Weight Ain't Nothin' but a Number

Dear Thailand Committee on Self Esteem and Body Image,

I was recently in a yoga studio where I was asked to step on a scale. The reaction of the other people (all Thai) implied that I should be embarrassed about the number the scale displayed. Other days at this same studio, it is measuring and comparing waist, hip, and bust sizes. 

I do not feel the need to apologize for weighing 60 kilos. Nor am I in the least bit embarrassed by that number or by the fact that I have a solid 10-15 kilos on every Thai lady in my yoga class. I do not expect that as a woman in my late twenties I would have a 22 inch waist. 

Yes, I am bigger than many Thai women. I probably always will be. 

There was a time when I thought that weight, that magic number on the scale, meant something. At one point in my life, I gave it so much value that it controlled nearly everything I ate and did. From the age of 12 until about 20, I couldn’t imagine weighing more than 100 pounds; 110 felt like the end of the world. At one point during freshman year of college, I hit a low of 85 pounds. At that time, in that pound-oriented mindset, I felt like that was a glorious number.

But it didn’t feel healthy. I was frail and tired. I was sick and weak. I was skinny, sure, but I was in no way healthy.

Today, at the age of 26, I apparently weigh around 135. I might not be perfectly in shape – things might be bouncier or squishier than “ideal” – but I am strong and healthy. I am certainly not stick-thin, but by most standards, especially my own, I am not overweight.

Being healthy does not require washboard abs, sculpted arms, or cellulite-free thighs.  I would rather be the version of healthy that I embody right now than be super-skinny, have those perfect body parts, and constantly criticize everything I do and every morsel I consume. I no longer have the desire for my hipbones or collarbones to protrude, for my thighs not to touch, or for my arms to be 100% jiggle-free. 

Now, I do not necessarily agree wholeheartedly with the American adage about accepting yourself just the way you are; too often it becomes an excuse for apathy, laziness, and inertia. I accept myself, and this means accepting that in many ways I can be better. I can be nicer, kinder, more understanding; I can work harder, learn more, and find ways to step out of my comfort zone. I can be stronger, eat better, push myself to try things toward which I am not naturally inclined or gifted. But these days, I push myself to be better without criticizing that which needs to be changed.

Hear me: not only am I not ashamed of my 60 kilos. I’m damn proud of them. They took fortitude to acquire, perseverance to develop. They come from strength and confidence, rather than self-denial and insecurity.  I am proud that I sometimes allow myself to overindulge, proud of my 3-second handstand, proud of almost being able to run a half mile. I am proud to know that, with work and a positive attitude, I can push three seconds to four and half a mile to a whole mile. And if in the process my thighs or arms get bigger, so be it. I am proud, most of all, that a number doesn’t define whether or not I think I am beautiful.

So, Thailand, stop patting my belly and pinching my arm fat. Stop asking if I am pregnant. Stop covering the scale readout. This is me, all 135 glorious, healthy pounds of me. And, I will not let you make me feel bad about who I am or how I look.

Sincerely,

disgruntled but ever-loving foreigner

*While I realize how many of these same arguments can be applied to American culture’s standards of beauty, Thailand is particularly blunt and graceless when it comes to social treatment of body size and standards of beauty. 

No Smoking

For a country with so many smokers, little social stigma about smoking, and where you are allowed to smoke nearly anywhere, the warnings on Thai cigarettes are surprisingly large and horrific.

Last year in the U.S., there was talk of putting graphic images on packs of cigarettes, taking up 50% of the packaging as a dramatic warning system. I perused the proposed images. They have nothing on the Thai warning pictures.

However, I find many of the warnings here confusing, misleading, or even slightly amusing. Why is Thai Fabio smoking into the face of that child/probable kidnapping victim? Holy hell, who lit that man’s foot on fire? Also, are these really warning me of the dangers of smoking? Oh well, at least the Thais are going all out.

It was actually strange going to other Southeast Asian countries last spring; the cigarette packs looked disconcertingly bare.

Disclaimer: I realize that writing about the fact that we are smokers in Thailand may spawn some criticism. However, in our defense, it took us a long time to get all of these empty packs together. Oh, and we have set Feb 1^st as our quitting date, so you can all rest easy.

Thai Fruit: Durian

Durian. Oh, infamous durian. Banned from buses and trains, inappropriate to eat in mixed company, the durian has one overwhelming feature – its smell. Pungent, cloyingly sweet, with overwhelming tones of rotting garbage, the scent of durian is a uniquely nauseating experience. So overpowering is the smell that at Bangkok’s International Airport, the warnings for traveling with durians are identical to the warnings for checking firearms in your luggage, only the graphics are different.

I have tried durian several times, but I just cannot divorce my taste buds from my olfactory senses. I can only hold my breath while eating for so long. It just tastes exactly how it smells, with the added bonus of being super mushy.

Certified: The Art of Thai Massage

As our time in Thailand is slowly coming to a close, I realized I only had one chance left to learn Thai massage. A gift to myself, I spent the holiday break (the only consecutive free days I have left before we leave) getting Thai massage certified in Chiang Mai. Not wanting to spend an absurd amount of baht or waste my time only learning a small portion of a Thai massage, I opted to go to the same place Win went during his 2008 Thailand trip.

Win described the course as a week of getting and giving massages, and he vouched for the awesomeness of the instructor. Her 5-day whole body massage course was about half the cost of the bigger, less personal massage schools. Not bad for a hundred dollars.

So, I too went to Ms. Aree Sanyaluck, but my experience was a bit different from Win’s. For starters, I was the only student. This meant that, as I was the only one practicing, it was all massage-giving, no receiving. But, hey, I didn’t have to worry about being paired up with some creepy tourist as a massage partner. Since I was practicing on Aree herself, she knew exactly how well I was doing and how to correct me. Plus, I got to learn at my own pace.  

So, I spent five days hanging out, massaging Aree, while her three black cats lounged in the sun or stretched out alongside us. Aree turned out to be a ridiculous individual. After teaching for 26 years, she speaks not only fluent English, but also French, inadvertently slipping from one to the other occasionally. We talked about Thai schools, farang men, the Thai version of prostitution (‘girlfriends’), different types of tourists. I listened as she professed her profound hatred for most of the massage schools around Chiang Mai, especially those that teach Wat Po style (carelessly popping, cracking, and walking on backs); she told me about her herbal medicine work with the local hospital and the psychiatric hospital; and I learned about her time in Australia and Europe learning massage through a program set up by the King. Not a bad way to spend time off work.

Giving a Thai massage is incredibly exhausting, with all the lifting of dead weight, pulling and stretching of limbs, and bending the recipient into some very yoga-esque positions. But it was a ton of fun to learn, and apparently, I am a natural at it. This probably has something to do with the fact that I get a Thai massage every week ($10 for two hours, who could resist?) and I know what things they do that I just hate. I blew through the five day course in three and a half, so Aree taught me the extra two days (foot massage) on day five. For free. A wonderful New Year’s present.

And, the whole arrangement worked out in Win’s favor as well: once I finished the course, Aree had me practice on Win. Twice. So at least one of us got a free massage.

Frying Frenzy

My students love to try to share their food with me. Unfortunately, many of their food choices make me sick to even think about eating. Uncooked ramen noodles, french fries with a quarter inch layer of salt, weird fried crackers that taste like fish, gross jelly candy that has to be sucked from its plastic container. Many classes start with me saying repeatedly in Thai, “No thanks, I’m full, I already ate” just to avoid having to put unclassifiable foods in my mouth.

And in front of the school and in the cafeteria, stands cater to the students’ every whim. My least favorite is the vats of boiling oil filled with a mixture of mystery meats, similar to hot dogs and baloney (as if they weren’t unhealthy enough when microwaved or boiled). Skewered and tossed into a plastic bag with sauce – sweet chili sauce, ketchup, or (gag) mayonnaise, your choice – these fried meats are then devoured right off the stick.

Unfortunately, it’s not just the students who partake in all the fried foods. Win and another co-worker, Stephen, have taken to eating massive amounts of fried chicken and baloney during snack breaks (the school has two, aside from lunch). It has gotten to the point that these lunch ladies not only brag about the foreign teachers buying their fried meats, but also about the frequency with which the two of them show up. On the bright side, Win and Stephen don’t attempt to force-share their food with me. 

Bangkok Retrospective

So here we are, one year after our arrival in Bangkok, back in the same airport, waiting to fly to Sri Lanka. It has been a very long year, full of airports, trains, buses and tuk-tuks. We have lived in two parts of Thailand, taught a combined 3,000 students, and traveled to seven other countries. Considering the Rachel I was on our first weekend in Thailand, I have to say I am proud of how far I’ve come.

To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. First arriving in Bangkok, the heat and humidity was stifling, my hair, skin and lungs tested as soon as we left the airport doors swished open, dumping us into Bangkok. Win, having lived in India for a year and traveled to Thailand before, knew what to expect. Although, his go-to Indian-accented English and desire to argue over every price were the extreme counterpoint to my helpless befuddlement.

The sheer number of people was mind-boggling. The traffic was congested, intermixed with neon cabs, driving on the left side of the road, and bobbing, weaving and swerving, rules of the road ignored. The streets, jammed full of people and various stands, most often reeked of garbage. And I was under constant attack, my stomach by the food and water, my legs and arms by an endless army of mosquitoes. It took a while for me to settle in, and even longer for my body to adjust.

Today, I am far better at traveling in a number of ways. I trust that a cab might take the roundabout way, but they will probably get us where we are going (and if not, we aren’t really obligated to pay). I am alright playing the occasional game of menu roulette, just pointing at a menu item and hoping for the best, all the while knowing I am bound to eat frog one of these days. Haggling over prices is a sort of game, not a source of stress. And I am slowly adapting my Western mentalities to the Thai ‘sabai-sabai’ attitude. I still have a way to go before becoming Thai-style laid back, but my immune system has stepped it up a notch, and my outlook isn’t far behind.