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.