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.