I Too Am a Foreigner

This is a post I have contemplated for years, but have been hesitant to write. First off, It’s not meant to be political or suggest open borders. I see valid points on both sides of the immigration issue and offer no political solutions.

Secondly, I don’t want to make unfair comparisons. Unlike some of my foreign friends from other nations, I’ve never fled a house being burned by soldiers. I can go back “home” anytime I want.

Thirdly, I have a wonderful network of local friends who have helped me navigate life in Thailand. By highlighting my inner struggles, I do not want to discredit the kindness of 90% of my neighborhood.

But despite all that, I feel an affiliation with those well-intentioned global nomads who are wandering far away from the country of their birth. Some of us have “figured out” life in our host country, and most of us are still working on the lifelong process. When I’ve met a stranger in Thailand who stares at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, these are the things I’ve often wished I could tell them.

1. In my country, I was once a competent adult.
   I don’t know how many times (especially in my first year here) I’ve stood in the grocery store attempting to read the tiny Thai script on the back of a product. I want desperately to explain to the person next to me that I’m really not stupid. I once understood chemistry and calculus. But right now I need help telling the difference between a bag of flour and powdered sugar. My pancakes with maple-flavored syrup (which Thais think reeks of urine) depend on it.
   
   
2. My odd habits are shared by millions of unseen others.
   I’ve tried to adopt Thai customs that do not conflict with my own religious or personal convictions. But it’s hard to kick the bizarre American within. My Thai friends may never understand why I have a little round machine on my kitchen ceiling whose sole purpose seems to be alerting the neighbors that I burned another batch of popcorn. Once, Nate went outside to explain the beeping sound to a concerned neighbor. He used the wrong tone/verb when explaining the pot of burnt beans, and essentially explained that the reason smoke was billowing out of the kitchen was that he had just lost his virginity. Which leads me to the next point.
   
   
3. I’m trying harder than you think to learn your language and culture.
   But “picking up” a language as an adult is not as intuitive as I thought. When I make mistakes and sound like a child, please know I’m trying my best. If you speak clearly and simply, I can probably figure it out. When I revert to hanging out with my English-speaking friends, it’s not because I don’t love your culture. It’s just nice to occasionally have a conversation where I understand 100% of the words. Or to have a listener understand what I mean when I talk about a “Thanksgiving dinner” or “living on a farm” or…“a pot of burnt beans.”
   
   
4. Not all foreigners are alike.
   Southeast Asia attracts many backpackers and long-term residents. Some are lovely. Others get drunk and do extremely offensive and illegal things like taking selfies on top of ancient, sacred structures. I’m terribly sorry for the way foreigners have mistreated this culture and its people. I know I will make many of my own mistakes, but please give me a chance to learn through relationship. I am extremely grateful for my many Thai friends and neighbors who have taken that risk.

Perhaps some of the residents where you live can relate to these sentiments. Foreigners around the globe, you see, are real people. When it comes to immigration laws in the voting booth, vote as you see fit. I don't have answers. But when you meet a struggling immigrant face-to-face in Walmart, I can only see one Biblical way to respond—love. If you’re not sure what that looks like, a smile is a good place to start. The next time you see a foreigner grappling with your language or culture, please think of me. With smelly foods, weird customs, and a thick accent to boot, I, too, am a foreigner.

For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me...I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me.

Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Choosing Gratitude

Today when I woke up, there was no water. Actually that’s not entirely true. There was just enough water left in the pipes to drench the load of soapy, stinky laundry I planned to wash. 

Ironically, today was supposed to be cleaning day. I have the house to myself for a rare five-hour-stretch while Nate goes to work and a friend takes the girls to VBS. All month I had looked forward to giving the house a long-overdue cleaning—until our water pump broke.

Maybe I’m just glad for an excuse to NOT clean. Maybe I know that many of my friends are facing troubles bigger than a water pump. But whatever the reason, as I stared at my empty faucet, I couldn't resist finding irony and humor in the situation. Water always go out at inconvenient times. Like the time I dropped a liter of oil on my apartment floor. Today, like most days, I have a choice to make to be angry or grateful. 

• Angry at the broken water pump. Or grateful that we normally have clean water available in multiple rooms in our house.
  
• Resentful that my introverted day has been invaded with questions, conversations, and a team of workers who keep entering the house to turn off the electrical breaker. Or thankful that I have five people at my house who are trying to help.
  
• Annoyed with the pile of wet/dirty laundry. Or grateful for a street filled with coin operated washing machines. (Better yet, thankful for a husband who offered to wash the laundry outside by hand before leaving for work!)
  
• Frustrated that I can’t take a shower. Or thankful (as everyone else who keeps filtering through the house should be) that the water didn’t go out yesterday right after I finished my 7-mile run.
  
• Bitter by the change of schedule. Or content knowing that God arranged this in His schedule.

Today’s perspective does not guarantee tomorrow’s emotions. If I wake up with no water tomorrow I will have a choice to make all over again. But for today, may I choose gratitude.

A Holiday to Celebrate Kids

Every holiday season, my Facebook feed is flooded with pictures of cultural celebrations—Christmas lights, picnics, egg hunts and costume parties of which my children are mostly oblivious. While it’s nice to have input on how much junk food and cultural materialism they consume each season, I do feel a tinge of mom-guilt knowing they are “missing out” on the holiday excitement.

“Children’s Day”, held the second January each year in Thailand, is all of that in reverse. It’s a day to celebrate kids. Every mall, tourist attraction and hospital (yes, hospital) throws a party guaranteed to hold loud music, games, and enough sugar to meet your dietary needs for the month. But of all the parties in the city, I have to believe our neighborhood throws the best.

The festivities started at 7:30 Saturday morning when the local government speakers blared directly into our kitchen announcing (for 10 straight minutes) that it was time to make our way to our local community center. Apparently sleeping in is not a traditional way to enjoy the day.

Upon arriving, I was reminded how densely populated our community is.  At least 800 people, mostly seated in little plastic chairs, were waiting for the party to begin. Celebratory music boomed over the loud speaker loudly enough for us to hear at our house ½ a mile away.

We spent the first 20 minutes looking for a friend we had agreed to meet. Nate helpfully reminded me that we were looking for the mom with black hair.

We watched a presentation by several local school groups and listened to a song performed by our church. Next came the dispersal of door prizes that included everything from Ramon noodles, to bicycles, to several small washing machines.

Then chaos broke loose. It was time to eat. Dozens of individuals showed up to serve noodles, rice dishes, coconut drinks, and every type of Thai snack you can imagine. The mass of 800 patiently pushed their way through the tables devouring everything in sight.

Feels like trick-or-treating. But without the scary monsters and awkward costumes.

“A” enjoying durian flavored ice cream and me with a bowl of spicy noodle soup. The soup was delicious once I picked out the lumps of congealed pigs’ blood.

Just in case you couldn’t get enough food on the spot, other volunteers set up games, offering bundles of take-home snacks for every winner and loser. Each mom carried a large tote bag to store the loot. The “want-to-be-anti-sugar" side of me cringed at each bag of chips, but the rest of me was secretly giddy knowing that all such items would receive a “mom tax.” Moms have needs too.

One of the most intriguing hand-outs: “French Fried Snack with Strawberry Milk Dip.”

Festivities in the neighborhood went on all day at a couple different local venues with people congregating to pass out cake, yogurt, and even one-size-fits-all children’s pants. It was a day of seeing old neighborhood friends, and feeling undeservingly welcomed into our tight-knit community.

We may have missed out on the turkey gravy and Christmas lights this year, but Thailand definitely has a celebratory culture of its own. I’m thankful for a community that loves kids and invites us to join in their party.