The Thought of Forever (or Five Minutes)

2019

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                                                      2020




New Years Day. I stepped off the plane and wearily made my way off of the plane from Chiang Mai. I hadn't slept at all the night before, due to the New Year's Eve festivities, and was eager to return to my own bed. But I still had a ways to go: from Bangkok, a four hour bus ride, followed by a half hour van ride, followed by a twenty minute taxi ride with a cranky driver was between me and rest.

Out of the boarding bridge, the vast windows of Suvarnabhumi airport reveal its geometric garden planted just outside. Its bushes grow in the shape of lotuses, its grass trimmed in a lighter kelly green. It is encircled by the shark-fin arches of the terminal. It's sort of an ironic sight: amidst the chaos of angry metal, flight delays, and crying babies, the garden remains empty and tranquil.

A thought occured to me that slowed my hurried pace a bit: I was here one year ago. I have lived in Thailand for an entire year. It was such a bizarre thing to comprehend, and as I'm writing this it still is.

I remember the day with complete clarity. I got off the plane with twice the amount of luggage I had now, wearing a hot pink paisley shirt (yikes), my hair bobbed at my shoulders and disheveled from the 17 hour trip. Other trainees stared off in a daze around me, as we were put in a line to receive our necklaces made of white and purple flowers and our room keys for the hotel. My eyes were still swollen with tears from all the goodbyes two days before. I felt alone and scared, then turned around and saw the garden. For a girl who has only left North America one other time before this (for two weeks when she was 15), this felt like the most magical sight. 

"One year," is a unique quantity of time. The first anniversary of anything has a special tint to it, whether it be happy or sad, because it has made an entire rotation around the sun and remained true throughout. It is also, I have found, I highly debated topic, with two major arguments: "One year?! That's basically FOREVER!!" or "One year?? That's nothing!!" I have yet to decide which camp I fall into. For me, it varies. It has certainly been forever since I walked Tilly in our favorite park, or given grandmom a kiss on the cheek, or made Megan laugh until she makes a noise like a deflating balloon. It has been forever since I watched an O's game with friends, had a decent glass of wine, and driven a car to wherever, whenever I please. It has been forever since I could picture home with every line, color, and detail it provides.

On the other hand, I have been a teacher for approximately five minutes. I have known all 350 students names for three. I have played with Bua the dog for a minute and a half, and try to steal and extra 20 seconds when I have a long weekend. These relationships, while getting stronger, still have the afternoon and evening left to grow.

So, a year is difficult to quantify. And then it hits me, in the words of the great Bon Jovi, "we're [only] half way there."

I cannot tell which is scarier: the thought of another forever, or the thought of another five minutes.

The experiences in the past year, whether they passed quickly or slowly, have shaped Emily into someone different. She has her own home where she makes ramen for dinner.  She is (getting to be) somewhat fluent in Thai, or at least enough to know when a taxi driver is trying to rip her off. She rides a bike to work if she does not feel like walking. She can travel from the top of Thailand to the bottom independently without thinking much of it. If fruit has ants on it, she flicks them off and eats it anyway (don't be wasteful). The people she have met have are from all walks of life, some frustrating and some complicated and some hilarious and some uplifting (they certainly have had a hand in making this person, too). She is not completely confident in her abilities as a teacher, and has not fully gained an understanding of confidence.

She's not necessarily better, but she's new, so certainly a work in progress.

December was the month that tested this person the most, as I knew it would. I missed my family and friends more than I ever had, and was wondering how I could possibly go another year without them.

But on January 1st, looking at that same garden I looked at a year ago, I started taking deeper breaths, deeper than they had been in a while. Because, somewhere in all of this, that girl who stepped off the plane, the one who was forty pounds heavier and left a four year relationship and had no knowledge of life outside of Baltimore Maryland and believed hot pink paisley shirts were a good idea, that girl got her shit together, and became this one. Not perfect, but something to be proud of.

There's so much more growing a learning to do, so many more questions to be asked, more mistakes to be made, more people to meet, more work to be done.

I only hope I can do it all in five minutes.

Happy Anniversary, Thailand.