The knowledge that I have only 50 days left in Thailand, combined with this past weekend’s WorldTeach session on cultural readjustment and all the grief that is intertwined with reverse culture shock, has made me accutely aware of how developed – and beautiful – my life in Ban Phaeng is.

I wonder if we only truly absorb the world surrounding us twice: once when we’re entering it with eyes that are wide, and once when we’re exiting it with eyes that are wistful.

I remember some on my first runs in the fields behind my house, the innumerable stars serving as a much grander source of light than any fixture. It was winter and the weather was cool. I contemplated staying forever amongst the beauty and the calm.
Rainy season has since rendered those fields unrunable, coating my path in mud that reaches my ankles. Instead, I ran around my school, a tropical haven that only became clear to me one evening after a particularly big storm. The sky was sepia-toned, the storm having drained the colors of the sunset into a bleary brown. Against this backdrop (and quenched by the past three months’ relentless rain), the foliage took on such a hue of neon green that it was nearly blinding. Why had I never noticed the rows upon rows of palm trees before, I wondered. The reality is that I had, in the beginning, before I allowed the awe of my surroundings to become average.

 
It was my mom’s visit that shook me out of familiarity and created for me – for the first time in the past 9 months – an alternative point of reference. Through her eyes, I saw how strange it could be to have bathrooms without toilet paper or sinks, to have the plumbing stop working with no warning or explanation, to have ants swarm the most minimal crumb, to be familiar with gecko vs. frog droppings, to watch people burn trash in their streets. Through her mouth (and watering eyes), I understood the extent to which my palette for spice and fish sauce has developed. Through her ears, I recognized how familiar with both the Thai accent and the Thai language I have become. I don’t speak much Thai, I warned her. You understand and reply to everything, she said dubiously, affirming for me a skill that I had unknowingly developed.

 
Her visit granted me a fun excursion around Bangkok and the ancient Thai capitol of Ayutthya. It granted me wine nights and Gilmore Girls marathons with my favorite companion for both of those activities. For those things, Mom, I am grateful. What it more importantly granted me was a sense of self when I was maybe – just maybe – beginning to lose it. It granted me a not only reassuring, but proud, perspective on all that I have endured, all that I have learned, and all that I have created. For these things, Mom, I am transformed.

 
Through my Mom’s feelings, I felt the friendships that I have established here. Kru Wijit insisted on picking us up from the airport, taking us to dinner, and keeping us in her family’s village (and her sister’s home) for the night. Pi Ole cooked us dinner, Noiz took us to the hospital to visit Mom Toom, everyone got in a queue for various lunch outings, and Pi Boom took us to have our hair and makeup done for the school’s ASEAN Festival. My students were thrilled and giggly in my mom’s presence, and my M3 boys (freshmen equivalent) played a concert for her one afternoon. This reaffirmed to me, too, how special the kids I have are.

 
These past few days, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking back to how things began in Ban Phaeng. I remember being in an office full of Thai-speakers, doing anything that I could to get a grasp on any given conversation. I would repeat snippets of words I had heard back to them, or simply address someone and ask what the topic of discussion was. It wasn’t always comfortable, it was regularly embarrassing, and I’m not sure if it was ever polite; but I was determined to be a part of this world.

 
My WorldTeach friends and I have spent a lot of time discussing the words that could capture our experiences as teacher in Thailand. While we’ve considered the concepts of resilience and strength, adaptability and patience (and the ways in which those words are the most beautiful and fitting for them), the singular word that defines my time here is vulnerability. I have opened my heart in many more ways than I expected this year. The returns I have seen for saying “yes” to every situation into which I was invited – and often times even inserting myself in situations to which no invitation was present at all – have been innumerable.

 
As a farang, I saw two routes for my time here. I could stand out because of my appearance, or I could stick out because of my personality. My blonde hair and blue eyes and big butt were always going to be a topic of conversation. I figured I had more to contribute to the gossip mill than that, though. I wanted to show who I am, so I behaved the way that I would amongst my friends. The first time I felt close to Pi Ole, she was laying on her stomach on the gym floor after a teacher exercise class. I went and laid down on top of her, an action that generated a look of shock on the other teachers’ faces, followed by hysterical laughter, followed by their joining in. This is a sequence of reactions with which I have become familiar. From licking my finger and boldly wiping a smudge off of a fellow teacher’s face to taking off my shoes and jumping in the school floods, I have risked breaking minor cultural norms in favor of creating my own space in this school.

 
Now, I am familiar with these teachers’ likes and dislikes, their personalities, their families, their homes. We share office jokes and individual jokes. We switch between languages depending on the circumstances, and students squeal with delight when they hear two Thai teachers conversing in English (I do, too). Monsoon season has claimed my electricty and my water (think: no lights past 6pm, no AC or fan, no way to charge my phone, no wifi, and a fridge full of rotting food that drew in many-a-creature) and the teachers tease me about hen – “bad smell” – due to my inability to bathe (I have, despite my situation, found ways to bathe, don’t worry). Today, when a teacher had to run to the bathroom, I announced to my office, key – “diahrrea” – to which everyone responded, You tease just like you’re Thai! You are more Thai than American, now!

 
There are certainly things I have absorbed here that do make me feel fully ingrained. I have become fluent in the language of the rain, able to discern at what point the storm will break from the noise of the frogs, or the rate at which the humidity clamps in on us. Class cancellations no longer suprise me, so accustomed have I become to the factors that will add up to a day off. I have been trained to cut pineapples and mangos properly. I say, pai nai kha – “where are you going?” – as a reflex in accordance with this common Thai question. I have learned deference, always serving water to everyone at the table, because I am the youngest and this is my duty.

 
I recognize these big changes, and I recognize the little changes, too. I saw an appliance magazine the other day, and realized that I had forgotten about the existence of dishwashers. Another time, a friend on the phone in America was going to a liquor store before 5pm – But it’s not open yet, I countered, only then remembering that this Thai law does not exist back home.

 
At the same time, that which is ingrained in me from 24 years in America shows itself as well. One day, in the backseat of a car with Boom, I asked John to turn around from the front and take a picture of us. He was on the left-hand side, and he asked me if I was joking. I’m driving! he announced. It didn’t register. Even after all of my months here, without being able to see the wheel of the car, my brain could not adjust to the fact that the driver wasn’t on the right.

 
About halfway through my time here when I decided not to extend my stay, I remember explaining to a friend, “It’s because I’m ready to come back to the U.S. and start my life.” You’re living your life right now, whether you’re in the States or not, she told me. Sure, I was living my life, but I hadn’t started it. Teaching abroad was an opportunity to broaden my career possiblities and personal capabilities through two of my favorite arenas: travel and working with children. I couldn’t ignore the year-long expiration stamp, though.

 
How close-minded I had been. It does not matter if you get to experience something beautiful for only one year or only one month or only one minute. You got to experience it. For whatever time frame allotted to you, it was yours. I wish that when I had posted fifty days ago, I would have recognized that there was so much more to my day-to-day life than wishing it would pass me by faster. I suppose that the sadness and boredom I felt then can serve to amplify the contentment and appreciation I feel now.

 
I am grateful for the version of vulnerability I felt as I wrote my last post – a longing to confide my dysphoria in everyone back home – and the way it has propelled me to the version of vulnerability that I feel today – a longing to immerse myself even more deeply into this culture, even if it will make parting that much more difficult.

 
I cannot say what’s next for me after Thailand. I can’t even say what’s next for me after today, because there’s some sort of festival tomorrow, the details of which remain unclear. What I can confidently say, is that I will cherish the next 50 days in this country with wistful eyes and an open heart. 50 days isn’t a lot of time left, but it’s mine.