Graduation Day: Chock Dee, by Alix Seyfarth

Friday was a special day for students and teachers alike. It was graduation day for Mattayom 3 and 6 students, and while I was aware of ‘graduation day’, the festivities blew me away. I really shouldn’t have been surprised…

An Atypical Day, by Valerie Lopez 

9:00 am rolls around and I stare out my window hoping, eagerly awaiting the glimpse of a car, or a motorcycle, ready to whisk me off to school. Does this sound a little too industrious? Maybe, but the past two weeks have been littered with class cancelations...

Kara Schoonmaker’s Reflections on Teaching in Thailand 

Teaching in Thailand has not at all been what I expected. At first, there was the initial shock of entering the school system and learning what a typical day at a Thai high-school is really like...

Beyond the Map’s Edges, by Patricia Ferrero 

“Teacher, ban thi nai?” The circle of 3^rd grade girls tightens around me, making me feel claustrophobic on the open-air hallway connecting the classrooms on the second floor. The notebook is shoved pleadingly in my face...  

“Oops” Moments Made in Thailand, by Stephanie Paguio 

Today, I introduced a new expression for the week to my students, which was “Excuse me.” I explained to them that it was usually used when we accidentally bump into people and when we need to get someone’s attention...

Just Another Day Like No Other, by Caitlyn Pisarski
Each day I am growing more accustomed to the unexpected. Last minute schedule changes, unannounced visitors, and random tasks assigned at seemingly inappropriate times are all status quo here in Thailand. While it was surprising (and at times frustrating) at first...

It's the Little Things, by Kate Mast
It’s the little things that make you realize you feel at home that are the most important while living abroad. Its not the big trips or wild adventures that matter most but the small moments that make you smile and bridge the culture you are from to the culture you now live in...

Graduation Day: Chock Dee, by Alix Seyfarth

Friday was a special day for students and teachers alike. It was graduation day for Mattayom 3 and 6 students, and while I was aware of 'graduation day', the festivities blew me away. I really shouldn't have been so surprised, as elaborate parties and celebrations are the norm around here.

Graduation days at home are full of formal outfits, caps and gowns, and speeches from professors and valedictorians. It's a very organized event, as are most in the United States. Here, organized events are a rarity and I'm finding I like this less structured way of doing things more and more. Friday's graduation day was full of more flowers than I have ever seen, class-made t-shirts, dance performances by the students, and a lengthy gift-giving/ photography procession. Friends of the graduating students had made photo booths for them, in which students could pose in front of and take pictures. Opening Assembly went on as usual, with one noticeable difference - every student had baskets of flowers, backpacks full of candy, and arms full of big stuffed animals. I was completely confused when I saw everything, but was quickly told that these were gifts for the graduating students. As it was M.3 and M.6's day, all of the other grades lined up, forming a tunnel that went from the morning assembly area to the grand hall on campus where the hall was decorated in honor of graduation.  

As the other students were getting ready, I walked over to my M. 3 students and was greeted with smiling faces shouting 'Teacher! Teacher! Take picture please!'  I received several roses and countless pieces of candy as I walked around taking pictures and congratulating the students. After months of trying to figure out how to teach these students and work around the countless behavior problems, I found that I was rather upset to be saying goodbye to them. While class could be unbelievably frustrating and trying, these students had become what I looked forward to each day when I came to school. I could always count on a bright smile or a wave from one of my 350 students and perhaps a conversation from some of the more courageous ones. Walking around and talking with them on graduation day was wonderful, and I felt fully appreciated as a teacher. They chattered at me in Thai (only some of which I understood), and thanked me for teaching them.

After the graduating students walked through the tunnel of other students, accepting loads of roses, candy necklaces and everything else you can think of, there was (another) picture opportunity. All of the students eventually ended up in the grand hall, singing along to the student band that was playing and excitedly talking to one another. After everyone had gathered, there were some amazing student performances. One of them involved 4 lady-boys dressed up in drag performing quite a provocative dance. Of course, everyone loved it. There were many other dance performances, mostly by the boys. Here, dancing is something that everyone does from a young age, whether you are male or female. Singing is another thing that is just accepted, everyone does it. Self - consciousness is not a term they seem to know in the realms of singing and dancing. 

After the performances and a short presentation of diplomas to M. 6, we had a string tying ceremony, which began in Isaan and is used for giving luck to people. Usually I'm on the receiving end and until now, hadn't truly understood the ceremony – this time, I got to be one of the people tying the strings instead of receiving them. P'mai, one of the Thai English teachers, explained to me that when you are tying the strings on someone’s wrist, you are basically saying 'out with the old, in with the new'...they are saying goodbye to the bad fortune and welcoming good fortune. To be exceedingly polite in Thai culture, to receive something you put out your hand and clutch that elbow with the other hand.  We had the opening speech/song and then each teacher took some of the strings off of the altar-like structure. I sat in a chair and students just started running towards me. Some of them were crying, as it's the last time they'll be seeing one another for a long time. Many of my students are going to technical schools or going to another province, and it's not very easy to get from one place to another from the more rural villages. I brushed the strings over their wrist as I was taught, and told them "Chok Dee" (good luck), and congratulated them on their work this semester. It was very moving for everyone involved and an honor for me to be part of the ceremony in this way. 

When the ceremony was finally finished (it took about an hour), there were more performances and students wandered around the grand hall talking to each other. I talked to my students and tried to comfort the ones that were more upset. Some of them ran up to me and gave me a huge hug and I felt my heart melt. As hugging isn't normal in Thai culture, once some of the other students saw that it was okay to hug me, I was accosted by students who wanted to say goodbye. Just the simple act of giving the students a goodbye hug seemed to open doors. They were more willing to try to have a conversation or just hang out around me. I found myself quite sad that I wouldn't see them for a few months, and some ever again. It was a completely wonderful experience though and one I'm incredibly glad I was able to be a part of. 

That night, I was coming back from the night market with loads of food for the weekend, expecting to eat in my room, watching some American TV show as per usual. One of my more vocal students from 3/10 (most advanced) rushed up to me speaking a combination of Thai and English. Eventually I figured out that she was inviting me to dinner with her and her friends. I followed them to a 'bbq' restaurant and was reminded of what it was like to be 15 again. I didn't try to be the teacher during dinner, and instead just took in their conversation and asked them questions about summer (in Thai!). It was their celebration time and I was invited to take part in it, not asked to teach them things. They were having a blast and acting crazy as teenagers do when they are on their own. When they were on the phone, I could tell they were getting a kick out of telling friends that the 'farang' teacher was at dinner with them. They spent a lot of time laughing at me as I had no idea what was going on most of the night and one of the students had taken on the role of translator. We said our goodbyes at the end of dinner and I wished them luck during their summer vacation. A perfect end to an amazing day. 

An Atypical Day, by Valerie Lopez

9:00 am rolls around and I stare out my window hoping, eagerly awaiting the glimpse of a car, or a motorcycle, ready to whisk me off to school. Does this sound a little too industrious? Maybe, but the past two weeks have been littered with class cancellations for a variety of (not entirely legitimate) reasons (as usual). This means that I have had minimum class time with my students. This means, that I haven't had much time to review our semester material, much less give them their last formal assessment.

Granted, I was more excited by the fact that I had made these cards for my 6th graders that had a group picture of all of us, than the cumulative semester activity I had in mind, but still. I think this still qualifies as a sound reason for wanting to go to school.

Once Trisha, my roommate was dutifully picked up, I huffed and puffed and resolved to ride Zoom!Bella (my red bike, perpetually out of air, and lacking of gears) all the way to Baan Na Bpong, which is the village where the school resides, in order to deliver the cards to the sixth graders that I won't see again. The morning bike ride was quite lovely actually, despite the tropical sun, as the cool winds were to my favor (perhaps an omen from the universe concurring with my wholly impulsive decision?).

I pulled up into the village, conveniently as one my 6th graders walks out of his house. Promptly, I delivered the card I had made the afternoon before, and asked if he could show me where all the other 6th graders lived.

Together, we sauntered around the dirt roads and had the happy fortune of seeing the other students from Na Bpong. Feeling like somewhat of a celebrity again, the Na Bpong students traversing around the village proceeded to follow me around as I delivered the cards. It was really nice being able to see where the students lived, and even meet some of their parents. The opportunity gave me a brief glimpse, a little context of their daily lives, and thus allowed me to perceive them with more dimension.

We walked around and they showed me their favorite fruit trees, their favorite places to hang out, the field where they would fly kites or play football. A typical day in Thailand, is wonderfully atypical.

A crazy, crazy thing: when I was a child, I used to climb trees in order to get these berry-like fruits. We called them "aratilis" in the Philippines and how fitting must it be, to see this tree, a relic of my youth, among a throng of Thai school children. A village student helped me, oddly enough, reclaim a forgotten berry of my childhood. I think this symmetry is quite poignant.

Kara Schoonmaker's Reflections on Teaching in Thailand

Teaching in Thailand has not at all been what I expected.   At first, there was the initial shock of entering the school system and learning what a typical day at a Thai high-school is really like: the totally unsupervised students roaming around campus all day, the rooms full of screaming kids wreaking havoc while the teacher sits at her desk indifferently, the teachers who never plan for their classes (and sometimes don’t even go to their classes) playing computer games or taking naps in the office all afternoon.  There are the randomly canceled school days, the schedule changes that no one understands, the rambling morning speeches that often run into first period, and all the “activities” days where most of the student body winds up sitting around doing nothing at all all afternoon.

My time at my high-school school has presented me with any number of signature Thai moments, like discovering, five minutes before my class was scheduled to start, that one of my normal classrooms had been transformed into a barber’s shop, with all the desks and tables locked in the neighboring storage room; going on a teachers’ vacation where we spent nine hours on the bus so that we could go to the beach for twenty minutes; being told I would be required to dress up like a cowboy for the all-district costume parade (“You have your own cowboy hat, right?”).  

I’ve been ritually blessed by monks at a Teachers’ Day ceremony, sung “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” to two thousand students while standing next to a Santa riding a paper-mache water buffalo, been forced to down whiskey shots by my principal “for health!”  In this milieu of the unexpected, I often find myself faced with realities that are incredibly disheartening:  all the classes I see abandoned by their teachers for forty minutes at a time, all the students I see sitting outside with nothing to do, utterly bored, and the many times I enter a classroom to find that no one has done anything with their class-time. But then there are the things that encourage me: seeing my students change their attitudes towards learning English, after I've helped and encouraged them; watching my sports-players' class slowly, slowly learn that they don’t have to copy off of their peers, they can do the work themselves; and enjoying small miracles, like having my students actually show up for extracurricular review sessions. (Trust me, in Thailand this is a miracle!)

Ultimately, my experience has been all about my students.  Thai students deserve much more than what they get in school: they deserve an education that will help them develop skills that their Western peers take for granted.  They deserve to learn English in a way that will really allow them to speak, read, and write for themselves.  When everything clicks into place in my class, when my students really focus on what I’m saying, when I’m able to get them to practice the skills they’re shakiest in and least comfortable with (speaking, composing original sentences, translating from Thai to English and vice versa), I know that my decision to come to Thailand was the right one.  It’s definitely been a crazy ride, though!

Beyond the Map’s Edges, by Patricia Ferrero

“Teacher, ban thi nai?” The circle of 3^rd grade girls tightens around me, making me feel claustrophobic on the open-air hallway connecting the classrooms on the second floor. The notebook is shoved pleadingly in my face. A backpacked student sweeps the red dirt and dead insects off the precarious wooden beams, dispersing geckos into the crevices of the paint-chipped walls. He, too, resigns to curiosity and joins the crowd enveloping me. The bell summons the students to afternoon prayer, forcing the group closer still. They aren’t leaving without an answer.

I stare blankly at the map on the back of the shiny new notebook. My face is a poem that reads “Say whaaat?” I fumble clumsily with my limited Thai, and the incoherent words stick to the humid air, falling flatly on perplexed expressions. I make absolutely no sense to them.

“Thailand. I live in Thailand, just like you.” I point on the map and smile.

“No no no teacher. Home.” Flustered, they recruit a fifth-grader; a flurry of Thai later, she translates, “Teacher, where home?”

I had understood the question in Thai, but hearing her use the word “where”, a word I had taught her a few weeks ago, made me proud. “Very good!” I exclaim, but her face demands “teacher, focus!”

I apologetically explain, “Mai mi. Home not here.”

Unacceptable. They start reading the map legend, determined to find out where my home is. “Ma-le-sia?” “Kam-phu-cha?” “Fi-lip-pin?” 

I point in the direction America would be, were this not a map of South East Asia. “America this way. Not here. Do you have map of world? Thi lok?” They pull me into the 3^rd and 4^th grade classroom and park me in front of a dirty tattered map. Of Asia. The same expectant expression on their faces as before. In my 3 and a half months of teaching here, I suddenly become aware of the fact that this is the only map I have seen in the school. My students have never seen a map of the world before.

My mission has become clear to me.

A few days later I inflate a small plastic globe while the 3^rd and 4^th  graders are completing an assignment. As the hour nears its end and my students finish their classwork, they start gathering around the ball in awe. “Teacher, what?” they point to a country. We establish that Russia is “biiiig!”, Thailand is small, Antarctica is cold, and the ocean is “many”. I show them Los Angeles and they are fascinated by how far it is from Nakhon Phanom. A few of the girls go to the classroom map of Asia and read out places that they want me to find on the globe. “Teacher, Jeen?” “Haawng Kohng?” “Yeepoon?” Every successful match is greeted by a chorus of ahs and aiya!s. It’s true! My globe can be trusted after all.

I let them explore the globe on their own for a few minutes, until the novelty of the great expanse of unknown that is Earth wears off and they revert to what my kids do best: throwing things at each other’s heads. “OK, class is over,” I say as I retrieve the globe-missile.

Mission: Accomplished!

As I gather my things to leave the class, one of my girls stops me at the door next to the classroom map. “Teacher, same same?” she asks, pointing at the globe and the map. I smile at her use of the Thai expression, reminded of the day I was trying to point out to my very confused kids that violet (the word they had previously been taught) and purple (the word I was using for my colors unit) were interchangeable, a concept they failed to grasp until I said in desperation “same same” and a wave of “ohhhh” and head nods floated over the room. “Yes, yes…. NO!” I quickly snap out of my reverie and realize I almost just negated all of my day’s hard work. “This is Asia,” I point to the map, and then cup my hands over that same area on the globe, “Asia.” Holding up the sphere, I tell her that this is “the world.” Map on wall, “mai lok. Khao jai mai? Do you understand?” She looks at me suspiciously, then smiles and says yes, a response I know by now from my interactions with Thai people means nothing. I try one more time, to which she replies “I love teacher!” gives me a warm hug and runs off to lunch.

Mission: Accomplished… kinda. Maybe? Not really…

Not yet. Luckily I still have another semester to teach them about geography, how to make friendship bracelets, silly dances, origami, and oh, maybe a little English, too.

“Oops” Moments Made in Thailand, by Stephanie Paguio

Today, I introduced a new expression for the week to my students, which was “Excuse me.” I explained to them that it was usually used when we accidentally bump into people and when we need to get someone’s attention. We role played these situations and they seemed to really understand when to use “Excuse me.” For the rest of the class, we played games to review colors. This particular class was during 4th period, right before lunch. So there I was, writing away on the board (we were then playing hangman with colors as the subject and I must’ve been really into it), drilling the students one word after another, when I hear a student say, “Excuse me Ajan (Ajan means “teacher” in Thai)…” I turn around, THRILLED to hear my student using the new expression, and answered, “Yes.” She replied, “We hungry…” And in my head, I’m thinking, ‘Ok…Random…So irrelevant to say during class.’ I say out loud, “Huh?” and realize that she’s gesturing to the entire class and that everyone is looking at me with sad puppy eyes. And then it clicks! I checked my clock and realized I went ten minutes past lunch time! OOPS! Poor kids. Stupid me. As much as I feel so bad for accidentally cutting into their lunch time, it felt amazing to hear my class use the expression of the week to interrupt me from my hangman mania in order for them to eat. Way to go, students!

And since we’re already on the topic of embarrassing/stupid moments made by me in Thailand, I’d like to share a quick one that happened during my first week at the school. A girl student walked into my office and her bright smile made it clear that she wanted to introduce herself. I asked her what her name was. She replies, “Name?” And I reply, “Yes, name… what is your name?” She says, “Name..?” I say, now speaking a bit more slower and maybe a tad louder out of confusion and frustration, “Name… Yes, what is your name?” And this went on for quite awhile until I finally realize that her name was NAME… oh dear..! And what makes this story even more embarrassing is that I saw her the next day, apparently forgot her face and name, asked her for her name, and we pretty much reenacted our conversation from the previous day. Oh dear, what to do with myself? OOPS!

Okay, I thought of another embarrassing moment, last one, I promise. So, Thai is a tonal language, meaning that one word can mean many different things by simply changing the tone. Anyways, I was teaching colors in my classroom. Knowing the word “color” in Thai was “see,” I repeatedly said “see” to help my students understand. “See som (color orange), see dang (color red), see khiaw (color green)…” I went on and on. I couldn’t help but notice students were giggling. At the end of the class, a teacher helped me realize that I was not saying the correct tone of “see” for the word “color.” Instead, with the tone I was using, I was saying “sex”…The whole time, I was saying sex! “Sex orange, sex red, sex green…” Oh no! OOPS!

For now, these are my embarrassing moments experienced in Thailand. Knowing me, I am POSITIVE there will be plenty more to come.

Just Another Day Like No Other, by Caitlyn Pisarksi

Each day I am growing more accustomed to the unexpected. Last minute schedule changes, unannounced visitors, and random tasks assigned at seemingly inappropriate times are all status quo here in Thailand. While it was surprising (and at times frustrating) at first, I am becoming more comfortable with this aspect of Thai culture and usually find myself responding “sure, why not” to the aforementioned circumstances.

Today for instance, was yet another day of unexpected events. I woke up early to practice yoga and make coffee before a skype date and I ran out the door just after 8:00am (late as usual…some things never change). I waited about 10 minutes for Pi Tuk (my fellow English teacher) who was also late. She finally pulled up in her husband’s truck (the battery in her car died, explaining the tardiness) and before I could climb in she handed me three plastic bags of student uniforms for me to run to the tailor down the road for embroidering. I repeated the phrase she told me over and over in my head as I walked them up to the shopkeeper so I didn’t mess up the order (it would be horrible to have to edit all the embroidery…).

After dropping off the clothing I jumped into the truck and we were on our way-or so I thought. When we took a right turn away from the school instead of a left, Pi Tuk explained that she needed to get her hair dried. I glanced at her damp hair, considered inquiring about my 9:00am class, but changed my mind and said “oh, okay.” She pulled up to a barber’s shop and we chatted briefly with a woman outside. Pi Tuk said something about rice noodles-perhaps the woman we were speaking with was making them? Then we sat down inside the barber’s shop (which smelled like wet dog) and Pi Tuk started plucking gray hairs from her head since the stylist wasn’t there yet. I know this because she actually showed them to me before throwing them out the window. By this time it was approaching 8:30 so we went back to the truck and started driving away, just as the stylist was arriving. Pi Tuk was about to park the truck again when I mentioned I needed to print some materials before my class, and we departed for school.

Two minutes into the ride Pi Tuk told me matter-of-factly that all my classes would be shifted to the morning (taking away my prep-time) since she had to go into Nakhon Phanom right after lunch to fix her car. “Oh, okay” was my response, but my thoughts were “Half-day on a Friday? Yes!” then “No prep time? Yikes!” Once I got to school, though, things were fine. I was able to print the materials I needed for all three classes and had great lessons. The highlight of the day was teaching the students how to play bingo and watching their faces light up when they got to shout it out loud.

This afternoon I met Steph for dress rehearsal at the high school. That’s right, dress rehearsal. We are performing a traditional Thai dance tomorrow evening for Father’s Day, or the King’s Birthday. My dancing partner (the one I stand behind and use as a guide in all my moves) was absent so I had to struggle through the steps by memory. It took a while to get used to the dress and jewelry we have to wear; we are going to be decked out in gold-chained belts, choker necklaces and arm cuffs, not to mention tiaras! My outfit is super-tight too since most Thais are tiny so I hope I don’t pass out tomorrow!

After practice as we pulled up to our house on bikes, I heard Steph exclaim “Is that our dinner?” and sure enough, there was dinner, hanging from a nail off the front of our house. Without a second thought I grabbed it, unlocked the door, and we sat down to a meal that was only interrupted twice by the neighbor’s dog Cha-Daam, eager to see us after a long day. Like I said, just another day.

 It's the Little Things, by Kate Mast