It's been a while. I'm sorry.
I'm ready now.
I want to start with an explanation. It's been over 4 months since anyone back home has really heard from me (but in the words of Willie Nelson, you were always on my mind). Some of us have had a quick chat here and there, during the brief periods in which both of us are awake and unoccupied. I promised you I'd write a blog. I promised myself I'd write a blog. Why has it taken 4 months for me to write a blog?
I would tell you things have been too crazy. Things have been too busy. Things have been hectic and emotional and exciting and confusing. All of these things are true; Pre-Service Training (PST) was a whirlwind of language training, technical training, time with host families, practicum, RULES, and those sweet few minutes a day we could spend with our fellow volunteers. The first month at site has gone quickly too; I now have slightly more autonomy, but also far less support. There are no staff members or other volunteers here. My unfamiliarity with the region, and my quest to build yet another new support system and make a good impression with my limited Thai has left me feeling child-like much of the time. It's been time-consuming, if wonderful.
Despite all this, I've made time to do things that are important to me. But I still haven't written for you, and I believe that if you've promised something, you can and should make the time to fulfill that promise. The more honest and straightforward truth is that I didn't have the right lens yet. How do you concentrate your feelings and experiences in to a concise snippet when every single day is a barrage of new experiences, new friends, new words? How do you organize and share those thoughts and experiences while still leaving enough time to go through the motions of daily life?
I've failed at blogs in the past for this same reason. At first there is so much to talk about. Too much to possibly describe in detail. But by the time you've settled into your new routines, these new things have become commonplace. Even the unfamiliarity itself is the new normal. Your eyes no longer shine, and the urgent feeling of "I have to tell people about this" fades. I'm scared of that happening, so I'm starting now. I've been taking notes. Even if it becomes normal for me, I promise to find the time to tell you. So I'll tell you about the first new normal that comes to mind.
My name here is Nam-Taan. It means sugar. It was a name given to me by my Thai language ajaan (teacher) when I lamented the fact that so many of the other volunteers had been given beautiful Thai pet names by their host families. I assumed the origin of the name was a kind of a joke; I definitely prefer unsweetened coffee, and in Thailand, all coffee is sweetened. People don't believe you when you tell them you want your coffee mai wan (not sweet). They cock an eyebrow and ask "wan noi?" (You mean, a little sweet?) So I have to clarify as best I can and start throwing out all kinds of phrases. "Mai wan. Mai sai nom wan. Sai nom juud. Mai sai nam-taan." (Not sweet. Without sweetened condensed milk. With plain milk. Without sugar). Sometimes they get it right. Sometimes it's wan noi regardless. Once I was handed a large glass of milk (at least it wasn't sweet!)
One day my ajaan pulled me aside. She told me why she chose the name for me. Apparently she saw through my overly chatty tough girl act pretty quickly, and that was that. When my paw aw (school director) asked if I had a Thai name, I told them that my ajaan named me Nam-Taan. It stuck immediately. He texted the whole village telling them that Nam-Taan was coming.
In the past month, I have heard my real name only a few times from some of the teachers, and it always catches me off guard. Nam-Taan is my new normal now. Everything is new here. Even me.