Smile. The Thai Way.

Thailand is not called the Land of Smiles for nothing.  Anywhere you go in Thailand, you interact with the Thai people and you yourself will make that same conclusion:  Thailand IS the Land of Smiles.

Like everybody else, Thai people smile when they're happy and pleased.  But unlike everybody else, Thais also smile when they're anything but happy.  Smiles don their faces when they're sad. Even they're upset or boiling mad, smiles will still flash from their face. They smile when they're frustrated.  They smile when they are embarrassed.  And they smile when they don't have a single clue as to what you are talking about.

Part of My man's work in the hospital involves dealing with the problems that international patients bring up before, during, or after their treatment/experience in the hospital.  Many a time My man would come home and tell me how this patient came storming into their office, screaming at the top of his lungs that the hospital staff did not, or does not, understand him. Of course the patient knows he is in Thailand and tried to explain what he wanted to say in English very s-l-o-w-l-y.  Of course he repeated it when the staff did not understand him the first time. The second time.  The more the patient tried to get himself understood, the angrier he got. Why???

I am bl**dy @#$% ANGRRRY!  WHYYYY is he SMILING!!!

Welcome to the Land of Smiles.  Where a smile can mean I like you.  Or I'm going to kill you!  

Foreigners have to understand that when Thai people smile, it does not necessarily mean they are happy.  In the case of these hospital staff smiling at irate patients, they are just at a loss of what to say, or what to do.  They either did not understand a single thing the patient was trying to say, or they don't know how to make themselves understood.  Many times they experience mental block.  They do not know how to communicate and express themselves in English.  Their second language, a language they so desperately try to learn.  And so they just smile.  Not to insult or offend the patient, but because they have "run out" of words in English, and they just are beside themselves, not knowing how else to resolve the problem before them.

Having been here in Thailand for more than a decade now, I understand the Thai people and their inability to express themselves in English.  But still many times, when I'm on the other side of the table, and frustratingly getting myself misunderstood, their smile still get into my nerves. I don't even have to see the smile.  On the phone, it comes across as "Yes, sir. Yes Sir!" (this I don't mind--I have long accepted that sometimes I am a Sir to Thai people).  Or "Ah, excuse me Sir..."

"Good morning. I'm calling to check on my credit card payment.  I paid the bill yesterday."

Ah, excuse me Sir...did you pay already?

"Yes, I paid online yesterday.  Will there be charges for my late payment?"

Ah, excuse me Sir...today you pay at the bank?

"No, I did not pay at the bank.  I paid---"

Ah, excuse me Sir.  The bank forward your payment to us tomorrow. Your payment come in tomorrow.

"Yes, I understand.  Do I have to---"

Ah, excuse me, excuse me.  Tomorrow I call you. Okay?

Sigh.

What do you do?  Smile?  The Thai way?  

If you can, smile.  If you can't, do what I did.  Wait. Till you can.

Smile! :D

Only You!

I knew it was coming.  I had seen a special twinkle in his eyes every time he gazes into mine.  His hugs have been getting tighter, and his kisses had been so much sweeter.  Never a day goes by without him letting me know that he wants me.  No doubt he was obviously head over heels in love with me.  

The other night, he wouldn't let anyone else come near me.  I couldn't touch anyone else except him either.  He made sure he had me safe on his side.  He was insistent in his demands, "I love only you! You love only me too, okay?"

That was enough to tell me something was boiling.  I had this feeling that something was going to pop up soon.  But I didn't expect it to come this soon.  

Just before bedtime last night, i can't even remember what exactly I was doing, he suddenly grabbed me, put his arms around my neck, and made his declaration.  Facing the mirror right over our headboard, smiling at our reflection, he embraced me and said:  "I want to marry you.  I like you!"

Then as if afraid that he hasn't made himself clear enough, he looked at his dad, tightened his arms around me, and reiterated what he said, "Daddy, I want to marry mommy!"

At first his daddy didn't know what to say.  When he recovered, he burst out laughing, and asked, "Really?!  Why do you want to marry mommy?

Matter-of-factly, our little Roo replied, "Because I like mommy so much, daddy!  I love mommy right up to the moon, and back, and back, and back, and back!"

My second proposal.  Never imagined another being could love me as much as My man does--enough to propose marriage.  My little one has understood the concept of marriage:  when you love and like someone very much, you want to marry her and be with her.  

Forever.

My man and my dear Roo, you guys have my whole heart! I love you both right up to the moon and back, and back, and back and back!

Visa Blues 2

One thing about not being in your own country, even if you're old and sick, you still have to come to the Immigration.  I mused out loud to My man, as we stood outside the Immigration Building, at seven-thirty yesterday morning. Ahead of us on the queue, was an elderly couple. The man, perhaps in his late seventies, was on a wheelchair, and his wife, about his age, pushed him towards the chairs.  Good thing they were allowed entry into the building, to sit down and wait there, while the rest of us, lined up outside the door. 

Like I said last year (see this post), you never know what to expect when you arrive at the Immigration. Last year, I got to be the third person on a line in front of the counter where they give out queue numbers, but that was inside the building.  This time, we had to queue outside the door, and wait for them to open it, which they did a few minutes after the flag-raising at eight am.  As soon as they opened the doors, everybody scrambled in to line up again at the counter, to get our queue numbers.  My number:  909.  10 persons waiting ahead of me.

The waiting gave me and My man some time to talk.  It's very seldom that we get to talk uninterrupted by a little Roo.  My man planned his strategies for next year's visa renewal:  Since he wakes up early, he'd go ahead and make sure he's first on the line, get a number, then I can just come later (they open the offices at 8:30 am and start calling numbers around nine am anyways.)  We discussed several business opportunities that could be  feasible around and inside the Immigration.  Breakfast is one.  We surmised most people who were there early, like us, didn't have time to eat.  Photocopy and photograph services is another. There's always one more document that you forget to photocopy, and your old ID picture may not pass their scrutiny.  Or maybe A Queue Number to Your Liking business!  We'll hire someone to be there early, get as many numbers as possible for all kinds of visa needs, and provide them to people at a fee!  That would work for people like me who'd pay for a few more winks of sleep :D Another thing that would definitely reap profits is a parking lot.  Parking at the Immigration is next to impossible when you get there late.  You'll just have to drive around and around the parking lot until you get lucky and somebody drives out.

Sigh. Why is it that when you're waiting, time ticks by ever so slowly?  My man had already run out of things to talk about, and got himself busy with his phone game.  I craned my neck to check on the officers--they were all seated at their desks, behind their brand-new computers, all looking busy.  The woman on my right was leafing through her documents, over and over, every now and then checking on the electronic device in front of us, to see if it's working.  Right next to her, was a dark-haired boy, about two years old, whining for one more treat from his mom.  There was a black guy in front of us sitting and talking quietly with a Thai lady.  Beside them, sat a family of Caucasians.  The mom was constantly playing referee between her little boy and his sister, who were amusing themselves by taking turns tickling each other's neck.

Number nine hundred.  Counter number 20.  The electronic device finally found its voice!  It was now nine am.  The lady beside me, obviously an agent processing visas for other people, had left her seat a while back and gone ahead to talk to the officers without being called.  A tall, white man in his flip-flops came and sat down.  I glanced at his passport.  Deutsche.  His number: 958.

Photographs, check.  Photocopies: Marriage contract, passport, birth certificate, Thai ID, house registration, check.  Map!  See, I told you.  I can never get all these documents right.

Nine hundred nine.  Counter number 21.  My man and I greeted the officer with a wai, and handed her our documents.  She gave My man an A4 paper and asked him to draw a map indicating where we live.  She checked the family pictures we submitted and compared them with her file of last year's pictures.  Hmm, they can monitor my little Roo's growth here. Sign here, sign there.  You pay 1900 baht khah. Stamp, stamp. She gave me back my passport and on it: 16 September 2008.  I am to go back next month for the results.

Whew! My man and I chuckled in relief as we drove away and this black Honda Accord behind us swiftly drove into the precious parking spot. 

Roo Turns Three

For his birthday, I suggested that instead of having a birthday party with friends, we can have a simple family dinner and use the party money to share food and stuff with orphans.  Roo readily agreed.  But there's one thing he's been asking for quite a while now:  Mommy, can I have a violin when I'm three?

Daddy E and I happily bought him one.  From the time we bought the instrument, if at all possible, he doesn't want to part with his violin.  Even brought it with him on the bed for his afternoon nap.  His daddy taught him how to hold and use the bow, and he has since been diligently practicing.  

Happy Birthday our dear Roo!

Mom of a Kind

She would have been 61 today.  If things went as planned, we would have been at the beach in Boracay, celebrating her birthday with the family.  She had been asking for a family reunion, and we were working on the details of having one in December, when my brother would be home for his vacation.  She had been excitedly saving for a trip to Europe in April next year.  Yup, had she a choice, mommy would still have fought and negotiated for a few more years to live her dreams and make sure her family is secure in the Lord.

Well, sixty years, eleven months, and thirteen days were all she was granted.  Oh but them 60 yrs, 11 mos, and 13 days were lived to the fullest to the very last second of her life!  Mommy was a very conscientious daughter to her parents, a true (word not mine, but her brother's) sister to her siblings, a faithful and devoted wife to our dad, a protective and loving mother to us, her children, and a doting grandmother to Roo, her bugoy grandson.

My mom became my best friend, my confidante sometime in my college days. I remember making it a point to go home as often as I could on weekends so I can spend time with my parents.  I guess in a way, that was to make up for all the lost time in high school, when just like any other teenager, I didn't want to hang out, or be seen with my folks.  When I came to Thailand to work after I graduated, my mom painstakingly wrote me long handwritten letters, updating me of news from home and encouraging me in my endeavors. I in turn snail-mailed her pages and pages of my adventures and experiences in the Land of Smiles. In between letters, I called home and the telephone company gained thousands of baht from my homesickness and long talks with my mother.

Mommy was always there for us, our refuge and stronghold in times of trouble.  She was not the affectionate, expressive of mother but we never doubted her strong love for us.  When she became a lola (grandmother) however, a major transformation in my mom unfolded before my eyes.  Her apo (grandson) showered her with hugs and kisses, and in time, my mom loosened up and became comfortable returning the hugs and kisses.  When Roo started talking and said "I love you lola" to her, she answered him with her own sweet "I love you too" without any of the old awkwardness and uneasiness.  She adored her little bugoy and according to my brother who lived with them, talked nonstop about Roo's doings and antics, to them and to anybody who will listen.  She was proud of her apo and I'm thankful that in her last few years, she tasted the sweetness and knew the joys of being a lola.

The Story

Mommy, can you please tell me a story?  I want to know the story when lola died.  Are you sad, mommy?  Don't cry, I'm here for you, mommy!

It was early Sabbath evening.  After spending the whole Sabbath afternoon in Bible study with some people, mommy told my dad she was hungry.  Since they didn't have food ready to eat at home, my dad suggested that they go to the mall and eat pizza.  Off to Greenwich they went and ordered mommy's favorite garden fresh pizza.   Daddy said she had just finished one slice of pizza when she nodded off and lost consciousness.  

Mommy, why did lola die when she ate pizza?  Did lolo carry her to the car? Mommy, why didn't you let me see lola? I just wanted to see if she was okay.  Where did lola die, mommy? Where did they put lola when she died?

Dad rushed her to the hospital but she never regained consciousness.  Just like that.  It's like her life button switch was turned off.  And I guess we'll never really know what happened because all she was able to have was one CT scan.  Doctors said it could have been atrial fibrillation--which meant her heartbeat was irregular.  Blood could have pooled and clotted in her heart, and these clots could have left the heart and become lodged in the MCA of her brain.  Later after exams they said her heart was clean.  Whatever it was, it took away our mom from us.

Right now, I'm kind of in a state of denial.  I want to think mommy is just there in Roxas, at home with daddy.  I want to think that.  I want to believe that.  I cannot believe she is gone.  

But reality, harsh as it is, slams me down in the face when I see the heirloom watch in my watch case. Her favorite bag is on my shelf.  That is exactly why I didn't want to bring any of her things with me.  They make me realize that this is not just a bad dream.  Mommy is not here anymore!  

My heart is so, so sad.  So many questions, so many whys whirling in my troubled mind. I know it's selfish of me to want her back.  She is now at peace.  She is resting from all the worries and cares of this life.  She is safe in the arms of Jesus.  

I know tears will keep flowing.  My heart is mourning.  I praise God for times like these!  It's in times like these that I realize that this earth is not my home.  My heart may be heavy, but in the Lord I choose to rejoice!  For this temporal life will not last long. There's hope of a better, tear-free life in Jesus in the near future.  That grand reunion with mommy, and other dear family and friends, is fast approaching.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning."  Psalm 30:5

Weep if you must...

Deep, Deep Sorrow

It's been a week.  My mom has been gone for a week.  I feel so sad inside, I don't have words for it.  My close friend describes it as sorrow beyond words.  How I miss her.  I miss talking to her. I miss telling her what Roo has been up to; what Roo said, what Roo did.  She would have been so happy that we are all here.  I miss mommy.  Terribly.  

Yet I can't cry.  Tears come trickling every now and then, but I still yearn to have a good, long cry.  I've been distracting myself and trying not to think about it, because I don't want my dad to see me cry.  Or he'd start weeping too.  I don't want my son to see me sad.  That will get him so stressed out again.  

I cry inside.  Deep, deep within me, there's great sorrow for losing someone so dear.  It's like losing my lifeline, so to speak.  Mommy holds a very special place in my heart, in my life, and now that she's gone, it's like there's this big, empty space inside me, that's longing to be filled.  I walk around in a daze, not knowing how to get on with life. I wish this was all a bad dream that I can wake up out of.  

Life.  It's short.  It's fragile.  It is indeed just a gift.  When the breath of life is taken away, you're nothing.  You get buried six feet below the ground, and you don't know a thing.  You don't know how lost your spouse feels without you.  You don't know how much your children yearn to hear your voice one more time.  You don't know how loud your grandson calls for you.  

If only I can do something to bring my mom back.  If only I can turn back time, I'd insist on her seeing a doctor for a complete checkup.  I'd do everything to convince her to come and stay with us in Bangkok where the hospitals have enough facilities to save lives.  I'd tell her over and over again how much she means to me, and how much I love her!  If only...

God, You have given, and You have taken.  Thank you for the gift of having mommy in my life for 32 years!  I look forward to being with her in the resurrection morning.  Lord, I can hardly wait to see her again!  Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come!