My reasons for going to Thailand were manifold. And it wasn't my initial choice, either. Far from it, actually. I was working a job I hated, had no interest in, and honestly felt was far below me. I read The Magus by John Fowles at some point in September or October of 2009 and was incredibly inspired. My ex had left me for a younger, blonder girl about three months prior to this time and I just needed to get out. Out of the country, out of my funk, out of my life.
The book is about a man who is unhappy with his life: his boring job, his needy girlfriend, and England in general. One day he comes across an advertisement for a teaching job in Greece. He applies and then is accepted. He leaves dreary England for a remote island on Greece and magical, sexy, mysterious action ensues. I flew threw the six-hundred-something page book in no time. "That's exactly what I need," I thought. I did some research, got in touch with a few American women living abroad in Greece, and started my TEFL course. One woman in particular whom I corresponded with had gone to Greece to teach and wound up marrying a lovely Greek man. How romantic. How dreamy. Exactly what I wanted.
Soon after completing my course I realized that teaching in Greece, or anywhere in Europe, for that matter, would be nearly impossible. Due to the unionization of Europe, European countries only want to hire British English teachers. What luck. Regardless, I was no longer complacent with my life. Complacency is a concept that crossed my mind frequently then and still does now. The word itself is similar to contentment, but different in so many ways. I was in no way complacent, nor satisfied or content. Going abroad was a form of escape.
Soon after realizing Greece would never happen with my American citizenship (believe me, I tried, I was even willing to change my citizenship to Latvian because I have Latvian ancestors, but didn't do so because Latvia was part of Russia when my great grandparent immigrated here and therefore this would be impossible). I applied everywhere I could think of. The people in Turkey didn't get back to me, nor did anyone in any other European country.
I saw a job listing for Thailand and immediately thought of the movie, The Beach. Similar idea to the book. Well, not really, but sort of. Leonardo's character goes to Bangkok as a tourist and winds up on a remote Thai island completely apart from the rest of society with likeminded people. Maybe something interesting and romantic like that would happen to me.
I spoke with a bunch of people who had been there. They all loved it. The cost of living was cheap, there was a lot of fun to be had, and the weather was beautiful. I made some contacts there, got a job acceptance and was on a plane much faster than I ever expected. The Thai school year starts in May. There was a point where I thought I may not secure the job I thought I would. The company I was going through suggested I try South Korea. I declined this idea because that is such a popular destination for people who do what I do. I wanted to be different. To make my mark on the world. I wasn't happy to be just like anyone else. I am me, I am unique.
But most of all I wanted to get out of this country, stat. Boston had become an eerie and haunting place for me. Every corner of ever street, whether in the city itself, or in the meager suburbs held a memory of past lovers, friends, and my fleeting youth. The idea alone alleviated some of the asphyxiating feeling I had had for a while.
It would also get me away from the building in which I worked. It would get me away from him. Far, far, away from him.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Days of My Life: A Melodrama
Sometimes I walk around thinking, "Okay, so where are the cameras? What is going on? Come out, I know you're there!" My life just isn't normal. There's way too much drama. It just doesn't make sense sometimes.
Actually, I'm just going to end this blog right here. I'm afraid of what I might say. If my life really is a reality show I should probably stop providing the crew with such great material. All I need is someone reading the wrong thing and starting another exciting and thrilling episode.
I'm just going to spend some quality time with my good friend, Pinot Noir.
Actually, I'm just going to end this blog right here. I'm afraid of what I might say. If my life really is a reality show I should probably stop providing the crew with such great material. All I need is someone reading the wrong thing and starting another exciting and thrilling episode.
I'm just going to spend some quality time with my good friend, Pinot Noir.
Friday, June 3, 2011
A Sexy Sort of Philosophy
Before we begin, I'll admit it: I just added "sexy" to the title to get you to read this.
But, if you think about it, philosophical thought is a lot like sex. The process is stimulating if done alone, but always better with a partner. By that I mean that you can think and think and formulate ideas all day long, but without others, this fun can only go so far. The best new ideas are created as a synthesis of more than one idea. From two minds new thoughts can be born. Your mind can also become contaminated if you are exposed to dangerous ideas, e.g. propaganda, etc. Hitler convincing the majority of non-Jewish Germans in the '30s and '40s was sort of like giving them all philosophical AIDS. It spreads and causes destruction as it does so.
Not a bad analogy, huh? I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but that's actually the second analogy I've pondered concerning AIDS today. At lunch with Ben I mentioned that I was in such a good mood that I thought it might be a nice idea to go out and hug people, hoping that this happiness would spread via physical contact. Always critical of my ideas, Ben's response to this was, "it's a good mood, not AIDS." I said, "You're right, but if a good mood can't be spread through touch, isn't it more similar to AIDS?" AIDS is only transmitted through sex (or sharing needles, but forget about that for now), and I think that most people would likewise "contract" a good mood from sex. Just a thought.
The cause for my good mood is the rapidity with which my brain is working today. I feel intuitive, creative, original, perceptive, contemplative, and most of all: ALIVE. There are a few separate ideas that I've come up with since I woke up almost twelve hours ago. Addressing them could take a while, but I think I have the energy.
Today was the second or third day in a row in my grammar and structure class that we have spent talking about verbs and verb tenses. No conversation, no vocabulary that did not come from an exercise involving grammar and making a decision about which verb tense to use. Language has a whole slew of verb tenses, i.e. simple present, simple past, simple future, present perfect, past perfect, future perfect, present continuous, past continuous, future continuous, all those perfect tenses in the continuous form, and not to mention conditionals and all those other sub-tenses. As a native speaker, I never thought about all this until I became a teacher. Not all languages are the same. This is something I never really realized or thought about because I took Spanish in high school and college and the grammar and tense schemes are very similar to those of English. Other languages, however, do not have all of these tenses. Both Korean and Arabic, for example, only have the simple present, past, and future. Thai and Chinese only have one tense. This just blows my mind.
Over the last few days I've been obsessed with the idea of synthesizing linguistics with philosophy and sociology. Does the way with which we express ourselves linguistically have an effect on the way we perceive our culture and the rest of the world (or God, or others, or the self, or existence or a myriad of other subjects)? Or do our perspectives on these influence the formation of our languages? I'd like to learn more about linguistics in order to ask people from various cultures, who speak different languages questions about their perspectives on many things and see if I can find any correlation between the two ideas.
Another aspect of language that astonishes me is the absence of the word "be" in Arabic. Several students have told me about this. Initially I was obsessed with relating this to the difficulties that many of my Arabic students have with the verb "to be." Since English is such a "be"-reliant language, it's hard for me to even imagine expressing any sort of idea without it. Today I started to expand on this idea. How, for instance, does one connect the essence of something with the actual thing without "be"? How does one define anything? Maybe I'm looking at it wrong, maybe by saying "I am happy," versus "I happy," actually emphasizes the idea of being happy by placing "I" and "happy" directly beside each other. Hmm.
But nevermind that, how would you perceive the concept of existence without the word "be"? The definition of existence is the act and/or idea of BEING. There are some cultural and religious ideas relating to the absence of "be" in Arabic that I want to explore but it's way too much to write at this moment. This might get it's own entry. My biggest problem in exploring my ideas is formulating the proper question with which to ask them about their views of existence and how they think it effects, or is effected by their language. I have plenty of people I could ask, after all the Saudi population at my school is increasing steadily, I just don't know how to formulate my question properly without first implanting my ideas in their heads and then possibly skewing their answers to conform to my idea. It's tough.
I think in order to really understand all this I would need to actually study linguistics in detail. It's making it's way to the top of my list of things I want to know more about. There are hundreds of languages throughout the world, and many more that no longer are used but have influenced modern languages. I want to know about all of them and compare the cultures of the language-speakers with possible patterns within language patterns. A huge task, but I want to do it. I guess I've felt greedy for knowledge lately. It could stem from my impending birthday. Every year the thought that I am one day closer to death and therefore have fewer hours with which to experience, see, do, learn, and understand. I want to know about everything, I want to go everywhere, I want to see everything, try everything, but this is simply impossible. But it never hurts to try.
It's sounds crazy, but if I won the lottery today, I would do nothing but travel, read, and take classes. Yes, I just said that, I'd go to school willingly if I had the resources. I don't think I'd ever stop. I'm just too curious...about EVERYTHING. Perhaps I'm setting my goals a little high, but whatever.
Other thoughts I've had today:
Origins of our thinking process; thought, story-telling, etc is all expressed in a linear manner (first this happened, then that, then this, then something else; cause - effect - cause - effect, and so on and so forth). Is it possible to think differently?
The limitations of understanding that stem from our inherent sense of self, which leads us to perceive our surroundings in one limited, narrow way. Is it possible to have multiple senses of perception, empathetically, I guess (?) at the same time?
Any sort of insight or contribution to these ideas would be great. I love having my ideas challenged or contributed to. Also, any bi- or multi-lingual persons reading this are more than welcome to share their opinions about this linguistic philosophy I've written about.
But, if you think about it, philosophical thought is a lot like sex. The process is stimulating if done alone, but always better with a partner. By that I mean that you can think and think and formulate ideas all day long, but without others, this fun can only go so far. The best new ideas are created as a synthesis of more than one idea. From two minds new thoughts can be born. Your mind can also become contaminated if you are exposed to dangerous ideas, e.g. propaganda, etc. Hitler convincing the majority of non-Jewish Germans in the '30s and '40s was sort of like giving them all philosophical AIDS. It spreads and causes destruction as it does so.
Not a bad analogy, huh? I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but that's actually the second analogy I've pondered concerning AIDS today. At lunch with Ben I mentioned that I was in such a good mood that I thought it might be a nice idea to go out and hug people, hoping that this happiness would spread via physical contact. Always critical of my ideas, Ben's response to this was, "it's a good mood, not AIDS." I said, "You're right, but if a good mood can't be spread through touch, isn't it more similar to AIDS?" AIDS is only transmitted through sex (or sharing needles, but forget about that for now), and I think that most people would likewise "contract" a good mood from sex. Just a thought.
The cause for my good mood is the rapidity with which my brain is working today. I feel intuitive, creative, original, perceptive, contemplative, and most of all: ALIVE. There are a few separate ideas that I've come up with since I woke up almost twelve hours ago. Addressing them could take a while, but I think I have the energy.
Today was the second or third day in a row in my grammar and structure class that we have spent talking about verbs and verb tenses. No conversation, no vocabulary that did not come from an exercise involving grammar and making a decision about which verb tense to use. Language has a whole slew of verb tenses, i.e. simple present, simple past, simple future, present perfect, past perfect, future perfect, present continuous, past continuous, future continuous, all those perfect tenses in the continuous form, and not to mention conditionals and all those other sub-tenses. As a native speaker, I never thought about all this until I became a teacher. Not all languages are the same. This is something I never really realized or thought about because I took Spanish in high school and college and the grammar and tense schemes are very similar to those of English. Other languages, however, do not have all of these tenses. Both Korean and Arabic, for example, only have the simple present, past, and future. Thai and Chinese only have one tense. This just blows my mind.
Over the last few days I've been obsessed with the idea of synthesizing linguistics with philosophy and sociology. Does the way with which we express ourselves linguistically have an effect on the way we perceive our culture and the rest of the world (or God, or others, or the self, or existence or a myriad of other subjects)? Or do our perspectives on these influence the formation of our languages? I'd like to learn more about linguistics in order to ask people from various cultures, who speak different languages questions about their perspectives on many things and see if I can find any correlation between the two ideas.
Another aspect of language that astonishes me is the absence of the word "be" in Arabic. Several students have told me about this. Initially I was obsessed with relating this to the difficulties that many of my Arabic students have with the verb "to be." Since English is such a "be"-reliant language, it's hard for me to even imagine expressing any sort of idea without it. Today I started to expand on this idea. How, for instance, does one connect the essence of something with the actual thing without "be"? How does one define anything? Maybe I'm looking at it wrong, maybe by saying "I am happy," versus "I happy," actually emphasizes the idea of being happy by placing "I" and "happy" directly beside each other. Hmm.
But nevermind that, how would you perceive the concept of existence without the word "be"? The definition of existence is the act and/or idea of BEING. There are some cultural and religious ideas relating to the absence of "be" in Arabic that I want to explore but it's way too much to write at this moment. This might get it's own entry. My biggest problem in exploring my ideas is formulating the proper question with which to ask them about their views of existence and how they think it effects, or is effected by their language. I have plenty of people I could ask, after all the Saudi population at my school is increasing steadily, I just don't know how to formulate my question properly without first implanting my ideas in their heads and then possibly skewing their answers to conform to my idea. It's tough.
I think in order to really understand all this I would need to actually study linguistics in detail. It's making it's way to the top of my list of things I want to know more about. There are hundreds of languages throughout the world, and many more that no longer are used but have influenced modern languages. I want to know about all of them and compare the cultures of the language-speakers with possible patterns within language patterns. A huge task, but I want to do it. I guess I've felt greedy for knowledge lately. It could stem from my impending birthday. Every year the thought that I am one day closer to death and therefore have fewer hours with which to experience, see, do, learn, and understand. I want to know about everything, I want to go everywhere, I want to see everything, try everything, but this is simply impossible. But it never hurts to try.
It's sounds crazy, but if I won the lottery today, I would do nothing but travel, read, and take classes. Yes, I just said that, I'd go to school willingly if I had the resources. I don't think I'd ever stop. I'm just too curious...about EVERYTHING. Perhaps I'm setting my goals a little high, but whatever.
Other thoughts I've had today:
Origins of our thinking process; thought, story-telling, etc is all expressed in a linear manner (first this happened, then that, then this, then something else; cause - effect - cause - effect, and so on and so forth). Is it possible to think differently?
The limitations of understanding that stem from our inherent sense of self, which leads us to perceive our surroundings in one limited, narrow way. Is it possible to have multiple senses of perception, empathetically, I guess (?) at the same time?
Any sort of insight or contribution to these ideas would be great. I love having my ideas challenged or contributed to. Also, any bi- or multi-lingual persons reading this are more than welcome to share their opinions about this linguistic philosophy I've written about.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Masucline Feminine
I'm not really sure what to write about, although I feel like I should write something. Actually, that's not entirely true. There are a multitude of subjects that I've been meaning to talk about, primarily in relation to the on-going attempt at chapters in a book which I've been attempting to write. However, I simply don't feel like addressing some of the things which I intend to write about. I've reached the point where I intend to talk about the man who broke my heart, not once, not twice, but multiple times. But, I'm not sure I'm ready to exorcize that demon yet.
I've also been bottling up and stewing on a bunch of things. These things mainly concern some people I see a lot. Blogs are a little too public so I won't get into it here. In fact, I'll probably just continue to let these things brew within my mind until they explode rather violently.
That's sort of what I tend to do: suppress my feelings until they explode in an over-the-top fashion. Is that a little bit masculine? I mean, in the old-fashioned sense of the term, at least? When people stereotype men and women, isn't that a characteristic usually associated with men? I've been thinking a lot about so-called "masculine" and "feminine" attributes. It is the year 2011, and men and women are "equal," but I can't help but revert to old-school ideas of how men and women behave.
After talking with a friend of mine who lives miles and countries away last night, I realized that there are certain areas of my life in which I tend to take the male role. She was talking about a guy she's dating (sort of) who always calls to talk, but usually backs out when date time comes. Then when they're alone he doesn't try anything. You know what I mean. We agreed on the gender of this action and decided that she was definitely wearing the pants, if you will, in this situation. I've recently found myself in some situations in which I feel the same way. Again, I probably shouldn't say anything publicly. Just in case. Who knows who's reading.
Anyways, I studied my Spanish today. A lot came back easily. I'm hoping there are a lot of words I'm picking up that are similar to Portuguese. I need to start perfecting that if I really am going to move to Brazil. No, not "if," "when." But still.
Well, this blog entry is going nowhere fast. I should end it here.
I've also been bottling up and stewing on a bunch of things. These things mainly concern some people I see a lot. Blogs are a little too public so I won't get into it here. In fact, I'll probably just continue to let these things brew within my mind until they explode rather violently.
That's sort of what I tend to do: suppress my feelings until they explode in an over-the-top fashion. Is that a little bit masculine? I mean, in the old-fashioned sense of the term, at least? When people stereotype men and women, isn't that a characteristic usually associated with men? I've been thinking a lot about so-called "masculine" and "feminine" attributes. It is the year 2011, and men and women are "equal," but I can't help but revert to old-school ideas of how men and women behave.
After talking with a friend of mine who lives miles and countries away last night, I realized that there are certain areas of my life in which I tend to take the male role. She was talking about a guy she's dating (sort of) who always calls to talk, but usually backs out when date time comes. Then when they're alone he doesn't try anything. You know what I mean. We agreed on the gender of this action and decided that she was definitely wearing the pants, if you will, in this situation. I've recently found myself in some situations in which I feel the same way. Again, I probably shouldn't say anything publicly. Just in case. Who knows who's reading.
Anyways, I studied my Spanish today. A lot came back easily. I'm hoping there are a lot of words I'm picking up that are similar to Portuguese. I need to start perfecting that if I really am going to move to Brazil. No, not "if," "when." But still.
Well, this blog entry is going nowhere fast. I should end it here.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
What Does My Future Hold?
Sometimes I really hate Facebook. Not often, but when it serves as a tool to remind me on a semi-regular basis just how single I am, I do. Almost daily I discover one new acquaintance who has either gotten married or having a child, or both.
This rant or complaint session is not completely in agreement with my standards or life expectations as late. In fact, you could say they are quite contradictory to my latest future plans. Every now and then I get the travel bug. It's like an itch I just have to scratch. I want to travel the world, see everything, go everywhere, learn about different cultures, learn new languages, etc. How could this be possible without being completely independent?
Yet I can't help but fantasize about doing all this with a partner. I see the pages of people I've known traveling with their husbands, seeing the world and living. Living. Together. How much more romantic could you get? Today I happened upon some pictures of a girl I knew in college. She just got married wearing the most gorgeous gown I've ever seen. Her pre-wedding party was on the Red Sea. She and her husband had the most beautiful professional photos I've ever seen taken. I was overflowing with jealousy.
But why should I be jealous? In fact I've been elated lately with this newfound sense of independence I've developed. For the first time in my life I've been actually relieved to not be tied down; to not owe anything to anybody. Yet, part of me still years to find my other half, my soul mate, if you will. Is that a bit contradictory? Perhaps I can simply justify it by my Gemini-ness, which I do define to the T.
Maybe not in the near future, but I do want to be married. I certainly have no clue what my future will hold, but I can't help but fret that it will be experienced entirely alone. It's a bit terrifying.
Today while reading serenely in the warm air on my balcony I watched a pregnant neighbor watering her lawn. I had never seen her before, but she looked about to burst. Wearing a heather grey maxi-dress which only accentuated her ready-to-burst belly, she spoke jovially with another neighbor across the street. I imagined what I would look like pregnant. As someone who has always had a few hangups about my weight, it was strange to find myself thinking this. A thought that once would have nauseated me was now, suddenly, intriguing me. I imagined myself pregnant with twins, a handsome foreign husband by my side visiting my current job telling my boss about all the adventures my husband and I had gone on, the places we'd seen, the things I had done with my career, and even imagining which possible country my wedding and the conception of my children had occurred in.
Yes, I've daydreamed about my future before. Yes, it often includes a husband. But rarely does pregnancy ever factor in. Usually the thought repulses me. Today, however, it did not. Perhaps it's the fact that my twenty-fifth birthday is now looming an all-too-close two weeks away. Maybe my biological clock, as it were, is just ticking. Who knows. Who possibly can know? I suppose only time will tell, and hopefully, this mood, too will pass.
This rant or complaint session is not completely in agreement with my standards or life expectations as late. In fact, you could say they are quite contradictory to my latest future plans. Every now and then I get the travel bug. It's like an itch I just have to scratch. I want to travel the world, see everything, go everywhere, learn about different cultures, learn new languages, etc. How could this be possible without being completely independent?
Yet I can't help but fantasize about doing all this with a partner. I see the pages of people I've known traveling with their husbands, seeing the world and living. Living. Together. How much more romantic could you get? Today I happened upon some pictures of a girl I knew in college. She just got married wearing the most gorgeous gown I've ever seen. Her pre-wedding party was on the Red Sea. She and her husband had the most beautiful professional photos I've ever seen taken. I was overflowing with jealousy.
But why should I be jealous? In fact I've been elated lately with this newfound sense of independence I've developed. For the first time in my life I've been actually relieved to not be tied down; to not owe anything to anybody. Yet, part of me still years to find my other half, my soul mate, if you will. Is that a bit contradictory? Perhaps I can simply justify it by my Gemini-ness, which I do define to the T.
Maybe not in the near future, but I do want to be married. I certainly have no clue what my future will hold, but I can't help but fret that it will be experienced entirely alone. It's a bit terrifying.
Today while reading serenely in the warm air on my balcony I watched a pregnant neighbor watering her lawn. I had never seen her before, but she looked about to burst. Wearing a heather grey maxi-dress which only accentuated her ready-to-burst belly, she spoke jovially with another neighbor across the street. I imagined what I would look like pregnant. As someone who has always had a few hangups about my weight, it was strange to find myself thinking this. A thought that once would have nauseated me was now, suddenly, intriguing me. I imagined myself pregnant with twins, a handsome foreign husband by my side visiting my current job telling my boss about all the adventures my husband and I had gone on, the places we'd seen, the things I had done with my career, and even imagining which possible country my wedding and the conception of my children had occurred in.
Yes, I've daydreamed about my future before. Yes, it often includes a husband. But rarely does pregnancy ever factor in. Usually the thought repulses me. Today, however, it did not. Perhaps it's the fact that my twenty-fifth birthday is now looming an all-too-close two weeks away. Maybe my biological clock, as it were, is just ticking. Who knows. Who possibly can know? I suppose only time will tell, and hopefully, this mood, too will pass.
Monday, May 30, 2011
chapter 3
A little over six hours later my plane made its connection in London. I made sure to locate where I was to board the plane to Bangkok. Then I found a place to sit, have a snack and attempt to connect to the internet and check in with my parents. This effort being unsuccessful, either because there was no free wi-fi, or because I was too technologically incompetent to figure it out. Regardless, I found a set of computers at which I could take a moment to send my mom a quick email to let her know I had made it successfully to London and was ready to continue my journey to Bangkok.
Some time passed and I was finally able board that plane. I sat anxiously in the boarding area where others waiting to take their seats on the same plane sat. The gate was located in a small corner area of the airport at the end of several winding corridors. My excitement was palpable. I tried to remain patient, switching back and forth between trying to read my book, glancing at my watch, and studying the others waiting for the flight.
What was there story? It was a mixture of other Westerners and Thais. I did not realize until much later that many of these people were also from Australia; the plane would pause in Thailand and then continue on to Australia.
After what seemed to be an eternity I boarded the plane and took my seat on the giant craft. I was seated on the right hand side, sandwiched between two other people. I tried my best to make myself comfortable for the more than fourteen hour flight. I hadn't slept at all on the flight to London despite the fact that I had hardly slept the night before. I took some sleeping pills and hoped for the best, but my excitement and the nervous exhilaration of my journey got the best of me. Those hours combined with the difference in time zone brought me from Tuesday morning in Boston to mid-morning on Thursday in Bangkok. I changed my watch, as well as the time on my iPod accordingly mid-flight.
I staggered off the plane, leaving behind those who were continuing to Australia. After entering the gigantic Bangkok airport I began to look for the place where I would claim my luggage. First I had to go through security. Before the checkpoint I stopped at the money exchange counter and changed the few hundred dollars I had removed from the bank in Boston into Thai Baht. There was a line at the security checkpoint and I stood impatiently amongst the others waiting to enter the country.
When my turn came I was unsure what to do. The man first gestured for me to come forward, then told me with his hands to stand back as I started to come forward. He sorted through a few papers in front of him and then motioned me forward again. I approached, holding both my passport and my plane tickets, just in case. I handed the papers to him. He tossed the tickets back at me then began flipping through my passport. He studied the non-Immigrant B visa I had acquired back in Boston. It would be good for ninety days once I entered the country. Although I was planning to be there for approximately ten months, my boss ensured me that a more permanent work visa would be acquired for me before these ninety days were over. The man at the desk signed and stamped my passport, handed it back to me, and I was then on my way to claim my bags.
I almost always feel nervous at baggage claim. This time I was particularly nervous due to the length of my flight and the fact that I had to connect in another country first. Also, one of my bags had been too heavy and I was nervous that that would be an issue. Finally I saw my two gigantic bags bearing just about every possession I owned come around the baggage belt. With all my strength I grabbed each belt and yanked it off, nearly pulling myself to the ground while doing so. It didn't help that at that time I had hardly any strength left and probably did not weigh that much more than either bag. I located a cart on which I could put my two enormous suitcases and carry-on, then began my search for Mr. Vee -- the man whom I was told by the agency who had found me the job would pick me up at the airport. I waited for quite a while in the pick-up area watching person after person be claimed by their loved ones or drivers with signs. There was no sign of him.
Beginning to get nervous, I extracted the paper on which I had written the phone numbers of Phil and Claire, the couple who had arranged the job for me, and called them from a pay phone after studying the unfamiliar change in my hands. Claire picked up the phone. I identified myself, told her I had arrived but could not find Mr. Vee. Seeming quite perturbed, she dialed his cell, then told me where to look, what he was wearing, and in which direction to head.
I hung up the phone and began heading toward the 7-11 she said he was also heading towards. 7-11s, I would soon learn, are almost, if not more, numerous in Thailand than in America. Finally, there he was. He held no sign, but clearly spotted me from a mile away. I couldn't have been hard to miss. A small petite American girl all alone, wide-eyed, lost looking, and carrying enough baggage for a medium-sized family. He greeted me with wonderful English and took my cases.
He led me toward the exit to the parking lot where his taxi was waiting. As we opened the doors leading outside the heat hit me. It was like walking into a sauna.
"How do you like the heat?" Vee asked me.
"I absolutely love it!" I responded. After a very long winter in Boston, I did truly love it at the time. It was uncomfortable, but certainly a relief. I couldn't help but anticipate all the time I would spend in the sun, getting as dark as humanly possible. Overcome with excitement, I thought to myself, "I made it, I'm here."
We found the car and after he finished loading the heavy suitcases in the trunk I began to get into the car. On the wrong side. Of all the minor details I'd read about Thailand, it seemed to have escaped me that, like England, Thais drive on left side of the road. He laughed as I foolishly tried to get into the drivers seat and asked, "Oh, you're driving, are you?" I chuckled, excused myself and walked around the car and got in on the correct side of the car.
Vee was a really nice guy, as I would find out is true of just about all Thais. The ride to the hotel I would be staying at that first night was a long one and included a pit stop at a gas station. On the way he offered me some fresh fruit he had just picked up in mass quantities at the market. I wasn't very hungry. My stomach had been tied in knots for days. But, in order to be polite I took one of the small, pink fruit, which had long, green spikes on its exterior. I had no idea what it was. After coaching me for several minutes on how to pronounce the name in Thai I still could not master it. Nor could I open it. Cheerily astonished at my naivety, Vee took the fruit from my hand and masterfully tore open the rind of the fruit and handed it to me to open. The fruit inside was white and juicy. I ate several more on the long ride to the hotel.
I was astonished at how huge Bangkok was. It seemed like we drove forever, passing multi-laned highways, all equipped with toll-booths, down massive main streets with bicyclists, motor-taxies and tuk-tuks whirling past us in the dense smog. Palm trees, people, food stands, markets, restaurants, and stores abounded.
We reached the hotel and unloaded my bags. To the right was a dining room. To the left was a seating area. The check-in desk was in the middle. I checked in and my bags and shortly after Phil and Claire met me to say hello and give me a copy of Lonely Planet's guide to Thailand. I was elated. I gave them the Boston souvenirs I had bought them in the airport. We made arrangements to meet in a couple hours after I had showered and freshened up.
I made my way to my room and set up my laptop. After calling my parents on Skype, assuring them that I was alright and telling them how beautiful the country was, I settled in and took a shower. The room was clean, but due to my own paranoia about unfamiliar showers, I wore my flip-flops anyway. I also dodged the tiny little ants inside. These ants, I would later learn, were just a small part of living in Thailand that I would have to get used to.
After that refreshing shower I began to get dressed and put on my make-up, which was a futile effort, being that I would sweat most of it off later anyways. As I waited for the arrival of Phil and Claire I began to reflect on the past few months and what had influenced me to come here in the first place.
Some time passed and I was finally able board that plane. I sat anxiously in the boarding area where others waiting to take their seats on the same plane sat. The gate was located in a small corner area of the airport at the end of several winding corridors. My excitement was palpable. I tried to remain patient, switching back and forth between trying to read my book, glancing at my watch, and studying the others waiting for the flight.
What was there story? It was a mixture of other Westerners and Thais. I did not realize until much later that many of these people were also from Australia; the plane would pause in Thailand and then continue on to Australia.
After what seemed to be an eternity I boarded the plane and took my seat on the giant craft. I was seated on the right hand side, sandwiched between two other people. I tried my best to make myself comfortable for the more than fourteen hour flight. I hadn't slept at all on the flight to London despite the fact that I had hardly slept the night before. I took some sleeping pills and hoped for the best, but my excitement and the nervous exhilaration of my journey got the best of me. Those hours combined with the difference in time zone brought me from Tuesday morning in Boston to mid-morning on Thursday in Bangkok. I changed my watch, as well as the time on my iPod accordingly mid-flight.
I staggered off the plane, leaving behind those who were continuing to Australia. After entering the gigantic Bangkok airport I began to look for the place where I would claim my luggage. First I had to go through security. Before the checkpoint I stopped at the money exchange counter and changed the few hundred dollars I had removed from the bank in Boston into Thai Baht. There was a line at the security checkpoint and I stood impatiently amongst the others waiting to enter the country.
When my turn came I was unsure what to do. The man first gestured for me to come forward, then told me with his hands to stand back as I started to come forward. He sorted through a few papers in front of him and then motioned me forward again. I approached, holding both my passport and my plane tickets, just in case. I handed the papers to him. He tossed the tickets back at me then began flipping through my passport. He studied the non-Immigrant B visa I had acquired back in Boston. It would be good for ninety days once I entered the country. Although I was planning to be there for approximately ten months, my boss ensured me that a more permanent work visa would be acquired for me before these ninety days were over. The man at the desk signed and stamped my passport, handed it back to me, and I was then on my way to claim my bags.
I almost always feel nervous at baggage claim. This time I was particularly nervous due to the length of my flight and the fact that I had to connect in another country first. Also, one of my bags had been too heavy and I was nervous that that would be an issue. Finally I saw my two gigantic bags bearing just about every possession I owned come around the baggage belt. With all my strength I grabbed each belt and yanked it off, nearly pulling myself to the ground while doing so. It didn't help that at that time I had hardly any strength left and probably did not weigh that much more than either bag. I located a cart on which I could put my two enormous suitcases and carry-on, then began my search for Mr. Vee -- the man whom I was told by the agency who had found me the job would pick me up at the airport. I waited for quite a while in the pick-up area watching person after person be claimed by their loved ones or drivers with signs. There was no sign of him.
Beginning to get nervous, I extracted the paper on which I had written the phone numbers of Phil and Claire, the couple who had arranged the job for me, and called them from a pay phone after studying the unfamiliar change in my hands. Claire picked up the phone. I identified myself, told her I had arrived but could not find Mr. Vee. Seeming quite perturbed, she dialed his cell, then told me where to look, what he was wearing, and in which direction to head.
I hung up the phone and began heading toward the 7-11 she said he was also heading towards. 7-11s, I would soon learn, are almost, if not more, numerous in Thailand than in America. Finally, there he was. He held no sign, but clearly spotted me from a mile away. I couldn't have been hard to miss. A small petite American girl all alone, wide-eyed, lost looking, and carrying enough baggage for a medium-sized family. He greeted me with wonderful English and took my cases.
He led me toward the exit to the parking lot where his taxi was waiting. As we opened the doors leading outside the heat hit me. It was like walking into a sauna.
"How do you like the heat?" Vee asked me.
"I absolutely love it!" I responded. After a very long winter in Boston, I did truly love it at the time. It was uncomfortable, but certainly a relief. I couldn't help but anticipate all the time I would spend in the sun, getting as dark as humanly possible. Overcome with excitement, I thought to myself, "I made it, I'm here."
We found the car and after he finished loading the heavy suitcases in the trunk I began to get into the car. On the wrong side. Of all the minor details I'd read about Thailand, it seemed to have escaped me that, like England, Thais drive on left side of the road. He laughed as I foolishly tried to get into the drivers seat and asked, "Oh, you're driving, are you?" I chuckled, excused myself and walked around the car and got in on the correct side of the car.
Vee was a really nice guy, as I would find out is true of just about all Thais. The ride to the hotel I would be staying at that first night was a long one and included a pit stop at a gas station. On the way he offered me some fresh fruit he had just picked up in mass quantities at the market. I wasn't very hungry. My stomach had been tied in knots for days. But, in order to be polite I took one of the small, pink fruit, which had long, green spikes on its exterior. I had no idea what it was. After coaching me for several minutes on how to pronounce the name in Thai I still could not master it. Nor could I open it. Cheerily astonished at my naivety, Vee took the fruit from my hand and masterfully tore open the rind of the fruit and handed it to me to open. The fruit inside was white and juicy. I ate several more on the long ride to the hotel.
I was astonished at how huge Bangkok was. It seemed like we drove forever, passing multi-laned highways, all equipped with toll-booths, down massive main streets with bicyclists, motor-taxies and tuk-tuks whirling past us in the dense smog. Palm trees, people, food stands, markets, restaurants, and stores abounded.
We reached the hotel and unloaded my bags. To the right was a dining room. To the left was a seating area. The check-in desk was in the middle. I checked in and my bags and shortly after Phil and Claire met me to say hello and give me a copy of Lonely Planet's guide to Thailand. I was elated. I gave them the Boston souvenirs I had bought them in the airport. We made arrangements to meet in a couple hours after I had showered and freshened up.
I made my way to my room and set up my laptop. After calling my parents on Skype, assuring them that I was alright and telling them how beautiful the country was, I settled in and took a shower. The room was clean, but due to my own paranoia about unfamiliar showers, I wore my flip-flops anyway. I also dodged the tiny little ants inside. These ants, I would later learn, were just a small part of living in Thailand that I would have to get used to.
After that refreshing shower I began to get dressed and put on my make-up, which was a futile effort, being that I would sweat most of it off later anyways. As I waited for the arrival of Phil and Claire I began to reflect on the past few months and what had influenced me to come here in the first place.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Morality, Charles Manson, and God: the All-Knowing, All-Seeing A-Hole?
I've been obsessively reading Helter Skelter this past week and it's gotten me thinking a lot about morality. Charles Manson was a nobody who was in and out of jail his whole life, yet by 1969 he had the world on its knees. Following the murders of Sharon Tate and four others, all of Los Angeles, and most of the world for that fact, was engulfed in fear and paranoia. He did not actually perpetrate any of these murders himself, but convinced several young girls to carry out his whims for him. Before I started reading I always thought to myself, "How is this possible?" I'm only about halfway through but, basically it was a concoction of sex appeal, "far out" philosophy mixed with really convincing theological theories, and psychological tricks. He would take young girls who were trying to conform with the hippie culture of the time (this, in and of itself is actually quite an ironic statement), weren't the most attractive girls and convinced them that he was basically Jesus. And more than that, that he thought they were beautiful.
Now, I admit, I've always been kind of an idiot when it comes to men. While reading last night, I put myself in the position of one of these girls and thought really hard. It occurred to me that had I been living in LA in the late '60s, I probably would have ended up joining the Manson Family.
Wait -- WHAT?
Yes, that was my first reaction to myself. This sounds like an utterly psychotic statement, and maybe it is, but I simply could not refute it. I'm easily manipulated, have low confidence, am easily intrigued by any sort of philosophical conversation (or any man that shows any interest in any sort of philosophy whatsoever; in fact I once fell head over heels for a guy simply because he had a book by Nietzsche on his bookshelf), and I sort of think he was attractive at the time. Yes, I know, don't vomit, but I must say I'm a sucker for skinny guys with curly hair. And attention, and musicians (he was a mediocre guitar player and song writer, but I guess I'm one of those stupid girls who falls for any guy holding a guitar). He would have had me cutting up people left and right also.
I'll tell you exactly what it was about Manson's philosophy that really turned me on, so to speak. He preached to his followers or "Family members" that morality was basically a sham created by the establishment or "the man." Essentially, there was no concept of right or wrong because every action happens for a reason, everything is natural, all lives are equal (i.e. stepping on a blade of grass is equivalent, or equally meaningless as killing a human being). Therefore, there would be no consequences for your actions, and as long as you believed that Manson was a messenger from God and did as he said, everything would be just peachy-keen.
Now, it's not all that rare for me to ponder the idea of morality, particularly from a religious perspective. Although both my parents are Jewish, I was not raised with any particular faith. Yes, we celebrated Hannukah and I had a rough idea of the story behind this holiday, but to me it was no more than an excuse to receive presents for eight consecutive days at some point in December when the rest of my friends got to sing Christmas carols, decorate a tree, and be visited by Santa. But as I've gotten older, I have begun to think about the psychology behind religion and morality and God. All religions have a more or less stringent set of rules that its followers must follow. Most of these rules, however, seem, at least to me, to contradict a large percentage of the instincts with which mankind has been naturally imbued. For example, everybody has the urge to have sex, yet both Catholicism and Islam do not condone sex before marriage. Some people even go so far as to say that God does not want men and women to have sex unless it is for the purpose of having babies, and let's face it: nobody wants eight hundred kids running around, so this doesn't exactly seem fair to me.
Think about it: we are all born with genitalia. Those genitalia have sensations. Good sensations. Sex supplies a natural high. It literally releases endorphins in your brain. Alcohol and drugs are both man-made creations and therefore I can understand a religion not condoning heroin or LSD or crystal meth. Wine and marijuana both come from the earth, however, so for me, these are a bit different, but that's not the point. My point is that it just seems cruel to create things and then tell us it's wrong to use or do them. Just like Adam and Eve were tempted with that delicious apple from the tree of knowledge, modern day human beings are tempted by sex, drugs, alcohol, drinking, partying, or even other small things that are specific only to certain religions, like eating pork, for example. It's like dangling a carrot in front of a bunnies nose and expecting it not to run after it.
I was talking about this with my roommate on the car ride home from work today. We drove by a pile of clothing or garbage or something. It sort of looked as if it was the remnants of a person who had simply disappeared, leaving the earth behind. This caused my roommate to say, "that looks like someone who got Raptured." It was funny because it's something that everybody has been talking about lately. Supposedly, last Saturday, all those souls who believed in God, did all the right things, didn't do any of the wrong things, etc. would be zapped off the earth and sent directly to heaven while all us heathens were left behind to suffer the impending Apocolypse. Well, Saturday has come and gone, and as far as I'm aware of, nobody disappeared. Supposedly the man who decided on this date had determined it through a strict mathematical study of the Bible. He and his followers believe that the date of the Rapture can be determined by studying the use of numbers in the Bible, determining the correct mathematical formulae to apply to them and then being able to actually do this math. Only hours before the supposed arrival time of the Rapture, he called it off, saying that he had calculated incorrectly and the actual date would be November 21st or something like that.
My roommate and I were debating the idea that this was even possible. Ben made an excellent point: why can't we say that it is possible just as easily as we can say it's impossible? I agreed. In fact, this is sort of how I view the existence of God at all, as well. Then he asked me why, in my opinion, God would create such an intricate system to tell us our expiration date? Why would he make it so difficult?
I replied, "Because God just likes to fuck with us."
After a slight moment of hesitation my roommate asked why I would say something like that, or think it for that matter. I told him my theory about how God must be cruel in order to create things just to tempt us, then tell us they're off limits. I made an analogy that I had never thought of before, but that I think is quite apt. "Maybe God doesn't have cable." Ben was dumbfounded. I began to clarify. If Genesis is correct, and God really did create the entire earth and all the people, animals and plants on it, then wouldn't he want to make things a little more interesting? If you're an omniscient being who can see, hear and know everything that happens on this world you have created, wouldn't you want something interesting to watch and listen to? I think God actually created reality TV, but it came long before the Real World or Big Brother. It was called "mankind." If people walked around following all the rules, wouldn't it be rather boring for God to watch? Why give us instincts, personalities, and emotions if not to watch and see what we do with them? If nobody ever did anything naughty, everything would be really boring. Just because God is God, it doesn't necessarily mean that he's required to be kind, or on the contrary, that he's not allowed to have a sense of humor. Actually, I think in order to be God, you'd have to have a sense of humor. I mean, seriously. Have you ever seen a platypus?
All of this is stuff I think about on a semi-regular basis. It's almost enough to make you crazy. That must be why I make awkward choices, or why I would probably have joined the Manson Family if I were alive and in the right place at the right time. My overall sense of morality is based on a mixture of "do what you think is natural," and "treat others as you would want to be treated." In other words, if your actions don't hurt anybody, then what's the big deal? If something is natural or instinctual then how could it possibly be that bad? I guess one assuring fact is that it would never feel natural or desirable for me to kill somebody. Maybe I'm not completely tapped, but I guess that's a subjective idea, too.
Now, I admit, I've always been kind of an idiot when it comes to men. While reading last night, I put myself in the position of one of these girls and thought really hard. It occurred to me that had I been living in LA in the late '60s, I probably would have ended up joining the Manson Family.
Wait -- WHAT?
Yes, that was my first reaction to myself. This sounds like an utterly psychotic statement, and maybe it is, but I simply could not refute it. I'm easily manipulated, have low confidence, am easily intrigued by any sort of philosophical conversation (or any man that shows any interest in any sort of philosophy whatsoever; in fact I once fell head over heels for a guy simply because he had a book by Nietzsche on his bookshelf), and I sort of think he was attractive at the time. Yes, I know, don't vomit, but I must say I'm a sucker for skinny guys with curly hair. And attention, and musicians (he was a mediocre guitar player and song writer, but I guess I'm one of those stupid girls who falls for any guy holding a guitar). He would have had me cutting up people left and right also.
I'll tell you exactly what it was about Manson's philosophy that really turned me on, so to speak. He preached to his followers or "Family members" that morality was basically a sham created by the establishment or "the man." Essentially, there was no concept of right or wrong because every action happens for a reason, everything is natural, all lives are equal (i.e. stepping on a blade of grass is equivalent, or equally meaningless as killing a human being). Therefore, there would be no consequences for your actions, and as long as you believed that Manson was a messenger from God and did as he said, everything would be just peachy-keen.
Now, it's not all that rare for me to ponder the idea of morality, particularly from a religious perspective. Although both my parents are Jewish, I was not raised with any particular faith. Yes, we celebrated Hannukah and I had a rough idea of the story behind this holiday, but to me it was no more than an excuse to receive presents for eight consecutive days at some point in December when the rest of my friends got to sing Christmas carols, decorate a tree, and be visited by Santa. But as I've gotten older, I have begun to think about the psychology behind religion and morality and God. All religions have a more or less stringent set of rules that its followers must follow. Most of these rules, however, seem, at least to me, to contradict a large percentage of the instincts with which mankind has been naturally imbued. For example, everybody has the urge to have sex, yet both Catholicism and Islam do not condone sex before marriage. Some people even go so far as to say that God does not want men and women to have sex unless it is for the purpose of having babies, and let's face it: nobody wants eight hundred kids running around, so this doesn't exactly seem fair to me.
Think about it: we are all born with genitalia. Those genitalia have sensations. Good sensations. Sex supplies a natural high. It literally releases endorphins in your brain. Alcohol and drugs are both man-made creations and therefore I can understand a religion not condoning heroin or LSD or crystal meth. Wine and marijuana both come from the earth, however, so for me, these are a bit different, but that's not the point. My point is that it just seems cruel to create things and then tell us it's wrong to use or do them. Just like Adam and Eve were tempted with that delicious apple from the tree of knowledge, modern day human beings are tempted by sex, drugs, alcohol, drinking, partying, or even other small things that are specific only to certain religions, like eating pork, for example. It's like dangling a carrot in front of a bunnies nose and expecting it not to run after it.
I was talking about this with my roommate on the car ride home from work today. We drove by a pile of clothing or garbage or something. It sort of looked as if it was the remnants of a person who had simply disappeared, leaving the earth behind. This caused my roommate to say, "that looks like someone who got Raptured." It was funny because it's something that everybody has been talking about lately. Supposedly, last Saturday, all those souls who believed in God, did all the right things, didn't do any of the wrong things, etc. would be zapped off the earth and sent directly to heaven while all us heathens were left behind to suffer the impending Apocolypse. Well, Saturday has come and gone, and as far as I'm aware of, nobody disappeared. Supposedly the man who decided on this date had determined it through a strict mathematical study of the Bible. He and his followers believe that the date of the Rapture can be determined by studying the use of numbers in the Bible, determining the correct mathematical formulae to apply to them and then being able to actually do this math. Only hours before the supposed arrival time of the Rapture, he called it off, saying that he had calculated incorrectly and the actual date would be November 21st or something like that.
My roommate and I were debating the idea that this was even possible. Ben made an excellent point: why can't we say that it is possible just as easily as we can say it's impossible? I agreed. In fact, this is sort of how I view the existence of God at all, as well. Then he asked me why, in my opinion, God would create such an intricate system to tell us our expiration date? Why would he make it so difficult?
I replied, "Because God just likes to fuck with us."
After a slight moment of hesitation my roommate asked why I would say something like that, or think it for that matter. I told him my theory about how God must be cruel in order to create things just to tempt us, then tell us they're off limits. I made an analogy that I had never thought of before, but that I think is quite apt. "Maybe God doesn't have cable." Ben was dumbfounded. I began to clarify. If Genesis is correct, and God really did create the entire earth and all the people, animals and plants on it, then wouldn't he want to make things a little more interesting? If you're an omniscient being who can see, hear and know everything that happens on this world you have created, wouldn't you want something interesting to watch and listen to? I think God actually created reality TV, but it came long before the Real World or Big Brother. It was called "mankind." If people walked around following all the rules, wouldn't it be rather boring for God to watch? Why give us instincts, personalities, and emotions if not to watch and see what we do with them? If nobody ever did anything naughty, everything would be really boring. Just because God is God, it doesn't necessarily mean that he's required to be kind, or on the contrary, that he's not allowed to have a sense of humor. Actually, I think in order to be God, you'd have to have a sense of humor. I mean, seriously. Have you ever seen a platypus?
All of this is stuff I think about on a semi-regular basis. It's almost enough to make you crazy. That must be why I make awkward choices, or why I would probably have joined the Manson Family if I were alive and in the right place at the right time. My overall sense of morality is based on a mixture of "do what you think is natural," and "treat others as you would want to be treated." In other words, if your actions don't hurt anybody, then what's the big deal? If something is natural or instinctual then how could it possibly be that bad? I guess one assuring fact is that it would never feel natural or desirable for me to kill somebody. Maybe I'm not completely tapped, but I guess that's a subjective idea, too.
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