I don’t know how life keeps up its busy pace here in Thailand. I certainly don’t feel like I’m going fast enough to keep up with it. Perhaps that’s because December was so busy with activities, illness, travel, and what-have-you that I slacked off in my running and now I’m not on my game like I used to be. Or maybe it’s because just when I think I’ve got everything under control–academically, relationally, spiritually, emotionally, personally, athletically, financially, and every other -ally there is–God interrupts me and says, “I think we need to talk about all those other issues you’ve shoved under the rug for the past few years,” and He throws me all out of whack.
You would think that when everything’s out of whack, the obvious answer is: a deep-tissue massage. Duh! So my friend Amy and I went to get one the other day. I mean, why not? when they’re the equivalent of a few US dollars, it’s worth it. I’ve only had a massage one other time here in Thailand and that was a foot and leg massage which felt ohmygosh SOO good. Relaxing, restful, put-you-to-sleep comfort. But the deep tissue massage wasn’t quite like that. Jeez, it literally felt like she was trying to shred my trapezius and scapulae muscles and I just wanted to say, “I swam butterfly in high school, lady. They’re not going anywhere!” But I kept my mouth shut and thanked God I only got a half-hour massage instead of an hour.
Okay, we’ll make the deep-tissue massage an annual thing instead of a monthly thing. Any other options?
How geeky is it for me to confess that a major stress-reliever for me is doing homework? But it makes sense, when you think about it. It’s like getting rid of the cancer by removing the tumor–the source of the problem. The geeky element of this though, is that the very act of doing homework is kind of therapeutic for me. Oh yes, the economics, the theology, the history and sociology… I feel at home in it. So I often spend a good bit of my weekends at a coffee shop with my beloved Kindle in hand, language books and papers surrounding me. I’m on a first-name basis with my baristas, one in particular who always asks me, “Did you come alone?” which seems like an obvious question when I sit at my laptop and do homework for hours without another foreigner in sight. My friend Christy says that they’re really good at remembering what one’s usual drink is, but I’m afraid I’m not the type to have a usual; in fact, I firmly believe that my habit of getting something different every time is reflective of the rest of the chaos in my life. But that too–coffee, I mean–is probably another little wonder when it comes to keeping order in my life.
I suppose different people cope with stress in different ways. One other thing I like to do when I’m stressed is to break the rules; and there are plenty of rules to be broken in Thailand. Never anything serious, only a little lacking in propriety. Pushing the envelope, but never in overtly offensive ways. I’ve even invented words for these things: anything that would be a very Thai thing to do is “Thai-propriate” and anything un-Thai is “mai-propriate” (“mai” is no/not in Thai). So I’m generally a little mai-propriate.
But one thing I haven’t worked up the courage to do (nor do I know anyone who has done it) is to touch a monk. For a woman to touch a monk is about the most mai-propriate thing a person could do, which obviously makes it a temptation every time I see a man in the saffron robes walk past. But somehow, I’ve left that boundary unbreached. It’s a little more in-your-face than I generally play things, and to avoid the temptation, I rarely even make eye contact with monks which they kind of do to me too, so we end up in a shifty-eye exchange until we pass by one another.
A couple weeks ago, I was in Happyland (which really is the Happiest Land, being a food court of special magnificence and deliciousness) and a truck was driving around through the narrow streets with an old monk sitting in the trunk bed blessing people as the truck drove past. He was sitting in a pile of flowers and other offerings that people gave him as he passed by, and in return for their reverential gifts, he would sprinkle a Buddhist version of holy water on them by dipping a big bouquet of reeds into the water and shaking it on them.
So he’s going around doing his thing and I’m standing with my back towards him in a line at a fruit cart waiting for some sour mango. I know the truck is right behind me because it’s playing music rather loudly and the heat from the engine is radiating onto the back of my calves. And suddenly, I get a sprinkle of water and a gentle *whack!!* on the back of my head, and with a stunned look of utter confusion and shock, I turn around and see the old guy in the flowy orange fabric grinning at me from the truck bed. I’m told that my face at that moment was the most hilarious thing ever.
I learned later that the nuance of the “no touching” rule is that you can’t touch with your body, but using an instrument (like a bouquet of reeds dipped in holy water) to touch someone is okay. I guess I received quite a blessing from that monk. He kind of changed my perspective of monks, and I’m grateful for that, though I can’t say I’m no longer tempted to touch one and give him a shock…
I think the biggest stress relief about being in Thailand is Thailand itself. The culture is comfortable, the people are supremely gracious, and it provides plenty of opportunities for my humiliation and subsequent amusement (like the time I did a backwards somersault on a very crowded bus and almost tumbled into the bus driver, but that’s another story for another blog post.) I feel like there couldn’t be a more welcoming country to come to from the far side of the world, and the longer I live here, the more endearing the people and culture are to me. So unless I go pat a monk on the head or something and cause myself to be kicked out of the country, I think Thailand and I will continue to enjoy each other quite well. And I hope I can be of some good here, because Lord knows it’s doing a number on me.
