burned away.                      

A lotus pond in Mae Moh, lotus in Thai is Dok Bua

Invariably my mouth went desert-dry a few minutes into each run; I gasped for breath those early January evenings, mouthing at nothing as I went. Bats hurtled through the twilight around me, smoke made solid. Southeast Asia is home to some of the greatest diversity of bat species in the world, and around ten percent of the more than 1300 currently known species can be found in Thailand.

Bat colonies across much of the U.S. are collapsing under the advent of white-nose syndrome, a disease for which there is no cure and for which the best current defense is to hope it does not spread. Fortunately, the culprit fungus, a variant of the Pseudogymnoascus strain, is still confined to North America. In Thailand, I never again saw the bats as clearly as I had that night in Bangkok, but I welcomed the dark, aerial smudges of their presence. They did not have to be identified or lit from below; it was enough, for the moment, simply to know they were there.

***

Winter winds on and I start to relax a little. I walk under the towering hardwoods; I listen to the swelling birdsong, the dry leaves knocking against each other like rosary beads. I put the urge to catalogue and collect away, just for a while, and indulge in a little ignorance. I content myself with glimpses. A Tokay gecko moves into the gap behind my kitchen sink; when I startle him at night he scrambles for cover, usually falling off the wall in his haste. I only ever catch sight of the edges of him.

An unidentified but beautiful butterfly I found in the river bed in Pai.

In the nearby province of Pai, I stand ankle deep in a streambed. A black and green butterfly with a neon pink thorax sops river water from my index finger with a delicately unrolled tongue and I marvel, even knowing that I'll never find out its name. In the library at Mae Moh Wittayah School, my post for the year, I pause in my lesson planning to look out the window, and I see that the school grounds are filled with hundreds and hundreds of white butterflies. They swirl around the decorative trees in clouds, like tiny snips of airborne paper. In the morning sunlight they glow, and I am transfixed; I push away the insistent whisper in my head, the part of me that wants to know the names of all things. I cannot track the butterflies; I cannot name them or chart them; nevertheless, they exist.

***

In Koh Chang, I secure a spot on a snorkeling outing; the boat takes us out to Koh Rang, the largest island of the Mu Koh Chang National Marine Park. On the way there, a couple from Germany asks if we will see any turtles. The boat captain looks at me for translation. When he hears the request, he smiles and shrugs.

"He doesn't know," I say in English. The German woman looks disappointed but takes it in stride. I, too, pretend I hadn't been hoping to see turtles. Tourists, eh? We want our miracles pinned to a card. 

Koh Rang, one of the islands in the gulf of Thailand.

At Koh Rang, face-down in bright blue water, I see a medley of fish whose names I do not know. No turtles or dolphins or barracuda, none of those charismatic megafauna of the sea. But I tread water and dip my head just below the surface, and a school of tiny silver fish parts around me in perfect symmetry. Their nameless bodies encircle mine for a moment, a ring of fragmented light, a chorus of unlabeled miracles.

***

Did I expect macaques to hang draped from the branches in Thailand—did I expect civets to be crouched in the undergrowth like four-legged ghosts? Did I expect there to be no consequences of industry, no signs of the pollution resulting from the material comforts I enjoyed while living there? No, maybe I did not, but perhaps I wanted the country to be sorted and named, lit up with taxonomic signage for my benefit. Perhaps I wanted it to be pristine. Perhaps I wanted to know things, but only good things, to find a Thailand as untouched and well-labeled as an expertly preserved lepidopterist's collection.

Wary of putting Thailand into any kind of close-minded, ethnocentric box, wary of dismissing it as inferior, I had in fact tipped all the way over to the other end of the spectrum and put it into a different box altogether—some sort of rose-colored case of environmental virtuosity. But Thailand is just a place, in the end. Full of people and animals and trees, all jockeying for position as the rest of us are. It wasn't some magical land, an enchanted forest, and it shouldn't have had to be.

***

I meet a biologist at a dinner party. Also a Fulbright grantee, she is here researching the spread of chytrid fungus, that wide-ranging disease which has decimated amphibian populations worldwide. Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis. I savor the name, the sweet polysyllabic tangle of it on my tongue.

Later I skim what the internet has to say about Batrochochytrium. A fungus of uncertain origins, it has been around for decades but has only recently spread throughout the world. Its effect on frog and salamander populations has been devastating. It is one of the many factors contributing to the massive amphibian die-off of the past three decades.

Batrochytrium: the name tastes more like ash, now. The fungus spreads throughout the outermost layers of the skin and the animal is eventually unable to properly breathe, hydrate, or regulate its body temperature. My initial spark of pleasure at learning the term for the thing faded in the wake of its terrible nature, dwindled in the face of what I came to know about it. Nevertheless, it had to be known. It is only in the knowing that we can push back.

***

All this time I have been reaching out and recoiling, simultaneously desperate to encounter the land I am living in, and afraid to know it in its most sincere form. Perhaps I wanted Thailand to be gorgeous, to be laid out at my feet, to be pinned to a card, Latin names and all. Perhaps I flinched back from the reality of it, told myself that it was enough to look without comprehending. I did not and still have not mastered walking that line between the urge to understand and the ability to see. But I am trying. Wake up, sings the magpie-robin; wake up, wake up. The stone is in my hand; it is the dead who are laid out at my feet, their bodies furred with Batrochytrium and Pseudogymnoascus. The remaining living swirl in perfect symmetry, in paths I cannot chart, along courses I must follow. I want to know Thailand not under the lepidopterist's glass but out there in the light as it flits like paper, as it goes up in smoke. The polluted and the pristine, intermingled but not yet out of reach. Under the water, off the shore of Koh Rang, I opened my eyes wide and wider; I looked at the coral and wondered about acidification and bleaching; I looked at the sputtering boat and wondered what I was costing the ocean, in my quest to encounter it; I looked at the eddying silver fish and thought what a miracle, this.

One Month at the Ministry

Paul Park is a Korean American, a 2016-2017 Fulbright-AMCHAM English Teaching Assistant (ETA). He teaches Mattayom 1 through 6 at Warinchamrap School in Ubon Ratchathani province and tutors throughout the week after school. He was born in Irving Texas and graduated from the Saint John’s University in Asian Studies with a focus on Political Science. In his free time, Paul enjoys going to the gym, playing basketball, and meeting with new people. After the grant, Paul hopes to enter into a graduate program at the University of Texas at Austin. 

When I first was told that being an English Teaching Assistant (ETA) required me to find an internship for the month of March, I was very worried and troubled. I didn’t know what field of work I wanted to pursue and had no clue where I wanted to live in Thailand for that month. However, my confusion quickly turned to clarity when my predecessor told me about her internship at the Ministry of Education (MOE) in Bangkok. I was under the impression that I would have quite a lot of free time to study for the GRE or just mosey around and browse YouTube or watch Netflix. My expectations were proven wrong on the first week of my internship and from then on, working at MOE proved to be one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever been a part of. 

Great meal with my P's

The first week of my internship, I expected to settle down on my desk, possibly work on some essays I needed to get done and most likely browse Netflix to catch up on my shows. But within the first couple of days, I was sent on a sort of excursion to escort teachers from Singapore around Bangkok and outside Bangkok to get them acclimated to the Thai lifestyle. Their mission was to understand the Thai education system as well as share their own teaching experiences with Thai schools inside and outside of Bangkok. I was on this excursion with them for a week. From visiting one of the most prestigious high schools in Bangkok, to visiting a school with far less funding outside of Bangkok. It was quite the journey as I ended up building a very close relationship with them. There were around 10 teachers who ranged from ages 28 to 57. They were all so kind to me and although they, for some reason, assumed I was 30 years old at first, I quickly forgave them and blamed their misguided guess by the growing facial hair that I let grow for around two days; that is what I decided to tell myself. 

At first I was very shy to talk and bond with these teachers from Singapore because they were older than me and much more experienced in teaching. However, traveling around Bangkok with these educators who were completely different from me in terms of professional experience, age, and hobbies, forced me to get out of my comfort zone and bond with them. During one of my excursions, one teacher in particular was very bored of the trip and took out a Nintendo 3DS. The moment I saw the 3DS, I pounced on the opportunity to make small talk with him. When I asked what game he was playing, he replied “Pokémon X”. I thought to myself, ‘this man is more experienced than me, has a Master’s degree, and we are thirteen years apart in terms of our age but we both love Pokémon’. I felt quite satisfied to see such a smart and sophisticated 35 years old educator from Singapore, playing Pokémon. Needless to say, we easily connected. 

In total, the teachers from Singapore and I visited two schools. The school that I visited in Bangkok, one of the most prestigious schools in Bangkok, has a full soccer field with beautiful grass and even a museum that is preserved by the government located on the school grounds. The school outside of Bangkok has a dirt soccer field with no air conditioning in their main hall with a total student population below 150. The differences are night and day between these two schools. However, one thing that remained a standard among all the schools is the sense of hospitality and kindness given to strangers. They put on different shows acted out by the students and even gave us tours around their classrooms. The school with little funding made all of the students perform a traditional Thai dance for the Singapore teachers as well as a song. The school made me and the teachers with whom I was accompanied, feel right at home.


After the Singapore teachers left Thailand, I expected my job to become duller and to fulfill my previous expectations, but that did not happen, either. Once I came back from the seminar the following week I attended several diplomatic meetings which involved countries such as Japan, Mexico, Australia, and Turkey. During these meetings I was able to observe diplomacy take place. Witnessing different ambassadors coming from all around the world come and speak to Thailand’s Minister of Education, gave me more of an appreciation for the people who worked so hard to set up these meetings.

Meeting with the representative from Japan!

Each person who was a part of the Ministry of Education was in charge of a different task to get these meetings going and to make sure they were successful. From taking notes, getting the itinerary set, creating talking points between the ambassadors and the Minister, to creating a hospitable environment for each person. Everything was carefully planned and executed to perfection. Each person was playing a pivotal role in creating a friendly and hospitable environment, including myself. I was in charge of taking notes of each of the meetings because each diplomat from every country communicated through English. While it was fun to witness the meetings, keeping track of what everyone says with a pen and paper was quite difficult—kudos to those people that do that on a daily basis.


Although I was there as an American intern and my job was to take notes in English, the staff at the Ministry of Education sometimes would mistake me for a Thai intern. This is somewhat understandable considering that I am Korean-American. At one point they would tell me to do something in Thai and in turn, I would smile at them and stare until they realized they were talking to someone who probably can’t speak Thai. This happened on a daily basis and at first, I was slightly frustrated. But I’ve learned that this confusion about my nationality is to be expected; the people who are questioning my nationality or are sometimes confused, don’t have malicious intentions towards me, they are all genuinely curious about me as a person. So being part of the Ministry of Education, in terms of people questioning my nationality, I learned to respond in a respectful and honest way. At the end of the day, these people who always question my cultural background are only doing so because they are curious.


However, better than the excursions and the ambassador meetings, one of the most memorable events I was a part of during my time at the Ministry of Education was Thailand’s national English speaking competition. This event stood out to me more than the tour with the Singapore teachers or the Ambassador meetings because I was able to see the top students from all around Thailand compete with each other. One of the competitors was from Roi Et. I teach in Issan and Roi Et is a part of Issan, so I was slightly biased on who I wanted to win the competition. The competition consisted of several speaking rounds as well as a final round which included a random prompt from the moderators for the competitors to speak about. During this event, I was amazed at how proficient these students were but at the same time, I could expect nothing less from Thailand’s finest English speaking students. At the event, every judge was greeted with kindness, the crowd was engaged, and ultimately the competitors were encouraged at every step of the competition. 

The competitors of the speech competition

The competition was fierce and it truly showed how much work these students put into their speeches as well as their preparation to speak in front of a crowd. Even when a student lost, they encouraged the other competitors to keep on going and to do their best. One particular student immediately caught my attention. While she was preparing, I remembered thinking, “wow this is like a Mattayom three student and she looks so shy”. I was proven wrong seconds within her speech. She was loud, strong, and confident in her speaking abilities and to be honest, I caught myself leaning in while she was speaking. She just drew the attention of every person in the crowd because of her confidence. Once the winner was announced, each competitor was gifted a prize. At the end, all of the competitors stood together with each other on stage and celebrated.


Almost all aspects of my internship were full of surprises and people whom I feel blessed to have met. Every person at the Ministry of Education made my experience amazing. Thanks to my co-workers at the Ministry, I was able to make lasting connections with experienced teachers from Singapore who I never would have thought had similarities with me. Even being a part of the note-taking process during ambassador meetings were fun. While I admit, it’s hard to keep up with what people say at times, it really gave me an appreciation for people who take notes on a daily basis. It isn’t an easy job and I will never take that for granted. The English completion gave me an inside look at how hard student’s in Thailand work to achieve their goals. Each student in that competition was highly motivated to learn and it showed in their performance.

With my Amazing co-workers!

As a teacher in Thailand, my one month internship gave me more motivation to do right by my students. It was truly a blessing to work at the Ministry of Education, a blessing I will never take for granted, and a blessing I will never forget.

Infinite Tiny Sweet Moments

Caitlin Kennedy is from Gaithersburg, Maryland and is a 2016-2017 Fulbright-AMCHAM ETA placed in Yangtalad Wittayakarn School in Kalasin, Thailand, where she teaches English to Mattayom 4-6 students (10th-12th grade). She graduated with a B.A. in Mathematics and a minor in African Studies from St. Mary’s College of Maryland in 2013. In her free time, Caitlin likes to go rock climbing with her Thai friends in Khon Kaen, sing wildly off-tune songs in the shower under her bubble gum pink stairs, jog around the school’s football field while teachers on the sideline shout, “running, running,” and go on hiking adventures throughout the mountains of Southeast Asia. At the end of her Fulbright grant, she hopes to find a new opportunity in another part of Thailand working with an NGO to improve education for migrants and refugees. 

I was elated when I found out that I would be living alone in rural Thailand, teaching English. I had yearned for this type of cultural challenge, but I was scared of the loneliness and solitude that would inevitably come with a year of confusion, misunderstanding, and such an abrupt change of pace in life. When life is slow, the time and moments that consume it can feel empty. However, this string of seemingly empty moments that has woven its way through my last 8 months here has turned out to carry so much meaning, depth, and feeling. I fear that if I tried to explain the meaning of or knowledge gained from moments such as these, I wouldn’t be doing the moments or feelings that they have evoked adequate praise for their pure existence. I hope that through this narrative, you may possibly be able to feel for yourselves a bit of what I had the pleasure of experiencing first hand. 

***

I’m wearing all black. Everyone around me is wearing all black too; except for the teenagers, who seem to be wearing a mix of bright colors. These must be the students. Each class is wearing an assigned, brightly colored polo. They have black ribbons pinned to their shoulders. As I walk behind the crowd, attempting to be discreet, heads turn and stare as if this wave of movement was pre-choreographed. I’m sweating. Is it from the blazing heat of the October sun? Or is it my nerves and insecurity of having so many eyes glued to my face, my hair, my clothes, and my entire being? I see a familiar face and take a deep breath as I anxiously make my way towards him. A feeling of relief washes over me. As I am about to say something, music starts booming through the loud speakers and everyone turns to the stage. Standing straight and proud, they sing along to the National Anthem. People who were rushing in have stopped abruptly for this moment of worship, making their tardiness obvious and noted. When the music stops, the kind, familiar face turns to me, “Good morning! Welcome to Yangtalad! Have you eaten yet?” In this moment I don’t yet realize the significance of this greeting. Eventually, I will come to understand that “Gin khao ruyang? (Have you eaten rice yet?)” can almost be equated to “How’s it going?” in America, highlighting the importance of food and rice in Thai culture. My anxiety evaporates with the beads of sweat that have built up along the edges of my forehead. I feel welcome. I reply, “Yes, thank you. I ate already.” The kind voice says, “Okay, come gin kanom (eat snacks).” And just like that, this confounding scene that had given me anxiety only moments before, becomes the backdrop of my new home.

***

I am walking to room 423. Inside my backpack I have my laptop, HDMI chord, paper and colored pencils to make name tags, and the attendance sheet (written in Thai of course). I realize how hot and humid it is as I feel the back of my shirt clinging to the sweat lining my spine. Today marks the start of the second semester of the school year for Thai students, but this is the first day of school for me. I feel like a 2nd grader all over again; my backpack stuffed full of supplies and a nervous, yet excited feeling residing on the tip of my tongue. Thoughts are buzzing through my mind. Will it always be this hot? How does the Korean teacher’s hair stay so silky and her make-up so pristine? Did I put on deodorant? Is my skirt long enough? Will the students like me? How much English can they speak? I make my way up the stairs and pass a group of students who turn to me and wai (bringing their hands together as if in prayer and bending slightly forward as a form of greeting), as I hear a chorus of “Hello, teacher!” Oh no, what do I do back? I think they taught us this during orientation… Do I wai? Do I wave? If I wai, do I bring my hands to chest height, chin height, or up to my forehead? I remember there was some important distinction between the different heights. Do teachers even wai to students at all? I panic and settle for an awkward, double-handed, yet enthusiastic wave coupled with a nervous smile. The students all giggle and say, “Teacher, so beautiful!” before continuing on their way. Little do I know, the phrase, “teacher beautiful today” is almost as common as “have you eaten yet?” My confidence is really going to take a hit when I move back to the US and don’t get told I am beautiful at least three times a day! 

I finally get to my classroom and peek inside: no students yet. I walk in and unload the contents of my backpack before walking back to the door to check if any students are standing outside. I pace for a few minutes and then decide to write my name on the whiteboard. Class was supposed to start ten minutes ago and still no sign of any students. I sit down by the fan and start flipping through the “About Me” PowerPoint I prepared. I have not yet discovered the sad truth that the projector doesn’t even work with my computer. T-minus 10 minutes until I will have to improvise! The minutes continue to tick by. I start to wonder if I am in the right classroom. Suddenly, a student with a red polo pops his head around the corner from the doorway and says, “Teacher, may I come in please?” “Yes! Hello!” I stutter as I stand up. The student takes off his shoes at the doorway, leaving them outside and enters the classroom, followed by the rest of this Mattayom 6 (12th grade) class. They are all chatting, looking at me, and giggling as they find their seats. I feel a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through me. I really want them to like me. With a veil of confidence, I walk to the front of the classroom and am about to introduce myself when that same student who walked in first stands up and says, “All stand up please.” I don’t know what is happening. The class falls silent and comes to stand as an army. Together, they chime, “Good morning, teacher.” They pause for a moment, their faces somewhat expressionless as they continue, “How are you today?” I reply, “I’m good, thank you! How are you?” Like a well-oiled machine, they answer, “I’m fine, thank you. And you?” There is an awkward silence. They are all still standing and staring at me, not even realizing that they just asked me the same question twice. This is clearly rehearsed, but what am I supposed to do next? I try, “You can sit down…” Everyone takes a seat while echoing, “thank you, teacher.” Okay, so that’s how it goes, I note to myself. “Hello, everyone! My name is teacher Caitlin!” I blurt out with a bit too much enthusiasm. They all stare blankly. I wonder if they are bored or confused. Some students are whispering to each other. Finally, one student courageously asks, “Teacher Kade?” Oh boy, this is going to be tough.

One of my 11th grade classes (now 12th grade class) at the end of last semester.

***

It’s a typical afternoon. Midterms are just around the corner and with them, winter is coming. Outside, the sun is shining radiantly against the bright greenery surrounding the school buildings. I check the weather app on my phone, realizing that this crisp winter weather is actually 85 degrees Fahrenheit. The only sign of anything resembling the coming of the winter season that I am familiar with is the dry piles of dead leaves that students have swept into perfectly manicured piles. I’m sure these piles of leaves will be burnt soon, leaving the yards, gardens, and pathways throughout the school campus looking as clean and precise as the student’s neatly tucked uniforms. 

I’m sitting in the foreign language office, staring out the window and daydreaming about clearing piles of snow, cutting down a Christmas tree, and drinking hot chocolate on a truly cold winter’s day when I hear a melodious echo coming from the door, singing, “Hello… it’s me…” I join in, “I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet…” and we sing together in a gloriously off-tune rendition of Adele’s “Hello.” It’s one of my M6 (12th grade) students named, Sean. His friends, Anucha and Nut are in tow, not far behind. On many afternoons, these three students come to chat with the foreign language teachers and their entrance is often preceded by a dramatic opening of the door, followed by Sean singing Adele. It never gets old. This office was clearly their home long before it became mine. Sean struts over to my desk. “Teacher Cait! How many cups of coffee today?” he asks. “Only two today,” I reply. “Drink more coffee!” he laughs, always finding the amount of coffee I drink to be both hilarious and alarming at the same time. We sit together, joking about Katy Perry’s crazy new hair-do and playing Uno, which they have become addicted to despite the disapproving looks from other teachers who associate any card games with illegal gambling. Taylor Swift is dancing at her concert streaming on YouTube from a cell phone on the floor. We sing along to “22” as Anucha worships Taylor’s beauty and style. “Uno!” someone shouts. The room is filled with laughter and cheer. Maybe this does feel like the start of the holiday season after all, I think to myself.

             Celebrating Christmas morning with fellow Fulbright ETAs outside of my little pink house after a super slumber party.

Making "Gingerbread Houses" with my 11th grade students before Christmas.

                                                           ***

I’m so excited! My sister, Annarose, is coming today! I have been counting down the days until she would visit. She has been studying abroad at Chiang Mai University and now that the semester has ended, she will come spend ten whole days with me before flying home for Christmas! Her flight arrives early in Khon Kaen, a city that is about an hour from my school. It’s 5:40 am and the sun has not yet stretched her warm, glowing fingertips over the sleepy town of Yangtalad. Nonetheless, I’m wide awake in eager anticipation. I walk out the front door of my bubble gum pink house in the woods behind my school. As I make my way down the dirt road that winds its way to the highway in front of school, I listen to the cicadas humming. I keep a careful lookout for snakes and giant centipedes that may be hiding in the brush lining the uneven road. Dogs that belong to neighboring teachers perk their heads up as I pass by. Most give me a nod of recognition before snuggling back into their cozy morning slumber, but one jumps up and starts barking as it leaps up to greet me… or chase me. I exit the school gate and cautiously run across the unforgiving traffic that is the epitome of Thai highways. A few minutes later, I see the first van heading my way and wave it down. The driver rolls the window down and I ask, “Bpai Khon Kaen, mai kha? (Going to Khon Kaen?)” He nods and I hop in. The other passengers stare at me in bewilderment, probably surprised to see a young, white girl in this part of Thailand. I can’t blame them; I too have caught myself staring whenever I see a young, western-looking person anywhere within a one hour drive of Yangtalad. On bad days, the staring gets to me, but today I am too excited to feel an ounce of irritation. As we make our way through the rice fields, I see the farmers working hard as the sun makes herself known for the day. A family of water buffalo is swimming playfully in the deep edges of the rice fields. We arrive at Khon Kaen bus station and I am met by my Thai friends, Wan and Bon, with whom I often go rock climbing.

Rock climbing on Tonsai beach in Southern Thailand.

I am always shocked by the kindness and generosity I am met with here. They drove out at 7 a.m. on a Sunday to take me to the airport to meet my sister and all get breakfast together. When I see Annarose walking out of the arrivals gate, I almost cry. I feel an odd tingle of energy that starts deep in the pit of my stomach and makes its way up my spine and into my throat, where it feels somewhere between a desire to gasp for air and a sigh of relief. Wow, it feels good to have a piece of home! Until this moment, I didn’t realize how desperately I needed this. I can’t stop hugging her, poking her, playing with her hair, and annoying her in all ways possible as older sisters are wont to do. She cringes at the annoyance as I giggle and provoke her more, but she takes it in stride because deep down, I know she craved this sisterly “comfort” as a gentle reminder of home as well.

Taking a selfie with students and foreign teachers before heading to the market.
Left to right: Jan Jaew (Chinese teacher), Chompoo (Korean teacher), Duang Dao (Chinese teacher), Sean (12th grader), Not (10th grader), Nut (12th grader), Anucha (12th grader), and me (front and center, taking the selfie)

***

Peddling my rickety bicycle with two mostly flat tires down the dirt road behind my school makes me question why I agreed to ride 20 minutes down the highway when I can barely make it 100 meters down a road with no traffic. I put air in the tires often, but somehow they always end up flat by the end of the week. According to my research from Google, I am guessing the cause is somewhere in the realm of “hole in tire.” I must get that fixed at some point, I think to myself. I round the corner and see Chompoo (the Korean teacher), Duang Dao (a Chinese teacher), and Jan Jaew (another Chinese teacher) alongside a few of my Mattayom 6 (12th grade) students standing with their bicycles by the school gate. We look like a group of kids from a Stephen Spielberg movie about to take on some mysterious adventure in the rural town of Yangtalad. I make it to the gate, ready to continue on our way to the Friday night market in “downtown” Yangtalad, but of course have to hop off to take a group selfie first. Before I moved to Thailand, I thought selfies were a bit embarrassing or unnecessary. After a few months here, I think I have fully embraced the selfie culture, rarely going a day without taking or being in a selfie with some students, teachers, or even random strangers. The selfie has somehow tiptoed its way into my daily routine, and I can’t say that I hate it anymore. 

We ride down the side of the highway, single file with me in the back like a group of kids from The Goonies or Stranger Things. Smoky air fills my lungs as I dodge the chaotic cars, zooming motorbikes, and intimidating street dogs. People stare at us as we whizz by. We are an odd site to see in this town: a group of Thai teenagers riding bicycles followed by… the farang (that’s me). At the market, we spread out in search of the perfect feast. Sean, Chompoo, and I stick together, snaking through the crowds, our eyes dancing from colorful seas of fruits and vegetables to sizzling pots of fried chicken and further still to the sugary trays full of mysterious treats. The omnipresence of sugar and spice floats through the air, making our taste buds yearn for what is soon to come. I can’t help but feel excited whenever I come to the market; so much energy, so much vibrancy, and of course, so much food! 

I see many of my students here with friends and family buying kanom (snacks), or dinner, or both. As they pass me, they become shy. It must feel weird to see the foreign teacher outside of school, I think. They smile and wave, “Hello, teacher,” then giggle as they are on their way. When we meet the rest of the group, we realize that we truly do have a feast ahead of us. We compare our newfound treasures of Pad Thai, Som Tam (Papaya Salad), mini bananas, fried chicken, some sort of jelly looking dessert, spring rolls, grilled fish, and of course sticky rice. Our mouths are watering in excitement and anticipation as we stuff our delicious delicacies into our bicycle baskets. Mae Mam, the former head of our English department has invited us to bring dinner to her house for a celebration! Alas, the semester has come to an end, and these students will soon be graduating and moving on to further their studies at University. Mae Mam is like a Thai mother to me (that Thai word for “mother” directly translating to Mae), always offering support, guidance, and kindness with every action she takes. I can tell that these students feel the same way. We all hop back onto our bicycles, making our way back towards school with hungry bellies, excited for our Friday night dinner together. I look ahead at this single file line of bicycles, and while I cannot see their faces, I can feel the presence of their smiles. These students have become my people. As we peddle into the dark, the air continues to leak from my tires. I peddle harder to keep up with everyone and realize that a grin has begun to spread across my face. In this instant, on this Friday night alongside a bunch of Thai teenagers and fellow foreign teachers from China and Korea, I realize a tiny sweet moment of joy.

Me with some of my graduating seniors after the final day of a series of weekly English camps that were fully organized and facilitated by my student, Anucha.
Left to right: Not (10th grader), Anucha (12th grader), Pachara (12th grader), me, Sean (12th grader), and Nut (12th grader). 

The perfect, imperfect, and everything in between

      

Jessie Durning is a 2016-2017 Fulbright-AMCHAM English Teaching Assistant (ETA) at Ban Kumuang School in the Ubon Ratchathani Province. She is originally from Winnetka, Illinois. Last May, she graduated from Connecticut College with a B.A. in American Studies and Human Development as well as an elementary education teaching certification. In her free time, Jessie enjoys visiting with local friends, exploring Ubon on foot or by bike, traveling around Thailand to meet up with fellow ETA’s, and staying connected with family and friends from home. After the completion of her Fulbright grant, she plans to travel for a few months learning about other cultures and return home ready to work in a field that helps to promote cross-cultural understanding. 

Ring ring. Ring ring. The first alarm of the day goes off. I quickly reach for my phone and without even opening my eyes, turn it off. I fall back asleep for just five more minutes as I wait for the second alarm to go off. Ring ring. Ring ring. I slowly sit up in bed and turn off my alarm. It’s still dark outside as I walk across the room to turn the light on. “You ready?” I say to my roommate before turning on the bright fluorescent light. “Okay yes, go,” she responds timidly. After the light is on, we both scurry around the room quietly to get ready for the day. The songtao, a truck with bus-like seats in the back, leaves in 20 minutes from the staff compound to the hotel and if we miss it, we would have to walk, which neither of us wants to do at 6:00 am. I cover my body with sunscreen, put on my mahout uniform, grab my hat and sunglasses, and I’m ready to go. My roommate and I head outside and say hello to the driver. If we’re running a few minutes late, he knows to wait for us because we are the only ones on this early ride.

My roommate, Laetitia, during our early morning commute.

This is a typical morning during my internship at the Golden Triangle Asian Elephant Foundation (GTAEF). The elephants start their day bright and early, so we do too. My roommate and I eat breakfast while watching the sunrise over the mountains and trees filled with mist, just spotting Myanmar in the distance. We load up on coffee and black tea before heading down to the elephant camp to begin the work day.


The Golden Triangle Asian Elephant Foundation is a non-profit organization that aims to provide a safe haven for rescued elephants, while also helping the wild population thrive and grow. The foundation currently has 24 elephants from all over Thailand with a variety of backgrounds. Some elephants were once logging elephants, while others were taxi or show elephants. The foundation works hard to ensure that the elephants live a happy and healthy life which is not an easy task. It takes space, passionate and flexible employees, and lots and lots of food. Luckily, the foundation works directly with the Anantara Golden Triangle Resort, which helps provide a beautiful and appropriate environment for the elephants to roam. The foundation staff consists of seven members as well as 32 mahouts. For food, elephants eat about 10% of their body weight a day, which roughly equates to about 200 kg of food every day. The foundation hires local farmers to bring in large bundles of grass, pumpkins, sugar cane, and bananas to feed the elephants.

One of my favorite elephants, Beau, eating some tall grass. Not as tasty as sugarcane, but still pretty good

The foundation strives to treat the elephants kindly and ethically. It also works to bring in enough donations to feed and care for these magnificent animals. Asian elephants have been captive in Thailand for thousands of years. However, it was not until relatively recently that true conservation efforts began to save and care for these important animals. All over Thailand, you can find sanctuaries and foundations with one single goal: to help captive Asian elephants. Despite this common goal, every sanctuary and foundation has different methods and opinions on the best way to protect and help these animals.


Throughout my time as an intern, I have learned how to assess an imperfect situation and to look at it from all angles and perspectives before making a judgment. The GTAEF believes in protecting the elephants, while also ensuring the mahouts, guests, and elephants are safe. Domesticated elephants are no different than wild elephants, except for the fact that they are more comfortable around humans. That does not mean, however, that they might not unpredictably resort to their more “wild” ways. Ultimately, this means that some practices used at the foundation are arguably controversial and difficult, at least for me, to accept. The mahouts use bull hooks. At the foundation, these hooks are not used to harm the elephant, but rather to guide the elephant using the wooden end (non-hook end) of the stick. These hooks are a part of mahout culture and the mahouts feel strongly that they need to have some way to protect themselves if something were to go wrong. In a perfect world, the mahouts wouldn’t need these hooks. However, as long as humans are interacting with elephants in an intimate way, the hook is perceived as a necessary precautionary measure. Another uncomfortable practice is that at some points throughout the day and night, the elephants are on chains and prevented from roaming freely. While the chains are extremely long and give the elephant plenty of space to roam, interact with friends, and forage for food, they also prevent the elephants from fighting or hurting each other and from crossing the border into Myanmar and finding themselves in a less safe situation.

A 26-year-old female elephant, Jathong, at the end of the day.

In a perfect situation, these elephants would be able to roam freely around Thailand without fear of abuse or being killed. At this point, however, that is simply not possible. Therefore, foundations such as GTAEF work tirelessly to provide a home for these elephants, albeit imperfect, but away from abuse and harm. Initially, I was uncomfortable with this imperfect situation. I had researched about hooks and chains and I made a snap judgment about the “best” way to treat elephants in captivity. After working at the foundation, I learned quickly that there is no “best” or “perfect” situation because the perfect situation would be that all elephants live in the wild. I learned that an imperfect situation isn’t always a bad situation. GTAEF makes active choices to protect and care for their elephants while continually researching and learning more about alternative methods to better provide for the elephants. The organization has taught me to research thoroughly, all sides, not just the one I think I might agree with, before making any decisions or judgments. I am reminded to be critical of a situation, while also keeping an open mind.


These lessons will stay with me throughout my time in Thailand because, truly, no situation is ever perfect. The Thai school system, like any school system, is not perfect. During my first six months teaching in Thailand, there were many times when I expected a situation would be “perfect” and then I would be disappointed when something went wrong. I found that I often needed to improvise or change my lesson plans on the spot usually because of circumstances beyond my control. Sometimes I would find out minutes before a class that those students would not be coming. Other times, because of a mandatory assembly, students would show up to class 40 minutes late giving me just 20 minutes to teach them a modified lesson. Throughout my time in Thailand thus far, I have been given the opportunity to observe teaching methods and discipline strategies. I don’t always agree with these methods and strategies. My internship at GTAEF taught me that instead of placing a judgement on these methods, I should try and look at them with an open, yet critical eye. It is impossible to make any judgements about the school system before learning about how it relates to the history and culture of Thailand. It has taught me to look at an imperfect situation, such as the Thai school system, from a broader perspective first in order to understand the cultural context before narrowing in on specific issues.

Walked outside my classroom to find every female student being treated for lice...
a less than perfect situation indeed!

I must admit that these imperfect moments still shake me up a bit. Yet, my time at GTAEF has taught me to view these situations differently, with an open mind and a flexible attitude. I’ve begun to realize that there is no such thing as a “perfect” situation. There will always be multiple sides to complicated issues. There will always be things that go wrong, materials that are missing, miscommunications. I’ve begun to believe that these imperfect situations are what make life interesting and I look forward to many more during the rest of my time in Thailand.

Can't think of a better way to end my day than bathing elephants and getting muddy.