Itinerary: Bangkok, Yogyakarta, Bali, Phuket, Nan

My bags are packed, albeit with too many things and yet probably not quite enough. I have repacked my backpack two, three, four times today. Each time I take some things out only to put them right back in five minutes later.

I have four envelopes stuffed with my salary from this month and I am wary that it will slip from those envelopes like candy, quickly being spent on dinner and drinks, boat rides and snorkeling tours, a new pair of shorts and a few new tank tops. This will be my first true test at budgeting.

I am headed for the airport in just under an hour. First we will head to Bangkok, spending a night and day there before we fly to Yogyakarta, Indonesia where we will rise with the sun to see a famous, abandoned Buddhist temple and then head back to the city for a few more days of sightseeing before jetting off to Bali. Ten more days will be spent in beautiful Bali, with attempts made at becoming Julia Roberts riding her bike through rice fields on her way to a medicine man in the movie Eat Pray Love. Then we will head back to Thailand, flying to Phuket where we will lounge on another beach paradise, digging our toes in the sand and feeling the sun on our chest.

I am excited. I haven’t been to a tropical beach since I was fourteen. (I don’t count Washington or Oregon beaches—as tropical as they can sometimes be.) And I find myself dancing in my room this morning to Madonna and Michael Jackson as I lay out all of my clothes on my bed and then proceed to stuff them deep into my giant blue backpack.

There is a part of me, though, that is nervous. A part of me does not want to leave this tiny town of Nan that I have grown so accustomed to. A part of me is going to miss this little place where a woman comes up to me and grabs my hand, looking me straight in the face and asks if I remember her from the other week—we met by the river when her daughter boldly said hello to me and tried to start a conversation in order to practice her English. I will miss being one of only 15 white people in town. I will miss being able to draw stares and having to worry about what I wear simply because if I am seen in shorts and a tank top at the grocery store I will most certainly be talked about at school the next day. I will miss my kids’ screaming voices. I will miss their tiny presents—small clay roses and bracelets made of miniature hair elastics. I will miss this wondrous, small, at times suffocating, ten block radius that has become my home over the past four months.

But off I go, anyway. To experience a little more of Asia and a little more of this beautiful country.

Good bye, for now.

Will Return: October 27th (with breathtaking pictures and even better stories)

This is Why I Love Mondays


Never could I have guessed before I moved here that not only would I love teaching, but that I would love my students so much that I wake up almost everyday excited to go to school and see their faces.  Much to the distaste of the other foreign teachers at my school, I am always ready for Sunday to end as it means I get to see my kids the next morning.  On days where I think I don’t want to teach or I would rather be in a café writing or even at home in my mother’s arms, all I have to do is walk into my classroom, with 36 seven-year-olds screaming my name and jumping up and down.

This last week has brought some of my darkest days here in Nan. Thinking about my future and what I really want to do in the coming years has taken a toll on my emotional state. I’ll be honest—I found out my MCAT scores this week. And they weren’t superb. It made me have to think about the next steps and where I see myself not only in 10 months, but in 3 and 5 and even 10 years. Its’ a daunting task to have to ask a 22-year-old woman to think about her future like this. Normally I would go for a long run. But with only the river or the stadium as appropriate places to run here, 3 miles is as much as I can really do. So where did my solace come this week?

     My kids.

            Their bright shining faces. Their smiles. Their laughs. Their informative voice as they told me we would be playing English Olympics that day—a game I recently invented and which my second graders have come to love almost a little too much. Their mouths that nearly drop open when they hear I can speak more than a full sentence in Thai. Their eyes that light up when they ask a question in Thai and I miraculously understand.

These are the moments that keep me going when I am unsure of myself.

I can’t imagine what it will be like to leave their faces in just two weeks time when our semester comes to a close and I head off to Indonesia for a three-week vacation. I don’t know what I’ll do without seeing those smiles and hearing those tiny voices everyday. Just thinking about it, makes my heart-ache. And it’s only three weeks.

I want to leave you with this poem I wrote this week. It doesn’t have to do with my kids. But I think it will give you all a good sense of why these kids are so important to me.



A little weekend exploring reveals this beautiful gold stupa to me just outside of town.

I miss home

I do

Not the hamburgers and French fries

Or the repetitive pop songs on the radio

Not the colorful leaves that freckle the mountainside at this time of year

Or even long thin socks pulled over thick leggings

I miss home

I miss the easiness of waking up

And having no where to be but Oppenheimer Café

With a steaming cup of tea and a plastic tub filled with oatmeal from home

I miss watching rain drip from those glass walls as friends passed

I miss thinking about the world and all it has to offer

I miss being naïve

Being scared of the future but knowing no real choices had to be made yet

I miss the cold mornings

With pink iced clouds

And streets that glistened with rain from the night before

I miss late nights in Harned with Beyonce blasted at full volume

And sweat pants caked in chalk from too many midnight study sessions

I miss whispering in class

About notes

And ice cream dates

And what the hell we were going to do with our lives

It seemed simple then

But not

Like we had to choose carefully

But not too carefully

Because it didn’t really matter

Did it?

How can it feel so different now?

Only four months later.



The reservoir. One of only two places I can run in town. But I’m not complaining.

Snapshots of Nan

I have struggled to come to terms with how to continue writing this blog. It seems inappropriate to merely summarize each week’s events or even to focus on one single event. Each week seems to bring with it so many moments that I can’t simply choose just one and yet it seems unfair to merely skim over all of them. My solution—and it is not a perfect one—is to give you snapshots. Not snapshots in the traditional sense of the term. Snapshots, as in a brief description of some of the many moments that make up my every day. A short paragraph, a bundle of sentences, a list of words, that attempt to give you all a picture of some of the enticing, challenging, and wordless moments that are strung before me each day. Of course there will be some pictures that accompany this post, but they may have nothing to do with the descriptions that follow or precede it.

This is my first attempt, in what I hope is many more to come, of a post entitled Snapshots of Nan.


  I sit by the river. I have come here on a whim. By myself. Nothing has prompted it except for the intuition to get on my bike and ride the ten minutes to the park in order to watch the sunset. I am grateful for following my instinct. The sky is lit up bright cotton candy pink and the clouds seem sketched into the sky as if they are in a painting. The water reflects blue and champagne pink and the light from the lamp just to my left draws a long yellow line along the rippling water. I can hear the grunts of men, all in unison as their boat draws into my sight. The boat is bright orange, and I can barely see the wood peak out from the water it is holding so many men in its thin perimeters. The men’s tanned arms all crank back and forth, back and forth—a synchronicity that is memorizing. The water slaps against the boat in perfect rhythm with their movements.

The sky lights up bright pink. Lightening. As the boat quickly continues past me, I am entranced with the scene before me. A long, thin orange painted boat full of men preparing for the annual boat race in October. The lights of restaurants twinkling in the fading evening light, their music softly coming through their windows, a strange mix of American and Thai pop. The clouds that light up a bright pink every 20 seconds or so, a light quickly flashing behind their deep enfolds.

I watch as the sky darkens. The sun, without my noticing, slips beneath the earth and I am left with the dark water, the sound of men’s arms moving together, and the sky flashing like a camera taking a picture.  

  “Let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore.”

I listen to the rise and fall of her voice, her small arms moving with the beat of the music. I have heard this song many times before—too many. And I have heard this little girl sing it about 15 times. She still gives me goosebumps. A quiet smile spreads across her face with each pause in the music. Her voice does not waver on the high notes and she doesn’t hesitate to belt out the final note that I have heard so many American girls fail to make sound good.

“I don’t care what they’re going to say. Let the storm rage onnnnnnnn . . . “

This is her second language. I must tell myself that each and every time she takes the stage, just after lunch and before the afternoon classes. I am coaching this student of mine for an English competition, making sure her pronunciation is correct in each part and that her movements match the lyrics.

The child does not need coaching. She finishes. I simply nod my head, my skin tingling and my hair on end.

“Good, Pin. Very very good.”

She smiles.


Selfie with my student. (Not the same one who sings Frozen)


    IMG_1248 Sweat runs down my legs. Leaves stick to them as I climb the rocks, my own hand slipping on my thigh as I try to press my body up each step at a time. I am tired. We have been climbing, the sun hitting our backs, for about a half hour now. It doesn’t seem like long, but with the blue sky and the afternoon heat, I can feel my body rapidly losing water. I pull out my water bottle. Normally this purple Nalgene would last me an entire day. Here, though, I can drink the whole thing in a single morning, sometimes a single hour, and still not have to pee afterwards. There is only a small amount left. I put it back in my bag. I want to save it for the descent down.

After a few more minutes of climbing over an unmarked trail full with leaves bigger than my head and grasshoppers that dance around our feet, we finally reach the top. Where is the entrance to the cave? I look around desperately. I do not want to have climbed all this way to simply go back down. And then there it is. A small hole in the rocks that leads into the ground, a green metal sign hangs above it written all in Thai. It must say: Here is the cave you just climbed up an entire mountain for. Enjoy the encroaching darkness.

There is a ladder that leads into the cave. Sam, a fellow PiAer, goes first. I go second. The distance between each rung is too great for my body and I must jump in between them to reach, letting my body teeter between each damp wooden hold. I reach the bottom. Boy, is it dark. And cold. Thank god. I turn on the flashlight on my phone. I knew there was a reason I brought my American phone along even though I knew I would never be able to make a call out here in remote countryside Thailand.

The walls are damp and the floor slick. We continue to walk further into the cave. It opens up into a large room and we climb a small hill, our sneakers slipping along the rocks. I feel as if I am in a Harry Potter movie. This simply cannot be real life. I want to go further but . . .

“We didn’t tell anyone we were coming here,” Haley says, already walking back to the ladder—the exit.

I stay a few minutes longer, letting the dull light of my iPhone shine on the walls of the cave. The walls go high above me and odd shapes jut out, a result of the artistic ability of water to soften and sculpt the rock. I shiver. My sweat is drying. My legs no longer feel slick. I turn and head to the ladder, an unwanted exit back to the afternoon sun. IMG_1287   IMG_1265  

  He clings to my arm, burying his soft hair into my belly.

“Are you finished, Earth?”

He nods yes, handing me his worksheet. He pulls my arm harder.

Stamp approaches and hands me her worksheet. I take it with my free arm. Her bow is perfectly placed, just like the rest of the students. Even after lunch, all of the girls’ hair is immaculate. Not a bow out of a place. I wonder if someone sits on the steps of the classroom before class begins in the afternoon, retying elastics and ribbons in each one of their hair.

Stamp comes close to me now, placing her hands on either side of my stomach, ignoring the fact that another child is already clinging to me. She pats me, mutters something I cannot understand—Thai—giggles, and then smiles. She’s calling me fat, isn’t she? She pats me one more time and then leaves.

Earth wraps his arms around my middle, holding on so tight that I must loosen his small fingers only slightly so that I can breathe. I am a novelty to them—a bright shiny Barbie doll they can’t bring home.


The poofy dress and green ribbon require a whole other explanation.


Earth showing the class his favorite toy for Show and Tell.




     “I picked her up at the warehouse,” See says to me as he points to the small kitten prancing around on the porch.

What warehouse and why he felt the need to bring her home I do not ask.  I have learned here to not ask such frivolous details as this.

“She’s cute,” I say to See before I head upstairs.

Later I play with the kitten, petting her belly and feeling her tiny bones beneath her fragile skin and fur.  We name her Iggy and I soon come to find I am slightly allergic to cats.  My eyes itch and I sneeze a little as she hops into my lap each night.


These are my moments.


This Little World

I have finished the MCAT. Haley (one of my housemates and fellow PiA’er) and I went to Bangkok this weekend to complete our MCAT journey.  Regardless of how we thought it went, Haley and myself were more than thrilled to be finished with studying for such a vigorous test in a foreign country and with a full time job.  We enjoyed a nice weekend in Bangkok–which ended up being much more overwhelming than either one of us anticipated.  Filled with extravagant shopping malls, streets that seemed straight out of Vegas, and more foreigners than I have seen since my arrival in Thailand, I began to experience a very different side of this country.  After spending the weekend feeling a bit like I was in a Spring Break video with so many foreigners around me getting drunk, talking about their Thailand beach adventures, and their supreme lack of knowledge about this country or the language, I was very happy to come back to Nan.  

The last couple of days have consisted of me catching up on school work, sleep, and trying to figure out just what I’m going to do with my free time now that I don’t have to study for the MCAT.  I have enjoyed just coming home after work and reading a good book.  And I must admit it is very refreshing to have time to work out again.  However, while all of these amenities are nice, the thing I was looking forward to the most after I got done with my MCAT was having the time to write.  

I have kept a journal here.  But many weeks the entries are sporadic at best.  After looking through the journal, I wanted to provide you all with one small moment that has stuck with me during my time here so far.  It is a brief moment that happened at the beginning of my time here in Thailand, but now feels like an appropriate time to share it with you all.  


This morning I woke to the sound of rain pounding on the roof and unlike the usual smattering of sunrays that leak through my bedroom window, the sky is hazy and I have to turn on my lights in order to see the contours of my face in the mirror. I ride to school on my own, a little earlier than normal. When I arrive, the schoolyard is empty. Small puddles litter the pavement and there are no first grade boys with their brown sneakers to kick at the water or little girls in their black Mary-Janes to tip toe around it. There are only a few shy faces to smile at me before I climb to the office, quite a peaceful change from the bombardment of sticky hands and faces shouting hello to me with a thick accent and a mouth filled with milk.

The rain continues to come down incessantly and by the time I walk to first grade at 9 am (only 2 hours later), the sidewalks of the school have already self converted into rivers. It is much to my surprise to find my ankles sink into the water before my feet hit the pavement. Two girls try to pass me under their purple umbrella, attempting to haphazardly step around the water by hugging the wall of the school, but I can already see the liquid soak into their white socks.

I am only three minutes into my lesson when five children have come up to me and ask to use the restroom. Teacher Ann (my Thai co-teacher) looks at me: “It’s raining. They have to use the bathroom.” She smiles. The small bladders of children stimulated by the pounding rain outside their open-air classroom—it is something I never experienced in my own childhood. When there were thunderstorms in Colorado we would shut all windows and pull the drapes. The teacher would congregate us in the middle of the room and read us a story, trying to keep our hands from shaking and our ears focused on something else other than the next thunderclap.

“Five minute break!” I shout above the noise of the rain.

They all sprint to the door, grab their sneakers, shoving them on their feet only well enough that they can still walk the 50 feet to the restroom in the rain. They open their pink and turquoise umbrellas, unsnapping the strap and letting the wires pop open in front of their faces. Their arms brace the handle and their eyes close as the force of the pop spreads the waterproof fabric out in front of them. Umbrellas overhead they head in pairs of two or three, the girls holding hands and smiling at one another before they jump from the curb and run to the bathroom as quick as they can. The children left in the classroom giggle and squeal, shuffling to the door every thirty seconds to see their classmates brace the rain. A few come up and ask if they can use the bathroom too—“May I go out please?” they ask in their high pitched voices—and I watch as they too do the same rushed routine before a smile quickly spreads across their face when they jump into the rain. Five minutes pass easily like this—the kids coming and going, umbrellas opening and closing, dry and then wet, shoes off and then on, socks clean and then only slightly damp. I become entranced by the sheer joy they exert. Their smiles, their laughter. I am amazed that a simple skip to the bathroom in the pouring rain can fill them with such joy and bring me such happiness as well.

They lay their open umbrellas on the porch steps just right outside the classroom. This portion of marble stone is still covered by a roof. Their colorful domes stretch across the patio and it looks like those candy dot sheets I would buy on the 4th of July as a kid. The candy where I ended up eating more paper than sugar because I would rip them off with my teeth, no care for the plastic backing that would come with it.

It takes some cooing and loud words to get the kids back in their seats but about ten minutes later we are finally ready to start our lesson. The rain is just as loud but they are all much quieter now. Their hands folded in their laps and their feet resting on the bar of their desk just above the ground. We only have 30 minutes of class left and I know I will not get through all I have planned for that day. It doesn’t matter, though. The simple moment of stopping and enjoying the rhythmic pound of the rain on the ground; the sound of sneakers slipping through the water; observing my students faces as they jumped from a place of security and guaranteed dryness into the wet, oncoming rain; seeing their fingers comb through their wet hair after they laid their umbrellas out to dry; and the smiles that can’t seem to fade away even after many of them peel their damp socks from their already wrinkly toes and hang them on the metal shoe rack to dry; this is far better than any lesson I could teach.



Good Morning. How are you?

Thai society places a huge emphasis on their students learning English. That is why I’m here and why so many other foreign white people come to Thailand to teach. It wasn’t until this weekend though, that I fully realized the power and beauty they put on someone who is white and speaks English.

In practical terms, English affords these students more opportunities in the future, as they can communicate with more people and have more job accessible to them. However, in terms of social stigma, this society puts so much value on a student that knows English, a teacher that teaches English, and above all, a person that fluently speaks English. At times, I have felt like royalty here. The kids call me beautiful but not the equally beautiful Thai teacher. I am given a salary almost twice that of some of the teachers who have been working at my elementary school for a decade. I don’t have to work Saturdays while almost every other teacher in the school does. And while most of these can be explained away with the simple fact that I am foreign, sometimes I wonder if it doesn’t have more to do with the color of my skin. Would a foreign black teacher get all these amenities?

Regardless of skin color, the fact that I natively speak English puts me on a pedestal in and of itself. And the kids who I teach are automatically put on the same pedestal in the ranks of the school system. My students are part of what is called the Mini English Program, and as such, they receive almost half of their total school time instruction in English. Other, lower level classes, only receive one hour of English a week and consequently have much lesser English capabilities. My kids are the prized possessions of the school. Their classrooms have plasma screen TVs while many of the other classrooms lack TV’s entirely. The teachers speak kindly and affectionately of them outside of class, while they have clear frustrations with the lower classes, calling the students slow and unintelligent. This is all simply because my kids have been given the opportunity to speak English everyday where the other classes only get English once a week.

At times I am baffled. I wonder why I was so lucky to be born in an English speaking country to a white family. Sometimes I am frustrated with how much power they give me simply because of the color of my skin and the language that I speak. I want my kids to feel powerful and confident without having to speak a different language or to wear whitening powder every morning so they will have a fairer complexion. But I know that I cannot change the rules of a society. What I can do, however, is offer my service to this community.

That is exactly what I did these last two weekends. After the four day weekend, our boss asked us to help at the English Camp the school has for other elementary schools in the area. It would be three days, Saturday and Sunday of one weekend and then the following Saturday of the next weekend. This meant we would work 12 days straight with only one day off before starting school the following week. But we knew we couldn’t refuse—an English camp without the American English teachers would be like arriving to a Starbucks only to find out there’s no coffee.

We were in charge of the “Conversation Fun” station, which consisted of teaching the kids how to say:

Good morning.

Good morning. How are you today?

I’m fine, thank you. How are you?

I’m fine, thank you.

            This was the exact script we were given. And we stuck to it, teaching a total of 12 one-hour sessions, going over again and again and again how to pronounce the word morning, how to emphasize the n in fine, reminding every student that the word today meant today.

In the very first session of the first day I had kids staring at me with big eyes when I asked them to read a word. And even after I pointed to the word, said it three times, and pointed to it again, they would say nothing. There were times when I wanted to rip my hair out—“Why can’t they just read the gosh, darn, stinking word!?” I thought to myself. But then I reminded myself that these kids don’t speak English. They don’t even write in the same letters. So for them to read an English word, let alone say the word, is a giant feat.

My expectations for these kids had to be lower, I realized, than my own first and second graders. My students see me everyday for at least an hour. They have become accustomed to my directions, my games, and the way I explain new vocabulary. These kids might have never encountered a native English speaker before me. And while these realizations made it no less easy for the student to grasp the material, my patience grew ten fold. When a child simply couldn’t understand that the words “good morning” and my finger pointing to them on the page meant that he was supposed to read them, I didn’t get frustrated; I simply sat and waited for the child to think—really think—and then I would help them by saying the words myself.

At the end of each hour session I wondered if we had reached any kid at all. If any child really understood what “Good morning. How are you?” meant, but, again, I realized that none of that really mattered because at lunch time I had little girls following me around, just wanting any sort of attention from an English speaker. I had kids taking my picture at the end of the day so they could show their parents and friends at home the cool thing they had done that Saturday. These kids genuinely appreciated the opportunity to learn English from a native English speaker. To them, this was like going to Disneyland. And if that meant I had to give up my weekend to give them that gift and opportunity, then I was okay with that.

English Camp wasn’t always hard, though. After lunch we got to play games and sing songs with all the kids (there were about 100 kids there each day). One day a kid from each school came to the front of the auditorium to dance to a song we had just learned. The kid with the best dance, they were told, would get a prize. The way those kids’ hips moved! One boy danced so well (and ridiculously) that our Thai boss—Prakop—who hardly even smiles, was laughing so hard she couldn’t lead the kids in the song anymore. (Watch this video NOW!) All of the teachers were doubled over laughing and we sung the song over and over again so the kids would keep dancing and we could keep laughing. There were moments in those one hour sessions, too, where we had said “good morning” one too many times and suddenly a game ensued of who could say good morning the fastest. A game where I was chanting cheers for my team and the kids would stare at me until they realized they could join in, then they would hoot and holler just as loud as me, their hands raised in the air and smiles spread across their faces.

It was a week and a half that while at times extremely challenging, taught me so very much not only about teaching and patience, but about the great joys that serving a community can bring you. Before this week I was feeling somewhat homesick. I was having one of those down moments you have when you live somewhere far away from home. I was questioning why I was here and couldn’t understand why I had ever agreed to teach English in a foreign country. But this weekend has revitalized me. It has taught me to learn and grow. To be frustrated and work through it. To serve even when it’s hard and all I want to do is go home and sleep. This weekend has allowed me to better understand the life of a Thai elementary school student and the emphasis that is placed on learning English. It has allowed me to see not only why the community places such power on me but also, how I can give that power back to the community.

singing songs after lunch

singing songs after lunch

a nice reward at the end of the day -- pomegranate juice

a nice reward at the end of the day — pomegranate juice

All the kids left in these cattle cars.  It was quite a sight

All the kids left in these cattle cars. It was quite a sight

another school ready to leave

another school ready to leave

the kids in their trucks just about to leave for the day

the kids in their trucks just about to leave for the day



A Little Longing — A Lot of Learning

It is in the quiet minutes before I leave for school that I seem to find a time and place to write this blog. I am sitting on the back porch of the Lodge, my coffee steaming in front of me next to a plate of fresh cut mango. It’s hard to believe sometimes what my normal everyday life has turned to—mangos everyday for less than a dollar; kids who run to me on the playground, embracing me as if they haven’t seen me in years when really I only saw them a couple of hours ago; daily downpours that seem to make the world stand still and constantly remind me of my second home in Tacoma, WA.

Each morning I am grateful to wake up in this beautiful place, to go to a job that I surprisingly love. And although some days I am so exhausted after school I can barely move, the love and joy I experience from my kids is something I can only begin to express.

Life has grown comfortable here. We went to Chiang Mai this weekend for the four-day holiday break (it is the start of the Buddhist lent here). And while the trip was magical in so many different ways, I was happy to return to Nan—a place where I know the streets at least half as well as I did during my four years in Tacoma, a place where everyone knows if I have a flat tire on my bike, a place where I have to ask myself everyday “What has my life come to?” in the best way possible.

While many of you I’m sure are anxious to hear about my adventures to Chiang Mai, a city much much bigger than Nan, I am not so inclined to share those moments with you yet. I’m still processing some of the breathtaking and wondrous moments myself and I want to save those thoughts for when I have a little more time – but I will include a few pictures for you so you all won’t perish of my lack of photos I have shared with you over the last few weeks. So what am I going to write about if I’m not going to tell you about the fabulous trip I just took and which consumed my life for four days? Well, sometimes the intangibles are far more interesting to me than any moment or picture can say.

I confessed that life here in Nan has become comfortable. I am getting the hang of teaching, I love my kids, and I look forward to yoga each night before dinner. However, while my life may seem like a fairytale ending to many new college grads, it is not without its challenges. There are some moments when I look up and ask myself “What am I doing here? What was my real purpose of coming?” Sure, I know the answer when I stop and think. I came here to explore another culture and another part of the world. I came here to expand my thinking and gain an experience that I would otherwise never have the opportunity to have. I came here to teach and to learn. But while I can say all of these things in writing, there are still some days when I feel like any new college grad must feel—that the real world is tough. Going to work from 9 to 5 everyday is much different than a college class schedule. And while I kept myself overly busy in college, there are still times here where I miss Puget Sound like crazy. Where I miss the quiet moments with my family, watching the stars in the backyard underneath a summer moon. Where I miss being able to turn on a TV and zone out to a bad American reality TV show. Where I miss being able to turn to anyone and have a conversation.

Yes, I knew these moments would happen—these moments of intense longing and desire, these moments of doubt and hesitation. Moments where I feel in limbo, lost in the world, as if I will never find my way back to the right path again. And these are the moments, I know, that will begin to define my experience here. These are the moments where I will learn and grow the most.

I don’t want you to think that this post is to complain and nag, it is simply a reflection on some of the very complex thoughts I have had over the past week or so. Thoughts that I still have not fully processed and probably won’t until my time has finished here. With all my traveling I have come to learn that it is exactly these thoughts—the ones I cannot even begin to express here because I’m not entirely sure what they are—that will begin to shape and mold me into a new being. And ultimately that is why I came to Asia—to change, to become a new person, to learn. And so when I look up and ask myself “Why did I come here?” I must remind myself that the answer is in the question itself.

Pure Joy.

Pure Joy.

A women praying at one of the temples we visited in Chiang Mai

A women praying at one of the temples we visited in Chiang Mai

Traditional Thai drummers and dancers

Traditional Thai drummers and dancers

prayer bells

prayer bells

Roses at the king's summer palace

Roses at the king’s summer palace


I’m Officially Moved In!

I’m awake early for the first time in almost two weeks. Studying for the MCAT has taken its toll on my sleep habits and I’m not able to enjoy that nine to ten hours of sleep I had been in my first week here. However, teaching is getting easier. And although I am still working feverishly during the day I am able to leave school behind (both in thoughts and in work) when I leave for the day.

I feel like I am officially moved in to Nan. This week me and one of the other girls who is working at the elementary school with me moved into the Lodge, nice hotel-like accommodations only two blocks away from school. Before, we were staying in a house that my co-teacher–Teacher Ann–rented out specifically for PiA fellows. While the house was cute and was certainly sufficient for our needs, it was too small to fit all of us there. Our third PiA fellow at our school–Sam–was unable to move in with us and took up housing at the Lodge. After a couple weeks of debating what we wanted to do, me and the other girl living with me–Haley–decided that it would be best if we moved to the Lodge as well so that we could all be together.

Haley and I moved in on Tuesday and we couldn’t be more excited about the accommodations.  (See the pictures of my room at the end of the post.)  I would relate the Lodge to that super nice dormitory you had on your college campus that everyone wanted to live in. I have my own shower and bathroom, a queen size bed, and, wait for it — air conditioning.

The one down side to the Lodge is that there are no wardrobes or shelves to put your clothes. Thus, the Farang Biker Gang (to keep you all in the loop, this is the name we have given the group of us four PiA fellows here in Nan. Farang means foreigner in Thai) went on a mission to find proper shelving units. The house we were living in before had A LOT of things from the fellows who have lived there in the past and we were told that we were welcome to take any and all of it with us. So what do we do? We hop on our bikes, ride the two blocks over to the house, and raid the place as if we are thieves coming in the middle of the night. We took a total of 8 shelves, 2 fans, 3 mirrors, 4 big sombrero/sun-hats, more mosquito repellent than humanly necessary, 28 hangers, an American flag carefully crafted by a past PiA fellow, and two many other things to count. We carried most back on a motorbike and then stuffed our bicycle baskets with fans, Christmas decorations, and cleaning supplies.

It was a successful ransack and I was pleased to have some shelves to put my clothes on. Last night I went to the market (all by myself — yes, I was very proud of myself for making this small venture solo) and bought a ton of bins with which to organize all my things. This place was like a mini Container Store but WAY cheaper. They had bins just lining the street and a long shop filled with little knick knacks. I found everything I could want and more and it only came to about $10 and spent the whole night organizing all my things.

I am happy to say that I am starting to feel very settled here. I love teaching and I am starting to know all of my kids’ names without name tags. I look forward to my nightly yoga and a big, ripe, delicious mango in the morning. And I cherish these quiet mornings where I have a few extra minutes to write.

All my love from Thailand on this beautiful 4th of July,


P.S. For all of you keeping updated on my blog through Facebook, I have come to the conclusion that while social media is a wonderful tool to stay connected with friends new and old, I would prefer to keep my blog a little more private. You are all still welcome to read and share this blog with your friends. However, I will not keep the blog updated via Facebook. Please subscribe if you want to receive email updates of when I post. If not, check back frequently because I plan on writing each week to reflect on my time and adventures here in Thailand. And as always, thank you for reading.

That Moment When

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The view of Nan from the mountain top temple we climbed to last weekend.

Ok so maybe I lied.  I can’t keep myself from writing for a month and a half simply because I have a time-consuming job and I’m studying for the MCAT.  The posts will be short and simple but in some ways, I think that can be more powerful.

Yesterday I had one of those powerful moments.  A simple realization that I think will carry me through my entire year.  I was in my first grade classroom.  We had just finished a simple spelling test and we were finishing class by doing a reading.  I read the short poem out loud to them and then they repeated each sentence after me.  My co-teacher, Teacher Ann, then proceeded to talk in front of the class, translating each word so the students could understand what the poem was actually talking about.  About 10 seconds into her talk with the students she turned to me and said: “Teacher Brenna, you can sit down.  We don’t need you right now.”  At first my ego felt a little bruised.  After all, I had been hired to teach, not sit in a chair while someone else taught my class.  But this thought quickly dissipated as I realized my purpose of coming to Thailand and teaching English was not to learn how to teach or even to challenge and learn about myself.  Sure, those things will most certainly happen during my year abroad, but I realized for the first time since being here that this was not why I am here, at Bandon Sriersm Elementary School.

I am here, I realized, to serve this community.  They did not hire me because I have outstanding credentials as a teacher or am such a spectacular person that they wanted all of their students to know.  No, I was hired because I can speak English and I can give these kids the opportunity to improve their pronunciation, improve their speaking skills, and ultimately, give them a love and desire to learn English.  It was in that moment, that realization, that I embraced sitting in the chair and watching Teacher Ann help the students translate the passage.  I could not explain to the kids exactly what each word meant.  Teacher Ann could.  And this translation is what the students needed to learn.  Not some American girl standing at the front of the class asking them to repeat each and every word until they pronounced each one correctly.  They could memorize and say the poem perfectly and it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t understand what they were saying.

It was an incredibly humbling, yet powerful, moment to fully realize that my purpose here is to serve.  I need to know when to step aside and let another teacher take over in order to enhance the students’ learning.  I remember in my interview for PiA they talked about service extensively and how each fellow has a year of service to their community.  It is what ultimately made me fall in love with the ideals of PiA and what made me want to accept this post.  However, it wasn’t until just yesterday that I fully understood what service to a community can look and feel like.

The kids put on a play to celebrate the famous Thai epic poem.  I unfortunately, could not watch the production as I had class with my younger students, who did not participate in the festivities. (It was another one of those service moments.)  But I was pulled into this photo before heading to class.

The kids put on a play to celebrate the famous Thai epic poem. I unfortunately, could not watch the production as I had class with my younger students, who did not participate in the festivities. (It was another one of those service moments.) But I was pulled into this photo before heading to class.

Not the best picture. But I promised more pictures of the kids. This is the school yard right after lunch recess. All the kids brush their teeth to this Thai pop song that constantly gets stuck in my head. I took this while stepping between small rivers of spit out water mixed with toothpaste.

Not the best picture. But I promised more pictures of the kids. This is the school yard right after lunch recess. All the kids brush their teeth to this Thai pop song that constantly gets stuck in my head. I took this while stepping between small rivers of spit out water mixed with toothpaste.



Unit One Review

If I have learned nothing more than one thing in my time in Thailand so far, it is this — teaching is hard.  I have just officially finished my first week of classes, having started on Tuesday last week and just having finished my Tuesday classes this week.  I am exhausted.  And as such, this post will be a little out of my usual style of writing.  It will take place in the form of a list.  A list of what I have learned already in my very short, yet very long week, of teaching.  And what I am excited for in the upcoming year.  

1. First graders do not know how to read.  In Thai or English.  I have given my first graders plenty of worksheets in the past week and have learned that it takes careful explanation and sometimes many examples for them to understand what I want them to do on any single assignment.  After the first day where they all quickly rambled off every single part of their body from arm to back to shoulders, I felt like I had to challenge them.  I think I have challenged them too much.  I am beginning to learn what their limitations are and how they can learn English within these parameters.  

2. The differences between first, second, and third grade is truly astounding.  With my first graders I play mostly games with a little learning and the occasional worksheet thrown in.  They jump and scream and cheer when they get a point in a game and the boys do a little dance when they win.  In second grade I barely get a “Yay!” when I say we’re going to play a game.  And during the competition there is no shouting and yelling but rather their head in their hands looking about as bored as they can possibly get while their classmate guesses the right answer.  I run third grade more like a university class than an elementary classroom (at least that’s how it feels to me in comparison to my other classes).  I feel like they are actually learning English and can compose sentences, spell words, and more or less understand what I’m saying without further instructions.  They get grades back on their papers whereas I only give checkmarks to second and first grade.  And they will have their first test this Thursday. 

3. The first graders think I know Thai.  The second graders think I’m beautiful.  The third graders — well, I’m not quite sure what they think of me.  In my first grade classroom the kids frequently speak to me in Thai.  I simply nod my head, point to their worksheet, say “Good job!” and move on to the next child.  The second graders constantly come up to me during class and between activities to tell me I’m beautiful.  Gee, thanks.  My hair is almost wet because I am sweating so much.  I have bug bites all up and down my legs and I bet you can see my pit stains because I am so hot.  But hey, I’ll take it.  

4. I’m excited to learn my student’s names without looking at their name tags.  I have been desperately trying the last week to get all their names down but inevitably when I see the kids outside of class without their name tag and not sitting in the exact spot I see them every day, I simply cannot put a name to their face.  My goal is to have all their names down in the next week.  I am already seeing some of my students outside of class on the weekend and I want to say “Hello Waydao,” or “Hello Mintra.”  And not just wave desperately, trying to think of their name, until they pass and then just mumble “Bye, so and so.”  

5.  I’m excited to learn Thai.  My co-teachers are constantly chattering to the kids in Thai and at moments the entire classroom will go silent.  I will stop and listen as to what I’m sure is a scolding.  The children look like they could just die in their seats.  I have no idea what they are saying but at times I want to know the secret to making the kids be quiet.  Plus, knowing some Thai could come in handy for explaining directions.  And maybe I could understand what those adorable first graders are telling me.  The Thai studying will have to wait though until I finish my MCAT.  That brings me to number six.

6. I am excited to finish my MCAT.  I decided not to take my MCAT in the final semester of my senior year because it was becoming too much with classes and looking for a job.  My plan was to take the MCAT in the summer after I graduated and before I started a new job.  But then, I found out I received a PiA (Princeton in Asia) fellowship that would start in early June and my plan to take the MCAT this summer needed to change.  So I packed my MCAT books (which took up WAY too much space and weight) and I am taking the MCAT abroad.  In a month and a half.  Not ideal.  I must admit, it has been tough to study so far with being so busy from teaching and also just wanting to enjoy my time in Thailand.  But I am thankful I have a housemate who is also studying for the test.  This week we have started an after school routine:

5 – 6 PM — snack and rest

6 – 7 PM — yoga

7 – 8 PM — dinner

8 – midnight — MCAT 

We will both be so happy in August when it is over. 

That brings me to my last point.  And the real reason for writing this post.  While I wish I could write on this blog every week and keep you all up to date, I have come to realize that teaching is a difficult and time-consuming career.  Add the MCAT into that mix, and I barely have enough time to sleep.  What I’m trying to say is I may be MIA until August.  Until then, I will be posting copious amounts of pictures to Facebook.  

Much love to you all.  


PS — So sorry this post has only this picture.  I wish I had photos of the kids.  They are seriously so CUTE!  Over the next month I will definitely try to accumulate a few pictures to show you all.  

Tagged ,

Pensive Rainy Morning

I am up early and the rain is pounding on the roof above. I can hear the birds chirping outside and when I open my curtains they are sitting right on the windowsill next to my bed.  It is somewhat enchanting to be woken by the call of a small bird so close to your ear at 6 am.

I have now been in Thailand just under a week and I have taught two days of class. After the first day I was so exhausted that I came home after school, watched one hour of TV on my laptop (something I rarely do) and fell asleep by 6 pm, not to wake up until 12 hours later at 6 am.


The market right across from my school.  There is where I buy all my fruit.

The market right across from my school. There is where I buy all my fruit.

I am teaching first, second, and third graders in a program called Mini English Program. The students in this program start taking English classes in kindergarten and have at least one hour (sometimes two hours) of English class every day. The first day I walked into my first grade classroom and had a lesson planned on teaching them “My name is . . . “ for the entire hour. My co-teacher, Teacher Ann, however, quickly showed me that the students knew this very simple phrase.  The students greeted me with “Good morning, Teacher.  How are you today?”

When Teacher Ann asked if anyone had a question for me.  All of their hands shot up into the air and it took every fiber in their being to stay in their seats.  We then took the next five minutes going around the room with 35 first graders asking me what my name was and how I was that day (because it was the only two questions they knew).

Now, let me take a minute out of talking about these adorable first graders for to praise my co-teacher, Teacher Ann. Teacher Ann is one of the sweetest people I have ever met and when she walks into the classroom the kids simply light up. A rowdy bunch of second graders suddenly listen and pay attention when Teacher Ann is in the room. And magically, whenever she speaks English, the children almost always understand. Teacher Ann is in my first and second grade classrooms with me to help calm the children down if needed and use a few words of Thai if the children don’t understand what I’m saying.  She has already bestowed me with treats after school and is so very supportive in helping me make lesson plans.

The temple right down the road from my school. There are temples are every other block here. It's kind of like what Starbucks is in the States (but without coffee).

The temple right down the road from my school. There are temples are every other block here. It’s kind of like what Starbucks is in the States (but without coffee).


After my first day with my first graders I realized that I would be moving much more quickly through the material than I first anticipated. The second day I had a lesson planned for body parts. I was going to go through the entire body with my third graders, but only teach the first graders head, shoulders, knees and toes. When I walked into the first grade class and said we would be learning about the body they all automatically stood up and starting singing the song “Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.” Well, there goes my entire lesson plan, I thought. I ended up teaching them my second grade lesson plan, which they easily flew through. My third grade class one hour later informed me as I drew a body up on the board which body parts I was forgetting as I did not put up elbow or forgot to label the hip.

“Teacher, teacher, what about the bottom,” one girl chanted from the back.

“Yes, the bottom. We can’t forget about that.”

The first day I walked into class I was also unaware that all of the kids have nicknames. I believe the nickname system is in place for the English teachers to better understand and remember the children’s names as their Thai names are so long and complex that there would be no way I could remember close to a hundred, five syllable names. So much to my surprise on the first day I had children introduce themselves to me as Cake, or Paint, or even Foremost. I have a Heartbeat in my second grade classroom, and a Plankton too (she’s a little girl). But I also have some very Thai sounding names as well. Liew, and Baifern, and Khaofang are a few. The children snicker whenever I say these names aloud and I know I must be saying them incorrectly. When I ask, it takes me about three times to get the right tone and then I pronounce it incorrectly again when I call on the child two minutes later.

My desk at school.  Now I understand why it is so easy to lose students' papers.

My desk at school. Now I understand why it is so easy to lose students’ papers.

I have only taught two days but already it seems like I have been here for a long time.  Whenever me and the fellow two American teachers walk onto the school campus in the morning or are on the playground between classes, just about every student turns and points.  Everywhere I turn I have a child telling me Hello.  And they are so very proud of themselves when they can ask me how I am.  I had a student in my second grade class walk into school with her mother today and she kept pointing at me behind her mother’s legs.  They smiled at me as they passed.  One my first day of class another one of my second graders came up to me during a game and whispers to me: “Teacher beautiful.”  Needless to say, I am somewhat of a worshipped goddess here.  I do not feel worthy of the praise in any way, shape or manner.  But for now I will take it.

There are so many other beautiful, and at times bewildering, things about this country. But I must save those stories for another day as the rain continues to pound on the pavement outside and I can see the lush, green trees outside my window. It is time to start my day, get ready, and head over to the school for what is sure to be another wonderful, yet interesting, day.


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