Greng Jai: The Rise and Fall

I sit across the table from my two counterparts, both waiting for me to begin. I close my eyes to organize my thoughts. This is the first meeting the three of us have had since the Reconnect conference, where we sharpened our skills as volunteers and gained new ideas to use in the classroom. My toolbelt had been completely refurbished, and now was the time to show it to my fellow builders.

After being with other farangs for the past two and a half weeks, my instinct was to talk about all the new adjustments to be made at 90 mph English. I knew- or was pretty sure I knew- what we as a team should begin focusing on. I wanted to get it all out in one breath while I still had the guts to say it at all. But as I sat across from them, I hesitated, pressing my thumb into my palm. I needed to reset myself. I wasn't shooting the shit with peers over beers anymore. I was home. It was time to get back to work.

As I briefly summarized in my last post, most of Reconnect in Prathum Thani was a blur. There were many inspiring moments, ones of learning, of laughing, and of "Oh my GOD, I get it now!" that we longed for since we first arrived at site. There were also moments we all could have done without, moments of frustration, of second-guessing, and even moments of goodbyes.

Among the haze of those weeks, there is a time I remember that would not necessarily fall under either category. It was my meeting with my program manager.  This was a one-on-one meeting where I had the chance to tell her how I was doing at site and what additional support I could get from her. I had prepared all week for it, obsessively writing the same notes in different notebooks and google docs: How often should I be assessing my students?? Frequency of reading and writing with Prathom 1?? MATTAYOM MATTAYOM MATTAYOM do NOT forget to ask about Mattayom!!!

We sat across from each other in two oversized plush armchairs, a seemingly too casual setting for the amount of importance I had placed on this discussion. She crossed her legs, folded her hands over her lap, and simply said "So, how are things?" I immediately began spurting out comments and questions, bouncing from one topic to another, my eyes flitting from hers to my laptop to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything.

I must not have been the first half-crazed volunteer she has ever dealt with, because every ball I pitched, she hit. "The frequency you are assessing them sounds fine, Prathom 1 should have just as much reading practice as all your other grades, have you considered Project Based Learning for Mattayom?"

I typed furiously, and it took her a few times of saying my name before I realized she had stopped giving me notes. I looked away from the screen to see she was smiling at me, softly. She said "Your counterpart tells me you are too greng jai at site. I think it is time to do less of that."

I must have looked at her with an incredulous expression without meaning to, because she asked "do you not agree?" I stared ahead of me and thought for a moment, then murmured "I guess I do."

The term greng jai does not have a direct translation in English, so I will give you the examples that introduced me to it. When my host grandmother continuously refilled my plate to the point where I thought I would burst, my host father would say "You don't have to eat what we give you, don't feel like you have to be greng jai." Pi Oh always drives me to the van station whenever I have to leave town,  insisting "do not be greng jai with me, you are my sister. I will take you whenever you need." When I give an idea in planning meetings that is met with smiles and nods and zero critiques or criticisms, it's not because my idea was flawless and adored by all, it is because my staff is being greng jai. It is politeness to a fault, foregoing honesty or bluntness due to a fear of offending. This behavior, I have come to learn, is extremely Thai.

But in these past few weeks, when I think of that meeting in the puffy armchairs, I laugh to myself. I find it humorous that there is no word for greng jai in English, because it is also extremely American. Actually, no, it's not American, I correct myself. It's extremely Emily. 

My coteacher and program manager were right, of course, that I was being greng jai at school. I, too, would accept others ideas with smiles and nods and no feedback, or would say yes to every staff meeting or extra curricular event no matter how tired I was.

But my greng jai habits did not start at site. I remember not daring to say what was really on my mind during PST, terrified of standing out and desperate to make friends. Or now, when I get frustrated with other volunteers, I would much rather call my mom and fume about it than confront said volunteer with my annoyance.

And even further than Peace Corps, it really did not start in Thailand at all. I had been greng jai before I even knew there was a word for it. When I recall these moments my face gets hot: the boss at my last job who told me I handled things poorly, which I accepted without stating that he was in fact to blame; sitting at a dinner table with relatives who made outright offensive comments about many groups of people, that I chose to dodge by staring down at my plate; ranting and raving about how my friend pissed me off to every single person except that friend herself.

In Peace Corps, your biggest lifelong challenges seem to always meet you face-to-face in their own special way. My challenge is, and always was, that I am desperate to fit in, no matter what I have to do to get there. And usually, my way of getting there is greng jai: saying yes, keeping my head down, allowing others to do the rest. But when you live in a country that is not your own, and you yes and you yes and you yes some more, you eventually stop thinking about what you are "yes-ing" to. It starts to define you.

I did not realize it then, but the moment my program manager smiled at me, the wall between me and greng jai began to collapse. And soon enough, I had a hold on it. This was the time I needed to decide whether or not I was going to take control of this experience, or if I would let it fade me out, nodding my head into the ground.

I opened my eyes, my two counterparts still staring back at me. I straightened, tied my hair in a high bun and double clicked my pen.

"Alright, ladies. Here's the plan..."