What does one pack to go to a hospital in Thailand?
For most Americans (it's a generalization, I know, but one I'm comfortable with) the answer is a set of clothes to accommodate a new appearance. No such luck for me.
The doc told me to pack a razor--good advice if I shaved (they take care of the fuzzy sideburns when I get a haircut, and the errant whiskers are easily plucked).
So I'm looking at an indefinite stay in a Thai hospital: how likely is it I'll be parked in a hallway or dormer-style room? Or would it be a private room with a TV and aircon?
Wouldn't it be nice to know.
What does one pack? A notebook, two pens, Brutus and his plug, the cell phone and its charger, three pairs of underwear, two shirts, a toothbrush, and a comb.
How long does one have to live in Thailand before it's home?
That one's easy. Thailand will never, ever be home to a farang. It might be a place to live, it might be paradise on earth, it might be one's adopted residence, one's long-term domicile, the site of one's marriage and children, but Thailand is an ethnic and cultural island proud of the fact that it's been so throughout its history. Thais are proud of their utterly distinct written and printed language, made up by a great king of yore, and they are so fiercely devoted to their cultural independence that a move to make English an officially recognized language was vetoed in the highest level of government for fear that recognizing another language, especially English, might imply that Thailand had once been colonized. Good luck sneaking your white face past that.
The kicker: why do I feel such relief?
It's a kicker because it's so multi-faceted.
Why is there such relief after hearing that I'll have a job?
Why is there such relief at admitting I feel horrible?
Why is there such relief at an indefinite stretch of time in unknown conditions in a university hospital?
Why does the point of my relief seem to be such anxiety for others?
The relief/anxiety is an easy matter of perspective. For anyone who hasn't been living the grind and relying on a happy teacher mask to keep going, the hospital is a scary place. From my perspective, letting go of the appearance/pretense/practice of wellbeing to admit to significant illness is the scary part.
The middle two are the same answer: to recognize how I feel is to be willing to roll belly up, and to roll belly up is to relinquish control and direction. In either case, it's a matter of giving the controls to someone else. And after a year of fighting to keep the course, the relief at relaxation is tremendous.
The surprising thing is my relief at hearing I'll have a job even if I have to go home to recoup. I guess I would say it emphasizes the benefits and perks of things here: despite all that I bitch about, I have a relatively easy gig in a decent place to live, and even as I rail against parts of it, I know the overall situation isn't that bad.
The tricky part is, "would you go back?"
And the best I can say is that it's been so long since I felt good, since I was able to simply live, I can't give an answer. At this point, the most I want is to get my feet back under me. Once my awareness and functioning is not dominated by the avoidance of a miserable illness, I'll be able to reevaluate. In the meantime, I know it's cool living a 5 minute walk from a job teaching G4, and I enjoy that I've learned how to move through this culture. Now it's time to enjoy moving, period.
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