After
journeying through eight unique lands and completing a full circle around the
globe…
Venturing
thousands and thousands of miles via crowded planes, rickety trains, and
crazy-ass-midnight-departing busses with drivers high on yaba…
Spending
hundreds & hundreds of pristine British pounds, weighty European euros,
mysterious Burmese kyat, lofty Swiss francs, unpretentious
Thai baht, and at the very end, as a layover-hating, desperately hungry, tired
and overall pissy chick…. Japanese yen…
Gazing
in awe at the world’s most celebrated, exquisite works of art by the Renaissance
masters and Mother Nature herself…
Breathing
in the humid breezes of the Mediterranean sea, the refreshing air atop the
Swiss Alps, the pungent stench of an open air fish market in Yangon, and the
damp aura in the heart of the Northwest Thai bush…
Experiencing invaluable, life-altering memories with those who have nothing and everything at the same time, and those who are wounded yet resilient…
I
am home.
Or
am I?
By
now I am more or less recovered and time-adjusted after a 30+ hour ride back to
JFK from Chiang Mai, an exhausting voyage where I felt full of both
anticipation and distress the whole time and hence unable to sleep. With my
seatbelt securely fastened, my tray table locked and all electronic devices
shut off, the jumbo jet descended back into a world that was simultaneously comforting
yet somehow alien. A familiar awe overcame me as I saw the coast come closer
and closer and finally the majestic buildings that scrape the clear azure sky
above. I watched as the white wake streams behind the yachts cut through the
water of the Long Island Sound. I obviously couldn’t see this closely, but
could imagine the salmon-colored Lacoste polo’s and whale printed shorts worn by
the sun-tanned business men aboard, drinking ice cold Budweisers without a care
in the world other than the performance of their stocks. To come from deep in
the Southeast Asian jungle witnessing daily hardship amongst innocent children
to the most famous concrete one in the world, brimming with wealth and
opportunity, has been a bit of an
adjustment. Obviously it’s not that hard
to climb into a big, soft bed with clean sheets, drive around in my
newly-leased Honda Accord, and be able to have internet access at literally any
time, anywhere, but it all just feels a bit different for me now. I can’t look
at anything material without mentally calculating how much that one thing would
make a difference to so many people overseas.
A
door has been opened in my heart and my soul and my perspective has been
forever altered on what truly matters in life…yes, sounds philosophical and
cliché but I can’t lie. I think anyone else who tagged along with me would
likely feel the same. My mind’s eye will always hold dear to me the adorable
kids as they excitedly grasped the coloring books and crayons I gave to them
upon my last visit to the Orphanage in Mae Sariang. I also brought some medicine
and clothing given to me by a local blood donation center, which was extremely generous
of them. All very much appreciated and will go a VERY long way. I only wish I
could have done more.
When
I first arrived this time, of course after bouncing around the old jeep for a
couple hours, I went directly into the youngest kids’ dorms to say hello to
some of the children I had bonded with initially. Many of them were sleeping; others
were scattered about the camp, splashing around in the puddles. Except for Emu,
a gorgeous tiny 6-year-old Karen child, reed-thin with pin straight black hair
and striking eyes. She was feeding a bottle to a teeny tiny baby all on her own
on one of those wooden bunk beds. Nurturing and wise beyond her years at only 6
years old, you could see the love and compassion exude from her as she cared
for her baby “sister”. I was happy to allow her to be a carefree child again,
if only for a few moments, by giving her some of her own coloring books and
taking over the care of the infant. I later learned after chatting in broken
English and Thai with one of the teenagers there that the infant, 7 weeks old,
had a brain deformity (I don’t know details of what kind) and that they named
her “Beauty.” I had gotten pretty frustrated with the language barrier by
now (even though I’ve been trying to learn Thai, I haven’t absorbed as much of
this challenging language to really communicate effectively other than basic
conversation…) because I desperately wanted to sit down and chat with the
caretakers of the Orphanage as well as the older kids to perhaps hear the
stories and where they specifically came from, but alas, I was unable to do so.
Maybe next time (I’m trying my best to keep up what I’ve learned and expand my
Thai as I am figuring out my next move…)
I’m
beholden to have had this opportunity to gaze directly into the eyes of an
innocent, budding child and see nothing but a deep yearning for love and
affection. It was in those types of moments that I silently berated myself for
ever worrying about the trivial things that I used to…all my good ol’ First
World problems. Anyway, I left my heart with them and truly will miss them…but
I do know I have not finished my work there specifically, nor in the general
arena of humanitarian work. I would have taken them all home with me,
especially that little Emu, but since all the kids are from Burma and are not
Thai nationals, they are ineligible for adoption (FYI, only Burmese citizens
are allowed to adopt Burmese children).
Driving
back through the magnificent, succulent green jungle as a sea of raindrops fell
on the thick, impermeable trees, I could almost hear the disturbing whispers of
the inexplicable horrors and tragedies that was occurring only miles from there
across the border in Burma. The dichotomy
of the beauty and the calamity was simply too much to get my head around. I’ve become captivated and unnerved by the
situation that the various ethnic minority groups along the Burmese borders still have to endure at the hands of
their own government’s military. The specific group that I am determined to
help are the Karen, who have been involved in a Civil War with the government for
over 50 years and are fighting for the creation of a Karen homeland state
within a Federal Union. This unique culture continues to desperately survive
despite the continued strife they must endure…I’m talking heinous things like
burning of villages, rape, torture, murders, sexual abuse…all of the above.
Yes, this shit still happens today. I had the opportunity to become involved in
an agriculture project within an IDP camp aimed at teaching the Karen farmers
alternative and more effective methodologies as well as crop variety to improve
nutrition amongst the camp. That project is still in the process of taking off,
slightly delayed due to the safety and security risks of the volunteers.
So
here I am, a world away from all that in my comfortable little Fairfield County
bubble, typing away on my iMac and sipping on ice-cold diet ginger ale. What a
life-changing whirlwind this has been…and to be honest, the journey has just
begun. In my first post, I wrote, “I want to see new things, new places, new
people…and just experience a new perspective of this crazy, beautiful world.”
Well, I can check that box. But I’m not done. This is only the beginning…
Strange
is our journey here on Earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing
why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose. From the standpoint of daily
life, however, there is one thing we do know: that man is here for the sake of
other men.
- Albert
Einstein
