I’m currently at Don Mueang Airport in Bangkok waiting for
my flight to Malaysia. The time has come for me to leave Thailand.
Thailand.
I never ever would have thought I would end up living here
for one full year. Prior to this year, Thailand conjured images of golden
temples and elaborate costumes with intricate headpieces. Thailand
made me think of The King and I. Thailand was less real than the delicious pad
see ew at Three Spice Kitchen, a local Thai restaurant in my LA hometown.
But now that I’ve been here for a year, Thailand will
forever more mean Nongkhai and the people of Nongkhai. My Thailand will be red
dirt roads and blue skies filled with fluffy white clouds and bright green rice
paddies. My Thailand will be the faces of the people at Hands of Hope. Tanned
brown skin, laugh lines, gaps in teeth, warm eyes, feet worn down by a lifetime
of walking barefoot. My Thailand will be sitting cross legged on the floor for
lunch, stifling heat blanketing us, with only a fan to blow the hot air around,
but delicious food on our plates. Stir fried veggies, savory omelets, fresh
white rice, spicy curries. My Thailand will be biking down the highway with
motorcycles packed 3 or 4 deep, with tuk tuks chugging along, with trucks full
of people in the back.
Saying goodbye is never exactly fun, but what has struck me
about saying goodbye to everyone in Nongkhai is how full of gratitude I am for
them. I am amazed by their abundance, by their grace. I was surprised and
treated to so many lunches and dinners out. To thoughtful and tasty gifts. At
Hands of Hope, the people overwhelmed me with an Isan ceremony called “bai see”
where they tied strings onto my wrists as blessings and a kind of guarantee
that I will one day return in the future. As I sit here and type this, my
wrists are still covered by the white strings, forming a wide cuff. I’m
supposed to leave them on for 3 days, after which time I can keep a couple, but
cut the rest off.
The people of Nongkhai (producers, patients, staff, Sr.
Pranee, Antonia) and their way of being have been the epitome of generosity,
joy, and grace. Their love and care have left a deep mark on my heart.
I have felt and experienced so much here in Thailand. And
now this time is over. But I realize that the energy here will continue. Life
will never be the same for me. But at its core, it will very much be made of
the same stuff. That energy won’t disappear – it’ll transform. Like my dad once
wrote to me, there is no reason life anywhere else can’t be the same as it has
been here.
One of our patients died in my last week in Nongkhai. I only
actually talked to Sampan twice, but his vitality and his hope impressed me
deeply. He was young – 26 years old. He was so eager to continue to live, but
in the end his body couldn’t withstand the HIV and the blood diseases. He died
peacefully in the presence of his parents. When we went to his funeral, Antonia
and I spoke about how much death is a part of Thai culture. In the West, death
is scarier and something separate from life. Back home, death is more OTHER.
But here, death is like the next step. Death is another manifestation of life.
The living will continue to talk and laugh and gamble and drink to accompany
the dead into their next life. The people at the funeral set off firecrackers
and held knives to scare away evil spirits, in order to help the dead walk
peacefully on. And so the energy of the living and the dead is transformed.
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| Tying the bai see strings on my wrists. The bai see tree is there by my knees. Jiranun and Namfon are holding my arms for extra support. |
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| With the amazing Good Shepherd staff/family. They are extraordinary. |
