A summary

It turned out I wasn't very good at keeping up on a regular blog in Lashio.  I think the biggest reason was that I was unhappy.  I didn't want all of my posts to be long rants, or a laundry list of everything that sucked there.  Every time I'd try to put my positive panties on, they'd end up in a twist.  My attempts at positivity felt forced, so quite a few drafts were deleted.

Anyone who knows me knows how extroverted I am.  I thrive on exchanging ideas and energy with other people.  I was frustrated by the fact that I couldn't really do that there.  Conversations were basic, at best.  For the most part, they just didn't really happen.  There was a lot of smiling and saying hello, but very little meaningful conversation.  It's not because the people there were unwilling, quite the opposite. Everyone here was lovely and tried so hard, but the levels of English there are quite low, so everything was reduced to very basic communication.

On top of that, I felt everyone there was being overprotective.  I was told if I wanted to be out after 6:30, they wanted me to have someone with me.  "So, you're giving me a curfew?" I asked.  "Oh, no. No. No.  We are definitely not giving you a curfew.  You can do as you like.  But after 6:30 we want someone to be with you."  I failed to see how that wasn't a curfew.  They couldn't understand why I'd want to be out on my own after dark.  There were a few attempts on my part to explain that I needed to feel free to come and go as I pleased.  They were met with smiles, and nods, and agreements, and then concluded with a very polite, "but if you will be out after 6:30 we would like for you to have someone with you."

This all got to be a little too much one Saturday evening in late November.  My principal called to ask if I wanted to go to the hot springs that are famous in Lashio.  I didn't have anything better to do, so I agreed.  My friend Hla Myat Oo and another man from school went with me.  I found out when we got there that neither of them had any intention of going into the hot springs.  So they escorted me to the bathroom, where I changed into a sarong (the Burmese are far too modest/repressed to wear bathing suits) and then they followed me to the hot springs, where they held my bag and waited.  I nearly slipped and fell on the spirulina that was growing on the steps, but managed to recover and sat in the lovely warm water.  And then...?  And then I didn't know what to do.  I remember thinking if I had some friends there to drink some beer and hang out with it might have been fun.  But I was alone and my "friends" were standing off to the side, watching me and holding my stuff.  They told me to stay in the water as long as I wanted, and I trusted that they meant it, but I felt awkward so I only stayed for a few minutes and then got out.  I changed back into my clothes and we were ready to go by about 6:00.  I thought it might be nice to see if there were any English language movies playing that night, so I asked Hla Myat Oo if she could show me where the cinema was.  I know now that I was putting her in a difficult position because she had been put in charge of looking after me.  I didn't realize that at the time.  All I knew was that it was 6:00 on a Saturday evening and I didn't want to go back to the apartment that I had been spending far too much time in.  She hesitantly responded, "Er...Um...I don't think so.  It is already dark.  It is late."  I wanted to scream, "It's fucking 6:00!  On a Saturday!" but I knew better, so I agreed to follow her back to school.  I choked back tears the whole way home.

Then there I was, staring at the same four cement walls again.

I called my mom, and at the sound of her voice the floodgates opened.  To say I had a "bit of a breakdown" might be an understatement.  I kinda lost my shit.  I was sobbing.  When I finally regained a bit of composure, I told my mom that if they didn't start letting me leave the school in the evenings, I was going to leave the school.  Permanently.  At that point, I could have been home in time for Christmas.

My bathroom shared a wall with the bathroom of the girls dormitory.  There were holes for ventilation high on the wall.  This meant they could hear everything that happened in my bathroom.  Up until that point, when I had cried in my room (which had been somewhat frequently) I had closed my bathroom door and cried quietly. But I had reached a point where I was losing my mind, and I didn't care who knew, so I sobbed openly.

I finally pulled myself together, and ended up having a nice long chat with my mom.  The next morning was Sunday--my only day off--and I didn't have any plans, so I stayed up really late talking to her, figuring I'd be able to sleep in the next morning.

At 7:00 there was a knock on my door, and I could hear my principal, "Miss Katie!  Miss Katie?"  When I opened the door, there she was with her 75 year old auntie, who speaks good English, but is also pretty much deaf.  She was there to translate.  They asked the question I had heard far too many times, "Are you ok?"

"No.  I'm not," I said, and began to tear up again.  Before I had a chance to explain the fact that I was feeling stifled, Aunty said, "You can go anywhere you want.  As you like.  When you want.  You are free to go."  So even though it was certainly not the way I had wanted to get to that conclusion, the end result that I needed had been reached.  Auntie then went on to try to cheer me up by telling me some really terrible jokes.  They weren't very funny, but I loved the way she cracked up when she told them, so I couldn't help but smile again.

That week I was home almost every night by 6:30.  I wanted to be.  If I had wanted to stay out longer, I could have.  The choice was mine, and that made all the difference.

I could tell that the entire school knew about my little episode.  People walked on eggshells around me.  Everyone asked me, even more frequently than before, "Are you happy?"  "Are you ok?"

The day after The Great Breakdown, they made arrangements to take me to go meet another foreigner.  (Why it took a month and a complete meltdown for that to happen, I can only guess.  Maybe they believed me when I answered yes to, "Are you ok?")  There are a few Australians living in Lashio who have opened an English language school.  I went over to their house and met Dennis.  After having spent a month without a fluent conversation in English, it was such a relief to meet him.  We sat on their couch and I talked his ear off for a few hours.  I got to vent, and he didn't seem too bothered by the fact that he was the unlucky one who got to listen.  We exchanged phone numbers and made plans to go out that weekend.   I felt better just knowing that there was someone in town that I could talk to if I needed to.

I had originally intended to stay in Myanmar for the December break in order to save money, but I started realizing that despite my curfew being lifted and having found a few friends in town, I still needed to get out.  I needed to go somewhere where hugs would be considered normal and staring at someone would be considered awkward, not the other way around.  I reached out to my good friend Warren who was in Thailand and gives great hugs.  I started making plans to visit him, and then  found out there was no school from December 25 to the 31st.  I was expected to be back to work on Friday morning, January 1.  

Normally, I'm not one to make a big deal out of New Years Eve celebrations, but the thought of spending that night in my apartment, by myself, staring at those same concrete walls, was too much.  I turned to my friend Julia and explained how frustrated I was.  I told her that I wanted to ask my principal if I could have that day off in order to be able to have a nice holiday with my friend in Thailand.  In my attempt to explain my feelings, I ended up crying.  I asked her not to say anything to anyone until the next day, because I wanted to be part of the conversation. I wanted to explain to my principal how I was feeling.  I wanted to be able to offer to take unpaid leave.  I wanted to look her in the eye while someone translated the fact I needed a couple of extra days off.

The next morning, as soon as I walked into the office, another teacher who had had absolutely nothing to do with the decision about my holiday, came and told me, "Miss, your holiday will go until January 4.  You do not need to come back January 1."

"Well, so much for not saying anything to the principal until I could be part of the conversation," I thought to myself.  It seemed everyone knew about my conversation with Julia.  When I confronted her about it, she assured me that no one knew that I had cried.  First of all, that wasn't what I had asked her not to talk about.  Second, I didn't believe her.  The Burmese LOVE to gossip.  I was simultaneously frustrated as hell, and relieved.  Fortunately, by that point, I had started developing a "I don't give a #*%&" attitude, so I just focused on the fact I was going to be able to visit Warren for the holiday, and started counting down the days.

Compared to other teaching jobs I've had, my work in Lashio was quite easy in some ways.  Planning was a piece of cake and I didn't have to do any marking.  I mostly just interacted with the students in class.  It's every teacher's dream.  Except that my students and I didn't speak the same language.  The older students could understand me, sort of, if I spoke slowly and deliberately and supplemented my speech with acting.  The younger students, on the other hand, couldn't understand a word I said.  When there was a translator in the room with me it was ok.  When there wasn't, chaos ensued.

My class sizes were far too big.  Many of them had over 40 students.  One class ha 60!  60 students who didn't speak English.  And me.  And a whiteboard.

 On a very positive note, the level of respect for teachers in Myanmar is unreal.  There's a respect hierarchy; monks are at the top, followed by teachers.  It's a stark contrast to the ways I was treated in the US and England.  It's nice, for the most part.  Many of the students were eager to help me carry my things to class, to the extent that in order to try to make them all feel good about helping, there were often four or five students following me, carrying what I could have carried myself.  One had a whiteboard marker, one had my planner, one had the book we just read, and another had my water bottle.

When I was still new, the students would often come racing to my desk to try to be the first to help me.  They would grab my things off my desk in their attempts to help.  It drove me insane.  I'd be trying to make sure I had everything, mentally preparing for class, and then all of a sudden there would be a frenzy of eager arms all grabbing my stuff.  I finally told a colleague that it was annoying me, and asked her if I could please address the students at the following morning assembly.  I knew they wouldn't be able to understand what I was saying, but I still wanted to tell them myself, through a translator.  I wanted them to see the smile on my face when I thanked them for being so eager to help me.  I wanted them to see that I wasn't angry.  I wanted to teach them how to say, "May I help you?"

The next morning I showed up for the assembly expecting to speak to the students.  Julia told me not to worry.  They had gone around to every class and told them I didn't like it when they took my stuff.  I got up on stage anyway.  I wanted to thank them.  I wanted them to see I wasn't angry.  I don't know how well it worked, because for a good week or two after that they all seemed really afraid to help me.

The Burmese education system is, to be blunt, archaic.  It still stresses rote memorization.  Critical thinking doesn't happen in class yet.  They memorize and regurgitate.  One of the ways they do that is to repeat after the teacher, in unison, loudly.  Then I showed up and tried to get them to think for themselves.  It was difficult for everyone.  They would repeat after me when I didn't want them to.    They were (and still are) uncomfortable with having to form their own opinions.  The concept of raising their hands was completely foreign when I first arrived.  Instead, they all just screamed answers at the same time.

Want to know the worst part about all of the problems I've been rambling on about?  It's that everyone at Nay Chi School desperately wanted to make me happy.  Ironically, their efforts to keep me happy were what was driving me insane.  Then I felt guilty for feeling annoyed.  How could I be mad at people who were constantly bending over backwards to cater to me?  They didn't want to lend me a broom, they wanted to clean my entire apartment.  They didn't want me out on my own after 6:30 because they wanted me to feel safe.  They raced to carry my things because they wanted so badly to help me.  They shouted out the answers because that's what they've been taught to do, and all their other teachers expect it.  They screamed the answers for me, because they liked me so much.  They gave me days off work without even needing to talk to me directly because they didn't want me having another meltdown.  They wanted me to be happy, and they were doing everything they knew how to try to make sure I was.

Life in Lashio did gradually start getting a little easier.  Not having a curfew, having a few friends, and knowing I was going to have a holiday in Thailand, all combined to make life much more bearable.  I also started getting used to screaming students, the other teachers who fussed too much over me, and the fact that the girls dormitory can hear everything I do in my apartment.  I quit caring.  When they screamed in class, it was fine.  If they wanted to fuss too much over me, fine.  If they could hear me singing in the shower, fine.

I also started meditating.  I had noticed a difference in their reaction to my Great Breakdown, compared with the ways my friends and family would have reacted back home.  I've grown up with the idea that sometimes you "just gotta have a good cry."  Every now and then when I've been struggling with stress or sadness or frustration, it all comes to a head and I cry my eyes out for awhile, until I've gotten it out of my system, and then I get back to life as usual.  My eyes might be a little puffy the next day, but there is also a sense of relief that comes with "letting it all out."  That wasn't the reaction here.  Instead, everyone I talked to after my meltdown told me about how they meditate.  One of my coworkers reads books of Buddhist teachings.  Auntie told me all about how she "counts the beads" for an hour every day.  No one came out and said it, but everyone implied that I should have meditated long before I reached my breaking point.  I should have learned to calm my mind.  I wasn't about to delve into the "original" teachings of the Buddha, or take up counting beads, in the ways that my friends recommended, but I did download an app called Headspace that has 10 minute guided meditations, and it helped to start my day that way.

Then I had a really great day with some of my coworkers.  They took on an excursion to a place where foreigners aren't allowed.  I had to cover my hair and all my skin and curl up in the back of truck, pretending to be asleep, through a couple of police checkpoints.  Once we were clear, we explored a couple of waterfalls that were absolutely stunning.  We laughed together, and took lots of photos.  I also saw the ways that they were treated as guests, and discovered that fussing and fretting over guests is something inherent in Burmese culture.  They don't just do it for the strange foreigner, they do it for any guest.   That day I felt like I was "one of them" for the first time.

By the time Christmas rolled around, I had started wondering if the expense of going to Thailand was really worth it.  I wasn't miserable in Myanmar any more.  In fact, I was verging on happy there.  Fortunately, my flights were already booked, so I "had" to go.

I had a sensational time.  Warren gave me so many long and loving hugs that I quickly lost count.  The first one made me cry, in a good way.  The second one allowed me to relax in a way I hadn't in months.  The third one filled me with joy.  After that, they all just added to a feeling of contentment--with my life, my situation, myself.  Warren also had a way of responding to my struggles in all the right ways.  When I told him about all the things that frustrated me, he asked me, "What are you learning?"  When I complained about the isolation, he could relate because of his time in Afghanistan.  When I told him I was lonely, he didn't try to fix it, he just understood.

Warren's friend Shane was also there, and we all had a great week together.  We ate lots of delicious vegetarian food, spent tons of time on the beach, talked about our hopes and dreams, and supported each other.  It was lovely.  Being removed from my situation in Myanmar helped me to appreciate it even more.  Knowing I only had another month left also helped.

I had a couple of enlightening moments that week.  Most were due to interactions with other people who inspired me in intellectual and spiritual ways.  Some may or may not have been partially inspired by psychedelics.  All of them had a profound effect on me.  I became so much more aware of the energies around me.  I realized that the energy I had been exuding in Lashio hadn't been positive.  My frustrations had gotten the better of me, and I had allowed that to turn into negativity that permeated my life, my work, and my relationships.

When the time came to return to Myanmar, I did so with determination.  I was going to live my life in ways that radiated positivity.  I was going to appreciate all the good things that the people in my home-away-from-home were doing for me.  And the rest?  Water off a duck's back, as they say.

It worked.  I was happy to be back, and I think they could tell.  People stopped asking me the question that I had found so annoying a few weeks before; they no longer asked me if I was happy.  They didn't need to.  They could see that I was.  The cultural differences that I had once found frustrating I viewed with a new sense of privilege.  I felt blessed to be exposed to such a unique way of life.  I smiled when the students screamed.  I sang in the shower, even though I knew they could hear me.  I appreciated all the efforts that they were making to keep me happy, even the ones that seemed a little over-the-top, or just plain strange.  I didn't let my frustrations multiply.  Instead, I dismissed them, and even found myself laughing at them.  The things that had been annoying I learned to see as silly.  I covered my plain concrete walls with posters that I made, filled with quotes and inspirational ideas.

That attitude got me through most of January.  There were a couple of times that I couldn't quite keep it up.  There were still days I wanted to get the hell out of there.  Screaming children and conversations about me that I couldn't understand still got to me every now and then, but not like they had, and I found I was able to move past them more quickly than I had before.

And now, all of a sudden, the entire experience is yet another chapter of my life that happened in the past.  I'm finished.  I have to say, I'm really proud of myself.  I did it, and I feel good about what I did there.  I think the thing I'm most proud of is the Saturday sessions I had with the other teachers at Nay Chi School.  Every Saturday morning we would meet to talk about the importance of critical thinking, and ways to encourage it.  I introduced them to Bloom's Taxonomy (for my non-teacher friends: that's the different types of thinking in addition to the rote memorization that is so heavily stressed here, like analyzing, evaluating, creating, judging, etc).  We had some really great discussions about how important critical thinking is to the emerging, but struggling, democracy here.  We talked about gender inequality, and the importance of teaching students in ways that would help them develop into responsible citizens of Myanmar.  None of those conversations have impacted the teaching and learning methods that are used; even on my last night there I could hear students memorizing textbooks, without really understanding what they said.  However, I'm hopeful that I planted a few seeds that will one day bloom into a new style of education at Nay Chi School and throughout Myanmar.

I learned a lot throughout my time there, about the world and about myself.  So much, in fact, that it's too much to fit into this blog.

I've found a new direction in my life.  I've always wanted to write, but it's always been something I tried to do in my spare time.  My original plan when I came here was to teach in Lashio and then spend two months backpacking around Southeast Asia.  I've decided instead to go stay for two months on Koh Phangan, an island in southern Thailand, where I will write like it's my job.  I'm not sure what, if anything, will come of it, but I'm feeling optimistic.

It's a bit ironic, actually, how optimistic I feel.  When I left Michigan to come to Lashio, I didn't want to leave.  I was loving every day in Michigan with my friends and family.  The only thing that ever got me down was my uncertainty about the future.  I was worried about the contradictions I wanted for my life.  I wanted to keep traveling, and I also wanted to settle down in Michigan.  I wanted to fall in love, and I also wanted to remain free to wander through this world on my own terms.  I was obsessed with trying to figure out which way I should go.  I felt that either decision would force me to give up the alternative.

Then I went to Lashio and was pretty miserable for awhile.  It was a very stark contrast to my life of ease at home.  Somehow the difficulties I faced there made me much more comfortable with my future.  It was a truly transformative time.

I don't know if I'll settle down or keep traveling, and that's ok.  I'll probably find a way to do both.  I know I'll find love, but I don't think it will be in the ways people traditionally think of when they think of "true love."  I realized something that I've known all along: that the universe has my back, and if I know what will make me happy and content with my life, I should go for it.  So that's what I'm doing.  I'm not sure how yet, but I'm going to figure it out.

I do know that whatever is coming is going to be good.  I feel like I'm on the cusp of some major life changes.  Good things are happening, within me and around me, and I feel at peace with the world and with myself in ways I haven't for a very long time, if ever.

Watch this space.

Two More Weeks...

It's been a really long time since I've blogged.  I've been busy.  And probably a bit depressed.  It's not easy transporting yourself, all by yourself, into a completely foreign culture.  Don't get me wrong, it's exciting and interesting and rewarding and all that stuff, but it's also difficult.

I keep saying to myself, "I'm almost done.  Just two weeks left.  I'm almost done.  Just two weeks left.  I'm almost done…"

Two weeks seems like an eternity.

It hasn't been all bad.  In fact, some of it has been absolutely fantastic.  All of it has been a learning experience.  

When I first came to visit Nay Chi School, it was with the intention of turning down the job.  I didn't want to come back to Myanmar as soon as they wanted me to, but I wasn't quite ready to be done with Southeast Asia, either, so I agreed to come and visit the school with the intention of establishing a relationship, so if I wanted to come back some day it would be an option.

It's a 16 hour bus ride from Yangon to Lashio.  On the way here I started reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  It's about a woman who decided to hike the Pacific Crest Trail on her own.  She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but she felt like it was something she needed to do.  It was a really difficult journey for her, but in the end she also felt it was rewarding.  She found an inner peace and a sense of clarity in taking a risk, striking out on her own, and accomplishing something simply because she felt compelled to.

To make a long story short, I had a nice time visiting Nay Chi School, and they offered me a better package than I had originally anticipated, so when I left I told them I would think about it, and I found myself considering accepting the position more than I had anticipated.  

On the 16 hour bus ride back to Yangon I finished Wild.  I found myself thinking, "If she can do that, I could do this."

A few days later I was back in Michigan, celebrating the 4th of July with my family.  My Aunt Linda and I were talking, and one of us brought up Wild.  She told me that many of the women she worked with had read the book and really enjoyed it.  One of her colleagues, however, wasn't buying it.  "I just can't believe a woman would do something that crazy all by herself," she told my aunt.  

"I know someone who would," my Aunt Linda replied, "My niece would do it."

I was flattered, and honored that my aunt had thought of me as an example of a brave woman who would strike out on her own and accomplish something so challenging.  It was one of many factors that led to my acceptance of the position at Nay Chi School.

Last night I was spending yet another Friday night alone in my apartment.  It's cold here.  About 45 degrees fahrenheit (7C).  I know what all my family in Michigan will think when they read that: "That's not cold!  It's 15 degrees (-10C) here!"  True, but you go from your heated house to your heated car, which you drive to your place of work, which is heated.  Nothing here is heated.  When it's 7C/45F degrees outside here, it's also 45 degrees in my office. It's also 7 degrees in my apartment.  It's cold.

I decided to take a hot bath and watch a film in order to take the chill off.  As I perused the hard drive that other people have helped me fill, I noticed that I have Wild.  It felt fitting to watch it for the first time, so close to the end of my time in Lashio.

I remember wondering as I was reading the book how they could ever make it into a movie.  So much of the book was about her inner thoughts, her memories, her uncertainty, her fears, and her determination.  As predicted, the film didn't do justice to any of that, but it still managed to bring me to tears.

Toward the end of the film, Cheryl's character has a monologue about how she was feeling when she was close to the the end of her journey.  With a fair few miles left to go, she was ready to be done.  She'd had enough.  At the same time, she was afraid to finish.  Afraid of the unknown, of the fact she didn't know what she was going to do when she was done.

Those feelings resonated with me.  Hard.  I'm so ready to be done here.  I've had enough of young children screaming two of the only English words they know: "MISS!  TEACHER MISS!"  I've had enough of being left out of every conversation going on around me, even the ones that are about me.  I've had enough of smiling at everyone who stares at me, even though I really don't feel like it.  I've had enough white rice to last a lifetime.  I've had enough of feeling self conscious about the money I spend.*  I've had enough of overhearing students memorizing everything without learning anything.  I've had enough of knowing that every single thing I do will be the topic of gossip among my students and colleagues.  I've had enough of the concrete walls in my apartment, which is my only sanctuary from all the stuff I've had enough of. 

I'm ready to be done.

I'm also terrified.

I don't know what will happen next.  I don't know how to go about manifesting the life that I want for myself.  I sometimes worry I want too much from the universe.

I know it will all work out.  I trust I'm where I'm meant to be, and I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing.  I believe the universe has ways of providing the things we need, and honoring our intentions.  I'm sure my future is bright because I plan to make it that way.

I'm still scared.

But I'm still ready.

Only two weeks left.  I can do this…

*I know I'm buying good quality material that is made locally and then tailored by someone whom I pay a living wage to, so I'll have a wardrobe full of things that I know for a fact weren't made in sweatshops.  I'm proud of the way I'm consuming consciously.  They just think I'm spending too much money.

Thanksgiving / Tan Zaung Thaing Full Moon Day

"Party Animals" on the Yangon river.
You should have seen the looks
we got on our way to the boat!

Over the past few years I've gotten somewhat used to American holidays being "just another day" wherever I am.  If you're anywhere other than America, the Fourth of July is just that: the fourth day of the month of July.  Sometimes a bit of an effort is made, like on St. Paddy's day a couple of bars in New Zealand served green beer.  Last Halloween a few of us foreigners got dressed up in the best costumes we could muster, given the local availability, and went for a sunset booze cruise on the river.  For both of the Thanksgivings I spent in Australia, I helped cook up a bit of a feast (substituting chicken for turkey), and people took turns naming the things they were thankful for, but if I hadn't been there it would have been just another Thursday.



I wasn't even going to make an attempt here in Lashio.  I find it hard enough to find food I recognize, much less all the ingredients I'd need for a Thanksgiving feast.  I'd even struggle to find butter or normal milk for the mashed potatoes.  Corn is out of season, otherwise I'd be able to do corn on the cob.  Pumpkin is in season, but I don't know how to make a pumpkin pie out of actual pumpkin, plus I haven't seen a western style oven since I arrived here.  So it was safe to say I had given up on Thanksgiving long before I even entertained the thought of trying to celebrate it.

Then I found out that I had that Thursday and Friday off work.  Sweet!  I started making plans to leave Lashio.  I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, but I was going to have two consecutive days off work, so I was going to make the most of it.  Then it turned out everyone at school was talking about a festival on that Thursday.  Coincidentally, Thanksgiving this year happened to fall on the full moon of the Buddhist Tan Zaung Thaing holiday.  Everyone at my school was making big plans to celebrate and they wanted me to be here for it, so I decided to stay.

I knew what everyone back home would be doing.  They'd spend the day with family, roasting a turkey, baking some pies, making cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and all the other trimmings.  They'd be drinking delicious wine or craft beer, maybe watching an American football game, and catching up with family.  Sounds like a beautiful way to spend Thanksgiving.

I decided I was going to make the best of the situation.  I was going to have a great Thanksgiving, too, except it would be the Tan Zaung Thaing full moon day instead.  I was going to sleep in, get a good workout, go for a relaxing shampoo and massage, wear my new traditional Burmese outfit to the festival, eat lots of food, and enjoy the lighting of candles and fireworks that evening.  And that's what I did.  Sort of.  Except not really.

I had my eye mask next to me on my bed so when the early morning sun started shining over the hills, I'd easily be able to put it on and go back to sleep.  Turns out it wasn't the sun, or even the local roosters that woke me.  It was a mic check.  HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. They had set up a stage for the festival, complete with a sound system.  HELLO. HELLO. The volume was never adjusted.  As far as I could tell, nothing was adjusted.  HELLO. HELLO.  I think the man testing the microphone was having fun.  HELLO. HELLO. There was no change in pitch or tone, just 20 minutes of HELLO. HELLO. HELLO.  I wanted to swing open my window and scream, "The microphone fuck!ng works, okay!? Shut the f*ck up!!"  But I didn't.  Not because I didn't want to be rude, but because I knew he wouldn't understand me.

He finally quit, switched to some really loud and pretty terrible music, and I was just about to finally fall back to sleep when my alarm went off.  Time to work out.

Cleaning my sink, baby on back

I spread out my yoga mat and turned out on a workout video.  It certainly didn't drown out the noise from the stage, but it was a welcome distraction.  The workout went well, except that my yoga mat kept getting crap on it because my floor was dirty.  My floor was dirty because I didn't have a broom.  I could have borrowed one from the school, but I hadn't wanted to.  It's not because I'm lazy and don't want to sweep my own floor.  Just the opposite.  I want to sweep my own floor, but they've spoiling me so much here that they don't want me to have to do anything on my own.  Last time I asked to borrow a broom a cleaner showed up ridiculously early the next morning, baby on her back, to clean my entire apartment.  She swept, mopped, washed my dishes, and cleaned my bathroom.  Afterwards I tried to explain through a translator that I'd be happy to hire a cleaner once per week, but I was told that the school employs cleaners and my money would be refused.  I'm not even talking much money here, a couple dollars.  I feel a bit awkward having someone else clean my tiny little apartment, for free, while I just stand there, so I just let the floor get dirty.  That morning, in between push ups and burpees, I decided I really needed to get my own broom next time I went to the market.

Next on my agenda for my nice relaxing Thanksgiving was to go get my hair washed.  Getting your hair washed here usually takes nearly an hour because it includes a head, neck, and shoulder massage, and is followed by a blow dry.  A few days before, a friend of mine had pointed out a "beauty saloon" [sic] that her friend owns, so I went to check it out.  I laid down on the table, and they wet my hair with very cold water.  That was fine, it was a warm day, and I've learned not to take hot running water for granted the way I used to back home.  Then she started "massaging" my scalp.  It hurt.  Bad.  She was using her fingernails, and not gently.  I'm talking brutal.  I don't know how to say "gently" or "take it easy" or anything like that in Burmese.  In hindsight, I've thought of a million things I could have done to act out how I was feeling, kinda like charades at the hair saloon.  But for some reason I laid there and did nothing as she tortured me.  At one point, when I was almost done, she took all my hair and pulled it.  Hard.  First straight back, then to one side, then the other.  I still don't understand what the purpose was.  Do Burmese people think that feels good?  No; I've been for other shampoos at other saloons, and while they're often a little bit weird, they're never that painful.  Maybe she decided to do an extra good job to impress the foreigner with the mutual friend.  Whatever the reason, I was glad when she finally rinsed the conditioner out with the cold water (it helped relieve the burning sensation) and led me to the chair to dry my hair.  She used the hair dryer until it was only about half dry, and then stopped.  Then I was presented with some kind of greasy Indian food that I was supposed to sprinkle a bunch of sugar on.  In general, I eat far more than I want to here because I'm afraid of being rude, so I ate it, thinking, "there goes my workout."  I assumed she would resume drying my hair when I finished eating, but once again I was wrong.  I tried to act out the motion of plugging the hair dryer back in and drying my hair again, which she responded to by smiling and nodding her head, and then just standing there.  When I put my helmet back on my scalp was burning and my hair was still wet.  At least the whole ordeal cost me less than $2.

That's me, the giant on the right.

I went home to my apartment, ran a brush through my hair, and changed my part to try to alleviate the helmet hair.  Then, for the first time since I arrived, I put on a bit of makeup before I donned my new set of traditional Burmese clothing.  My matching longyi and top had been tailor made.  Not exactly my style--I'm not sure if I'll ever wear it after I leave here--but I thought it would be nice to have one outfit that helped me to "fit in" a little, other than my school uniforms.





They loved it!  Pretty much everyone I saw that day exclaimed, "Oh!  Very beautiful!" when they saw me.  It was lovely, if maybe a little bit awkward.


The students had spent the week before selling tickets for the various types of foods that would be sold that day.  I had bought a few tickets from the students who had been brave enough to approach me and attempt to speak English, so I set off to figure out exactly what it was I had bought tickets for.  Turns out it didn't matter.  Every booth I stopped by wanted to give me food.  The people here are so generous.  They gave me so much food I tried to use "my hands are full!" as an excuse not to take any more, but they just helped me carry it.

Not sure what any of this is, but it was delicious! 

As I sat and ate my array of mysterious and delicious food, I was entertained by some karaoke.  Some of it was decent.  Some of it was absolutely horrendous.  I found myself, once again, wishing the microphones didn't work.


Then there was the November birthdays celebration.  There was a big cake, and I was asked to sing the birthday song into one of the microphones, because apparently blonde hair trumps a lack of talent (and actually, after the karaoke I'd been subjected to, I realized I wasn't so bad!)  Then all of the students who had a birthday in November were given a gift.  They had me stand on stage and present the gifts.  I was the first to present, so it was only after I had finished that I noticed that the other presenters posed for photos with the recipients.  Whoops.  Maybe the foreigner shouldn't have gone first.

Cutting the November birthdays cake

World's worst presenter

Next came the fireworks.  Presumably, at some point, someone said, "let's get enough tubes of little fireworks for the older kids, and enough sparklers for all the younger students," and no one voiced any objection.  In fact, everyone seemed to think it was a great idea.  And to be fair, no one got hurt, so I guess it was.  I also got a stick of firecrackers, so that was fun.  I think the whole spectacle would have been really beautiful if it had been dark out, but the parents wanted to get home, so we did it with the sun still blazing.

The elementary age students with their sparklers in the afternoon sun

In between all of these fun happenings, I must have had my photo taken about a thousand times.  People were often nervous to ask, but when they saw me smile and say yes for someone else, they became a little more bold.  There were a couple times that a queue began to develop.  Again, I don't mean to complain; I'm flattered, and it was lovely, but it was also a little awkward.

Check me out! It's like I'm famous!

When the mid-afternoon pyrotechnic display was finished, people began to disperse.  Some of the other teachers and students began picking up all the rubbish that had been strewn everywhere.  For some reason, in Myanmar it's perfectly acceptable to just throw your trash on the ground whenever you're finished with it.  Fortunately, the staff at my school has made it clear to the students that that is forbidden on school grounds, so our campus is normally quite clean.  However, their parents aren't as well trained, so the ground was covered with disposable bowls, styrofoam containers, chopsticks, ice cream wrappers, and other litter.  I began to help pick up the trash.  Of course, they told me I didn't need to help.  The thing is, I never need to help, and I like to help, so when they told me to stop I just kept saying, "it's ok" and kept picking up the rubbish.  I still don't know if I made them feel awkward or embarrassed, but I wanted to do a little something to help after all the generosity and love I had been shown throughout the day.

When most of the trash had been picked up, one of the principals told me I should go rest, so I went back to my apartment.  It wasn't long until it was dark outside.  I could hear fireworks being lit off fairly frequently, nearby, and in the distance.  I also knew that there would be thousands of candles and other lights lit around the pagodas throughout town.  I was curious as to what was happening in town.  I would have really liked to have jumped on my motorbike and cruised around town checking out the festivities, but the 'powers that be' at my school had made it clear that they didn't want me out on my own after 6:30, for my own safety.  I had tried to protest, telling them I never would have agreed to a curfew.  They insisted it wasn't a curfew, that I could do whatever I wanted, I just needed to have someone with me after 6:30.  I suppose I should have just asked to have someone give me a tour of the town and take me to the pagodas and monasteries that were hosting celebrations.  The thing is, after hours of being doted on, smiling for cameras, and attempting to speak in broken English, I didn't really want any more of all that.  I decided to stay home instead.

I'm glad I did, because I ended up speaking to my mom for over three hours.  My being away for the holiday was a bit tough on both of us, so it was nice to spend a few hours talking even though we couldn't be together.  I promised to be home next year for Thanksgiving.  Her response was, "Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before.  I'll believe it when I see it."  But I think I really mean it this time.  I love the idea of roasting a turkey and baking a pie with my mom, then eating some cranberry sauce and drinking a Michigan microbrew.

Throw a ring on the plastic bottle

stacking cans...
...just to knock them down again

This Tan Zaung Thaing full moon holiday was certainly a cultural experience.  Some of it was fun.  All of it was interesting.  When I look at the details, I notice so many differences between the American holiday I grew up with, and the Burmese one I experienced this year: we wear different clothes, eat different foods, play different games, sing different songs, and celebrate different things.  But when I focus on the bigger picture, I'm struck by the similarities.  We all aim to impress our guests and make them feel as welcome and happy as possible.  We all prepare and eat our favorite foods.  We entertain ourselves and each other.  We spend time with the people we love.


Ultimately, I'm most grateful for the people who have, and continue to, make me feel loved and welcome all over the world.

The thing I'm most thankful for

To be happy, I must try.

In some ways, it's been a rough couple of weeks.

The violence all over the world really shook me.  The inevitable increase in xenophobia that resulted made it even worse.  I've been to a whole lot of places, and I've found lovely, caring, smiling people everywhere.  I wanted to convince the rest of the world to think the same, but it seemed no amount of arguing with misguided people on Facebook seemed to make a difference.  Shocking.

Then there's the isolation.  I knew moving here would be isolating, but I did it anyway, despite being the textbook definition of an extrovert.  So it's no big surprise that I have had many lonely moments.  It's not being alone that is a problem in and of itself; it's the amount of thinking I'm able to do.  I suppose in some ways it's good, but I also have a way of getting too deep into my own head.

A 75 year old self-proclaimed "hermit and spinster" asked me this weekend if I was also a spinster.  I laughed and said, "yeah, I guess I am!"  It was hilarious at the time.  Then I had too much time to think about it.  Dear lord, am I a spinster?!  No, of course not.  Not yet, at least, right?  When I told my mom about the dear old lady who asked me that, at some point in the story my laughter turned to tears.  Apparently too much time to think isn't always a good thing.  

Today the librarian at my school, who I didn't know spoke a word of English, asked me a question I've been asked countless times throughout my stay here: "Are you happy?"  I smiled and said yes, the same way I do every time someone here asks me that.  There's no way I would be able to describe the complexity of my feelings, even with someone who is fluent in English.  Hell, I don't think I even understand the complexity of my feelings, so to try to describe them to someone who speaks very little English would be impossible.  So I smile and say "Yes, very happy," every time.  And I'm not lying; I am, in many ways, very happy here.

The librarian went on, thinking very deliberately about every word, "If you are not happy here..." he paused to think, and continued, "...you must try."

There's something very cool about the ways complex concepts can must be simplified between people who don't share a common language.  If someone in the States noticed I was feeling a bit down and said, "You must try," I'd think they were a jerk.  It's not exactly a supportive thing to say to someone who isn't happy with their life.  But he wasn't a jerk, at all.  Just the opposite.  He's right.  If I'm not happy, I should try harder to be happy.  

There's not a whole lot I can literally do to be happier.  Not knowing the language is frustrating, so I should try harder to learn more Burmese.  Other than that, I should be trying to shift my attitude.  I should try harder to fully embrace the culture that I came here to experience, starting now. 

First, I'm going to be grateful for all the experiences I'm having here.  For about one full and glorious hour after school, there's daylight.  I take my motorbike for a cruise nearly every day, and bask in the sunshine and freedom and adventure I feel when I do so.

 

The various stages of mohingar, which I am happy to say I now know how to cook!

This past weekend, I expressed an interest in learning how to cook Myanmar foods, so two different homes were opened to me.  Saturday night I went to my principal's house, where she lives with her mother, her "hermit and spinster" aunt, her brother and his wife and their children.  They taught me how to make Myanmar's national dish: mohingar.  It's pronounced Moe (like the Stooge) Hing (rhymes with Ying, like Ying and Yang) Ga (like the first syllable of gullible).  I've been eating it for years, and now I finally know how to make it.  I also learned how to make a delicious salad out of the vines of a pumpkin plant, a tasty and healthy Shan soup, how to preserve duck eggs, and what to do with them when they're ready.  I doubt any of my American friends would eat them, but I found them fascinating and surprisingly edible.

Preserved duck egg, covered in salt, ash, and lime juice

On Sunday morning, we ate the mohingar that we had made the night before, and then my friend and I went to the market in search of the ingredients for my next culinary adventure.  First, we stopped to visit the friends of my colleague.  On the way, she told me, "my friends are your friends," and I knew she was genuine.  I was welcomed into their home and offered the sweetest coffee I'd ever had.  As I sat there sipping it, watching the LED lights flash around their Buddha shrine and resisting the urge to take a photograph of their 91 year old grandmother who was warming her hands on a small coal stove, I realized I was being offered a glimpse of Burmese culture that very few people get to experience.  In that moment, I was grateful, and I was happy.

I then went to the home of Daw Khin Aye Hlaing for my second cooking lesson.  In the west, we'd call her a minimalist.  In fact, we'd call most people here minimalists.  Her home is very simple.  There is not much furniture, just one wooden chair, two beds, a couple of tables, and some cushions to sit on.  We made chicken, something called Mon Yin Saw, and the most delicious prawns I think I've ever had.  We ate with our hands, and spoke in very simplified English about our lives.  Once again, simplifying the English language had a way of taking the complexities out of things, and breaking them down to the essentials.  At 65, she is single, lives away from her family, and is sometimes lonely.  She said, "People ask me, 'why you no marry?'"  I could certainly relate, so I said, "me too!"  She continued, "I am only one, but I am ok.  Only one is peaceful.  I am peace and quiet.  I read and I study the Buddha.  Only one is peaceful."  And indeed it was.  Her home on the hill was quiet and had a serenity in its simplicity.  She might be considered a spinster, but she has many people in her life who love her and look after her.  So do I.  She has found peace.  So will I.  Yet another reason to be grateful, and happy.

Buying chicken at the market

This weekend I will have Thursday and Friday off, but certainly not because it's Thanksgiving.  Coincidentally, it's the November full moon.  I was really looking forward to having the weekend to spend traveling.  I had an image of doing what I always used to do when I worked at the International School of Myanmar: I was going to take off Wednesday night and go exploring until Sunday.  Well it turns out there's a festival here on Thursday that everyone really wants me to be here for.  Then I have to work for a couple of hours on Saturday.  If I wasn't taking my librarian's advice and trying to be happy, I'd be annoyed.  But I am going to take his advice.  I'm going to embrace this weekend.  I'm going to attend the festival, where I'm sure I'll be treated like a celebrity and fed far too much, which is every bit as alienating and wonderful as it sounds.  I'm going to focus on the wonderful, because if I want to be happy here, I must try.

I'm also going to take his life lesson with me when I go.  From now on, when I want to be happy, I will try.  And when I try to be happy, when I focus on the things I am grateful for, and open my heart to the beauty, lessons, and love the world has to offer, I will be happy.

I'm okay, and that's good.

Transitions are always challenging, for anyone.  The bigger the transition, the bigger the rollercoaster of emotions that go along with it.  And I'm in the middle of a whopper of a transition, so my emotions are all over the place.

Yesterday I went for a run.  It felt amazing to be out on the street with the sun setting just behind the hills.  Then I realized that the poor girl who has been put in charge of keeping tabs on me was running after me in her traditional Burmese clothing and cheap sandals.  So I gave up on the run and came back to my apartment and cried.  I felt so frustrated and lonely and trapped.

When all the students were back in class and I had pulled myself together, I went for another run.  This time I behaved myself and stayed on campus, running back and forth on the football field, and up and down the stairs.  I had a little "Rocky" moment running up the stairs.  I felt resilient and refreshed.

I took my first hot bath in years, and I felt relaxed and content.  And I felt proud that I was able to feel relaxed and content in a place that is so vastly different from home, and everywhere else I've ever known.

This morning I was lying in bed, reveling in the fact that, because it was Saturday, I didn't have to start work until 10:30.  I heard, "teacher?" and went to the door to find the same girl who had chased me down the street.  She was delivering my breakfast, which was nice, but next to the door was the biggest huntsman spider I've ever seen.  Just for the record, I've seen a fair few large spiders in Australia and throughout Southeast Asia, and I'm not one to exaggerate.  It was the size of my hand.  Then all of a sudden it wasn't by my door any more.  I looked everywhere, and finally saw its legs sticking out from behind the towel that was hanging on my wall.  I'm not afraid of spiders, but I don't necessarily want them snuggling up with me either.  While I scrambled to find a glass that would be big enough to trap it in, it scurried (shockingly quickly) out of reach.  At a loss for anything else to do, I sat and drank the coffee that had been delivered, and watched it.  I got the impression that it didn't really want to be here, and I think we were both relieved when it found a space in the ceiling to escape through.

I was a little disconcerted, but it was nothing I wasn't going to be able to shake off pretty quickly and easily.  I got dressed, and went to wash my breakfast dishes.  The tray is too big to wash in my little bathroom sink, and that's my only sink, so I took my dishes to the bathtub, where I found a little scorpion.  Spiders might not bother me too much, but scorpions do.  I'm a Michigan girl, and until this morning I didn't have any experience with scorpions.  Thankfully, it was trapped in the tub, so I had time to put a shoe on and muster up some courage before I stomped the shit out of that thing.

 I don't know what I felt.  I know I was shaking.  I think I felt a funny mixture of freaked-the-fuck-out and numb.  I wasn't about to quit my courageous three month adventure after one week because of a couple of little critters, but after a couple of tough days of adjustment, I wasn't feeling very inspired to stay, either.  My apartment was my sanctuary.  It's not especially cute, but it's mine, and it's the only place where I feel (or felt) comfortable in such a strange land.


Then I went to teach the teachers.  They were incredibly welcoming and happy to work with me.  I felt valued and appreciated, and that helped to ease my anxiety after my crazy morning.

My new friend Julia and the insect repellent

This evening I stopped by the staff room, where they had a bucket of stuff burning in the room.  I asked if it was for bugs, and went on to tell them about my morning.  They seemed quite surprised about the scorpion, which made me feel better.  At least they're not an entirely common sight.  A really nice young teacher named Julia brought the bucket of burning stuff to my room, and we let it burn for awhile.  While it was burning, we got to talking.  Her English is quite good, and she gave me her number and told me I can call her any time.  I think we might be friends.  I felt relieved, and even excited, to have a friend here that I might enjoy spending time with.

Right now, I feel okay.  It's been a rollercoaster couple of days, but right now I feel okay.  There are still remnants of the frustrated, lonely, trapped feelings I had when I wasn't allowed to leave, because I'm not quite allowed to leave yet.  But I'm also still feeling resilient.  I'm still a little uneasy about the critters I encountered this morning, but that's tempered by the professional and personal connections I've made since then.

So, I'm okay.  And for me, right now, considering all the cultural changes I'm adjusting to and creepy crawly things I've encountered, okay is good.

Turning Chaperones to Tour Guides

I went to sleep last night determined to do something about the overwhelming claustrophobic feeling I got when I found out I'm not going to be allowed out on my own until after the elections. I had decided that the school is being overly cautious, and I was going to firmly insist that I at least be able to explore the local neighborhood on foot after school.

Then this morning, over an hour before I needed to be at school (and I live at school, so it doesn't exactly take me long to "get there") I heard a knock at my window and, "Miss Katie! Miss Katie! Miss Katie!"

"Yes! Just a minute!" I scrambled to throw some clothes on. Meanwhile, "Miss Katie! Miss Katie!"

By the time I got to the door I was worried something was wrong. Opening it and seeing the principal of my school didn't exactly ease my anxiety, until she asked, "You go to market?"

I had just been to the market the night before, and I didn't need anything, so I said no. She looked confused. She went on to ask again, explaining that the market is near the train station and some girls from school were going to go, and I could take her motorbike. I shrugged and said, "Ok. Sure."

So we rode through the streets filled with monks and tuk tuks and motorbikes and street dogs.  In the background, the sun was beginning to burn the morning mist off of the Shan hills, and I got to soak it all in because I didn't have my nose in a map.

It turned out the girls didn't need to go to the train station or the market.  I realized when we were on our way back to school that they had gone just to show me around.

This afternoon, my principal asked me what I wanted to do after school.  There's a hill right next to our school with some pagodas and a monastery at the top.  I told her I wanted to climb it.  I felt a bit guilty because I knew she was going to find someone who would have to climb it with me.  Then I felt annoyed about feeling guilty because I would have been more than happy to go by myself.  I would have preferred it, actually.

Instead, I had three chaperones.  They spoke to each other in Burmese the entire time, while I focused on enjoying the scenery and avoiding the mud puddles.  One thing I did not have to focus on was finding my way there.  I just tagged along and took photos.

When we got close to the monastery, I stopped to take some photos of a beautiful old banyan tree.  When I rejoined my chaperones, I realized they were enjoying themselves.  The man who had been leading the way was having a friendly conversation with a monk.  The younger woman was taking photos on her smartphone, and the older woman had her hands clasped in prayer.  We climbed to the top together, and when we got there I said one of the only Burmese words I know, "hladae," and the older woman responded, "yes, very beautiful."  In that moment I realized that I hadn't needed to feel so guilty, and then annoyed, about having them come with me.  I had encouraged them to become tourists in their own town, and they were enjoying themselves.

We took a "shortcut" through the jungle on the way home, which was something I most definitely would not have done on my own.  As I climbed under vines and worried about snakes, I came to appreciate the fact that I was being shown a very local view of my new neighborhood that I would not have experienced otherwise.

So although I lost the debate over my freedom, I've decided I can still win at life in Lashio.  Instead of thinking of the people who accompany me as chaperones, I'm going to think of them as tour guides.  They're going to show me around in ways that only locals can.  I'm going to get to know the city without having to use a map, and hopefully they will enjoy our excursions as much as I do.

I'm going to add this to the long list of times that things have not gone my way when living and traveling overseas.  But, with the right attitude adjustment, sometimes there's an even better way.

Pig intestines and the blonde in the zoo

I've learned a couple interesting life lessons in the past 24 hours.

Turns out that if you smother pig intestines in a sauce made of chili, garlic, coriander, peanuts, mysterious powders, fish sauce and lime juice, they really aren't that bad. The trick is not to chew them too long. I also learned that when you discover this trick you should pace yourself, rather than trying to get rid of all the intestines on your plate, otherwise someone will give you another skewer and you'll have to repeat the whole process.

This is not at all a criticism of Shan food--just the opposite. The intestines were the only questionable thing that was cooked in the most phenomenal  hot pot I've ever had, by far. It was absolutely delicious, as are most of the other Shan foods I've tried so far. I mean, hell, I ate pig intestines and wasn't disgusted. Shan food managed to make offal less awful.

I've also developed a whole lot more empathy for animals at the zoo. This is partially because of the way everyone stares at the entirely different species that they've never seen in real life before. It's also because I can sense that the onlookers are talking about me, but I can't make out what they're saying. Many of the students, and even some of the staff, remind me of patrons at a zoo who are quite comfortable gazing at me from a distance, but then when they finally get up close, they get all nervous and don't know how to behave. Some of the students actually squeal and run away.

Unfortunately, I'm learning to relate to zoo animals in terms of captivity as well.

For those who don't know, Burma has been ruled by a military dictatorship for over 50 years. The country is supposed to be transitioning to a democracy, but it remains to be seen how much, if any, power the military will concede after the upcoming elections. If their behavior prior to the election, including increased  numbers of political prisoners, violent interruptions of peaceful protests, and even genocide, is any indication of their commitment to democracy and all the ideals that go along with it, it should be an interesting election indeed.  No one knows what the future holds for Myanmar, or how the ruling military will act in the run up to, or aftermath of, the elections.. People are nervous. Which, apparently, means that I can't leave my school unaccompanied for the next couple weeks.

I know the management of my school mean well. I know they have my best interests at heart, and will do whatever they can to make me as comfortable as possible. And I appreciate all of that.

The thing is, knowing I can't go for a walk to explore my new neighborhood just makes all the other aspects of being a specimen at the zoo that much more frustrating. I came here to discover a part of Burma that not many other people get to. I didn't sign up for life on a compound. I already feel like one of those animals that paces back and forth along the fence. Sure, they'll let me out, but only on a figurative leash with a chaperone who doesn't really speak English and doesn't understand the cultural idiosyncrasies that fascinate me, the things I want to take photos of, or the silence I crave after a day of talking and listening, but not really being understood, or comprehending.

In comparison to the hundreds of thousands of people whose lives have been ruined by the military's regime, I hardly have any room to complain. I'm not a malnourished and abused animal in a tiny cage. I'm very well looked after by people who really do want to keep me happy, but I still feel like I need to get out.