Today, it’s Obama again. When he won the first election, I was elated and proud. I felt blessed to have the privilege of voting him into office. Today, I had the same feelings, plus relief! During that first election night, I was at a play in LA and then came back to my apartment at LMU. I was surrounded by people celebrating in the streets. I felt young and full of hope! This time around, I’m in Thailand as a foreigner. My community here in Nongkhai has followed the campaign with as much interest as I and everyone has been very happy and even relieved about Obama’s second term. But I’m pretty sure I can say that no one feels as proud as I do.
As an Asian American in Asia, I think a lot about what it means to be American, what it means to be Asian American, what it means to be a foreigner. Often I have mixed feelings. But there are times, not so few and far between, when I feel so proud to be American, through and through. Today, I am proud. To be American means to know without a doubt that my absentee ballot mailed in from Thailand made a difference. To be American means to have a voice. To be American means to unwaveringly hope in the future.
Two weekends ago, as Hurricane Sandy raged on the East Coast unbeknownst to me, I celebrated an annual festival called Bangphi Payana (literally “fireball serpent”). Every year, here in Nongkhai and in Laos, people celebrate Bangphi Payana which always coincides with the end of Buddhist Lent, which coincides with the full moon (in the States, we celebrate Halloween). The Bangphi Payana festival marks the natural phenomenon of “fireballs” shooting out of the Mekong River. People told me that one explanation is that 2,500 years ago the Lord Buddha ascended into Heaven to give his teachings to his mother – when he came back to earth, the fireballs were shot out of the river to welcome him back. Further explanation says that a giant serpent that lives in the Mekong produces the fireballs. Scientists from all over the world have tried to uncover the mystery. But all attempts have been unsuccessful. One year, they were going to send divers into the river to prove that the fireballs are actually manmade. However, there was a huge storm that year, and there were no fireballs at all. In the weeks previous to this year’s festival, I was also told that there might not be any fireballs this year because it has been a very dry season. My boss Antonia told me that she has tried to see the fireballs twice and has not seen anything. Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect. I was very excited.
On the day of, Kia, Perm Sak and I drove two hours to get to a popular spot to view the spectacle (they appear at various spots along the Mekong). When we got there, we realized that even if we saw nothing, it would still be a good time. There were so many people, so many food vendors, so many families picnicking. It was a huge party! And if the Mekong serpent chose not to oblige this year, the Thai and Lao people would more than make up with firecrackers, fireworks, and floating lanterns.
As the sun set spectacularly and we took our spots along the river’s edge, I could feel my anticipation building. As we sat for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes with still no sign of even a firespark, I started to contemplate hope. All during the drive, I kept telling myself not to get my expectations too high. But seeing all those people, it was inevitable for my excitement to increase – if all those people had come to see this, it had to happen, right? But as it got darker and darker, my doubts started to grow stronger. I told myself repeatedly, there’s no harm in hoping with all your heart that you see one of these stupid fireballs. But some kind of defense mechanism within me made sure that the doubt stuck with all its might. I felt a kind of shame that I couldn’t let go of that doubt and anticipate as a child anticipates Santa Clause.
As we waited there, people were continuously exploding very loud firecrackers and fireworks. I have never been so close to fireworks before! (At one point in the night, Thai military showed up and firmly confiscated a man’s stock of fireworks.) People were also sending up lanterns, which was beautiful. I would recommend going to the festival just for the lanterns. On our side, people would send them up whenever they wanted. But on the Laos side of the river, they sent up hundreds at the same time. It was amazing, like something out of a movie (“Tangled” specifically). The lanterns floated their way up, like lazy little stars.
Each time a lantern was sent up, I found myself sending prayers up along with it. Most prevalent on my mind that night were Obama’s reelection and my brother Andrew. I think because each lantern seemed to defy gravity, because each lantern lit up the blank night for my naked eye even hundreds of feet up, I was really feeling surges of peace in regards to both prayers. I really felt that even though I was slightly doubting these mythical fireballs, I was feeling pure hope for Obama and for Andrew.
As hopes, doubts, and prayers silently and calmly swirled within me, as more and more lanterns lit up the darkness, all of a sudden there was a red ball of light streaking through the black air above the river. And then there was no more room for doubt. That night we saw 88 fireballs.
Fireworks noisily streak into the air leaving traces of their path, and sparking off at the end. The fireballs, however, climbed silently up and up and then simply disappeared. The amazing thing was that we could follow the fireballs through the air no problem. You could see the fireworks were being shot up by something and they would flash by in a second. The fireballs, on the other hand, simply seemed to be rising for 3 or 4 seconds. Like small red glowing baseballs arcing through the air.
Each time another one went up, each time the crowd cheered, each time the lady behind us screamed her head off in appreciation, I felt awe and joy equaling amusement. I was hoping for even half a fireball and we ended up seeing almost 100 (there were many more than 100 that night I’m sure – we left before it ended to brave the traffic).
So yes I had moments of doubt. The same goes for Obama’s reelection. The same goes for my brother’s absence. But the fireballs have taught me that in the end, the doubt does not negate the hope. Perhaps one day I will learn to hope like a child does. Perhaps one day I will learn to hope without reserve from that place within me where everything is one. But for now, I know that hope is worth fighting for. I know that hope produces fire from water!
As an Asian American in Asia, I think a lot about what it means to be American, what it means to be Asian American, what it means to be a foreigner. Often I have mixed feelings. But there are times, not so few and far between, when I feel so proud to be American, through and through. Today, I am proud. To be American means to know without a doubt that my absentee ballot mailed in from Thailand made a difference. To be American means to have a voice. To be American means to unwaveringly hope in the future.
Two weekends ago, as Hurricane Sandy raged on the East Coast unbeknownst to me, I celebrated an annual festival called Bangphi Payana (literally “fireball serpent”). Every year, here in Nongkhai and in Laos, people celebrate Bangphi Payana which always coincides with the end of Buddhist Lent, which coincides with the full moon (in the States, we celebrate Halloween). The Bangphi Payana festival marks the natural phenomenon of “fireballs” shooting out of the Mekong River. People told me that one explanation is that 2,500 years ago the Lord Buddha ascended into Heaven to give his teachings to his mother – when he came back to earth, the fireballs were shot out of the river to welcome him back. Further explanation says that a giant serpent that lives in the Mekong produces the fireballs. Scientists from all over the world have tried to uncover the mystery. But all attempts have been unsuccessful. One year, they were going to send divers into the river to prove that the fireballs are actually manmade. However, there was a huge storm that year, and there were no fireballs at all. In the weeks previous to this year’s festival, I was also told that there might not be any fireballs this year because it has been a very dry season. My boss Antonia told me that she has tried to see the fireballs twice and has not seen anything. Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect. I was very excited.
On the day of, Kia, Perm Sak and I drove two hours to get to a popular spot to view the spectacle (they appear at various spots along the Mekong). When we got there, we realized that even if we saw nothing, it would still be a good time. There were so many people, so many food vendors, so many families picnicking. It was a huge party! And if the Mekong serpent chose not to oblige this year, the Thai and Lao people would more than make up with firecrackers, fireworks, and floating lanterns.
As the sun set spectacularly and we took our spots along the river’s edge, I could feel my anticipation building. As we sat for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes with still no sign of even a firespark, I started to contemplate hope. All during the drive, I kept telling myself not to get my expectations too high. But seeing all those people, it was inevitable for my excitement to increase – if all those people had come to see this, it had to happen, right? But as it got darker and darker, my doubts started to grow stronger. I told myself repeatedly, there’s no harm in hoping with all your heart that you see one of these stupid fireballs. But some kind of defense mechanism within me made sure that the doubt stuck with all its might. I felt a kind of shame that I couldn’t let go of that doubt and anticipate as a child anticipates Santa Clause.
As we waited there, people were continuously exploding very loud firecrackers and fireworks. I have never been so close to fireworks before! (At one point in the night, Thai military showed up and firmly confiscated a man’s stock of fireworks.) People were also sending up lanterns, which was beautiful. I would recommend going to the festival just for the lanterns. On our side, people would send them up whenever they wanted. But on the Laos side of the river, they sent up hundreds at the same time. It was amazing, like something out of a movie (“Tangled” specifically). The lanterns floated their way up, like lazy little stars.
Each time a lantern was sent up, I found myself sending prayers up along with it. Most prevalent on my mind that night were Obama’s reelection and my brother Andrew. I think because each lantern seemed to defy gravity, because each lantern lit up the blank night for my naked eye even hundreds of feet up, I was really feeling surges of peace in regards to both prayers. I really felt that even though I was slightly doubting these mythical fireballs, I was feeling pure hope for Obama and for Andrew.
As hopes, doubts, and prayers silently and calmly swirled within me, as more and more lanterns lit up the darkness, all of a sudden there was a red ball of light streaking through the black air above the river. And then there was no more room for doubt. That night we saw 88 fireballs.
Fireworks noisily streak into the air leaving traces of their path, and sparking off at the end. The fireballs, however, climbed silently up and up and then simply disappeared. The amazing thing was that we could follow the fireballs through the air no problem. You could see the fireworks were being shot up by something and they would flash by in a second. The fireballs, on the other hand, simply seemed to be rising for 3 or 4 seconds. Like small red glowing baseballs arcing through the air.
Each time another one went up, each time the crowd cheered, each time the lady behind us screamed her head off in appreciation, I felt awe and joy equaling amusement. I was hoping for even half a fireball and we ended up seeing almost 100 (there were many more than 100 that night I’m sure – we left before it ended to brave the traffic).
So yes I had moments of doubt. The same goes for Obama’s reelection. The same goes for my brother’s absence. But the fireballs have taught me that in the end, the doubt does not negate the hope. Perhaps one day I will learn to hope like a child does. Perhaps one day I will learn to hope without reserve from that place within me where everything is one. But for now, I know that hope is worth fighting for. I know that hope produces fire from water!
