My first semester as a teacher in Thailand has officially come to a close, and it’s left me with a lot of residual feelings about what my time here means for the students, for the village, and for myself.

Two weeks ago, finals were distributed to students anxious to begin summer vacations, and a graduation ceremony was conducted with as much pomp and circumstance as I’ve ever seen in the U.S. Both the Mattayom 6 class (our 12^th grade equivalent) and the Mattayom 3 class (our 9^th grade counterpart) technically graduated. The M6s will either attend university next term or perhaps stay in Ban Phaeng to help their families in the fields or in their restaurants. The M3s will perhaps stay at our school, perhaps attend more prestigious secondary schools elsewhere in the province, maybe attend a trade school, or possibly begin working. I never had the opportunity to feel closely connected to the M6 class, but seeing my angelic M3 class disperse was pretty emotional.

The students were decorated all day long – not in caps or gowns, but in flower wreaths, bright beads, balloon hats, crowns, and colorful sashes. The morning began with all the teachers in an outward-facing circle in the school courtyard, and all students in an inward-facing circle, dancing around the teachers, singing songs of gratitude, and ultimately collapsing into a kneeling bow at their educators’ feet.

“Today’s achievements are as much the teachers’ as they are the students’,” someone standing next to me explained. The gratitude portion of the morning concluded with lengthy photo shoots, and transformed into a processional of the graduates heading into the school auditorium. Several hours of speeches took place – in line with U.S. custom – but the actual diplomas were handed out this week during a separate commencement day. Concluding the ceremony was a ribbon-tying rite, in which students kneel before their teachers and ask for a piece of string to be tied around his or her wrist. Resulting in bright ribbons adorning the student’s entire forearm, Thai tradition says that this ritual ensures a successful, multitudinous future.

The rest of the week was brimming with monotonous finals and buzzing excitement about the upcoming IEP excursion to Pattaya, a beach town outside of Bangkok. Immediately before this trip was to take place, however, a school bus in our province got into a deadly collision – the result of drunk driving that is, tragically, somewhat common here. My school director immediately stepped into action and forbade our students from the upcoming 16-hour journey to the south.

This was a pretty heartbreaking turn of events, both for the school that lost many of its students and teachers, and for my own students, who I knew were deeply disappointed by the cancellation of their summer plans. Instead, our staff scrambled to create an alternate field trip within a more reasonable distance to the province of Buriram.

That Monday morning, everyone convened in the school parking lot at 4am to embark on a road trip that would involve a breakfast stop, a lunch stop, and four Seven-Eleven / Café Amazon / gas station stops over the span of about nine hours. The trip was gruelling, although I shouldn’t complain because I was in the specialty teacher van instead of the raucous school bus (which I attempted for one leg of the trip… only to return to the comfort of the van at the next possible opportunity).

Our day-long journey ended at Buriram Castle, the Buriram United Football (soccer) Team stadium. Students had the chance to wander around, take photos, and buy dinner at the outdoor market. The next day led us to the trip highlight – Phanom Rung Historical Park – consisting of ruins from the Khmer Empire standing upon an extinct volcano. It was about 100 degrees and there was no reprieve from the blazing Thai sun anywhere, but the ruins were stunning, the kids were happy, and it seemed as if everything had worked out for our class trip.

We spent the night in a surprisingly nice resort, and I think it was as much fun for me to have a two-day slumber party with the other teachers as it was for the students to have that experience with their friends. Our last morning, I separated from the teachers and joined the students in their spontaneous river swimming, which I think surprised and delighted everyone, including myself.

Immediately upon returning from the field trip, Grace arrived in Nakhon Phanom! Boom, being as kind as she is, drove to pick her up, and from that moment on, I was able to validate my unceasing stories about Thai kindness (and proclivity towards photography) to someone from home. On our stroll to the Thursday Night Market, Mom Tome spotted us and immediately hailed us over for photos.

The following day, Grace joined me at school, which is now emptied of students as teachers work to complete grading and submit final scores. Noiz surprised us with cake, Kru Wijit brought us pizza, and Teacher Jon took us out to lunch (after seeing us walking to the market, and insisting he not only give us a ride, but also treat us).

In the afternoon, I wanted to introduce Grace to Mom Teung, and the moment we walked into her office, we were greeted with freshly baked corn on the cob. “Sit down, please,” she invited us in the typical Thai phrasing. As the three of us ate and partially-communicated, partially just laughed about being unable to communicate, I mentioned that I wanted Grace to try khao niew piag, my favorite dessert. Immediately, Mom Teung stood up. “I’m calling to Pi Poo,” she announced to us. She proceeded to have Pi Poo send a student to her classroom, to whom she then gave money and instructions to go to the market and purchase this dessert for Teacher Sammy and her friend. When the student returned empty-handed – they were sold out – she pressed him to keep the money and try again tomorrow (a Saturday), at which point he was to deliver the treat to my house. Saturday morning came around, and at my door stood this 11^th grade student with my special delivery in hand.

It down poured all day Saturday, letting up just in time for Grace and me to walk to Pi Ole’s for dinner. She spoiled us with many dishes and desserts, and halfway through the meal exclaimed to Grace, “Oh! I forgot to say, ‘Nice to meet you’!” I think everyone was excited to show off their improved English with a new farang. After dinner, Pi Ole set up bedding for us in case the storm continued and we could not get home. Later, she reconsidered, thinking that maybe we wanted to spend more time on our own, so she called her brother to leave his current outing, pick us up in his car, and return us to my cottage.

On Sunday, a friend who teaches at the primary school, Pinky (Goi, in Thai), found out that Grace and I were craving Pad Thai, so she retrieved us at my home to share in some with us. “What time is your bus back?” She questioned Grace. When Grace replied with the time, Pinky said “Ok, I will come drive you then.” That’s Thai style – any voiced concern, or even just any casual statement, is met with an affirmation of aid.

Candidly speaking, I’m a bit nervous about what my five months of teaching here have actually meant for the students. I’m increasingly aware of the transitory role I play at this school and in this village. I do know that the students and teachers alike have become more comfortable speaking English with me, and that alone is something I’ll count as a win as far as my teaching status goes. For my personal development, would it be cliché to make some sort of comment about how I can no longer recognize the version of me who first arrived here? I’m not actually sure if that’s the case, but it is amusing to think that five months is all that it took for the strangers of Ban Phaeng to become my second family. I do know that on my field trip, as I walked alongside Thai students and teachers, past foreign tourists, I thought to myself, “There go some farangs.” Funny how a little bit of time can so drastically change ones perspective.

That being said, my upcoming six weeks of backpacking around South East Asia have me completely stoked to temporarily forfeit my role as a teacher and reclaim the label of “tourist.”

Until Cambodia, everyone.