Furry Additions

Fish and bunnies aside, we have been very strong in our resolve about not getting pets while in Thailand. (To properly read that sentence, ‘we’ is pronounced ‘Win’ and ‘significant pets’ refers specifically to cats.) We don't want to get attached when our living situation is temporary. Our defenses, however, have been breached. We’ve thrown in the towel. Our white flag is a-wavin’ and I blame it on a bunch of elementary kids.

Sometime in July a lovely stray cat -- white with big, round patches of pale orange and grey -- took up residence in the pratom 5 and 6 (elementary) building on our campus. Shortly thereafter, we discovered that the very friendly stray cat was also very pregnant. Between students and teachers, when Mama Cat gave birth the kittens were moved to a safe place in the music room on the first floor. Mama Cat was free to come and go, students fed and watered her, and the kittens slept nestled away in a box (unless interrupted by screaming children or music class).

Unfortunately, two of the three kittens have died. The remaining kitten is tiny and frail, and the incessant attention from students is almost certainly not a health-positive situation (who knows where those hands have been?).

We tried to be stoic. We tried to be rational. We are going on vacation for a month, and we are leaving Thailand in the spring. But how can you look a kitten in the face and still say no? The kitten, with black-on-white, symmetrical inkblot coloring across its back, curled up in Mama’s protection, just washed away all rational arguments against taking them home. Someone has to feed our fish and water our plants while we’re gone, what’s the big deal if they feed the cats too?

The Thai teachers wasted no time once they saw the chink in our armor. Upon first sighting, Mama was wrangled by fifth graders and Baby put back safely in its box. An army of students trekked them across campus to our office, where they caused a stir with the high school kids. So, both Mama Cat and Baby Cat are in for some foreigner TLC.

Mama Cat is a bundle of purring and affection, despite being a stray cat. Baby Cat is possibly the most precious fuzz puff I have seen; too young to have developed proper motor function, it bobs and weaves after our feet, the tiniest of obstacles or disruptions sending it tumbling. Real names are still to come, but I am anticipating cat cuddles with the greatest of joy and the biggest of smiles.

Prettydressoholic

I’m not very girly. I barely wear any makeup. I only own a smattering of jewelry.  I don’t drool over purses or shoes. I hardly ever manage to do more with my hair than letting it air-dry. But, I love wearing pretty dresses.

I love the light, feminine feel of a dress. I adore how wearing something nice can make ordinary days feel like some sort of occasion. In tropical heat, a dress is an elegant, airy solution to temperature control (read: sweat prevention). Pants are stifling; shorts are uncomfortable and not very attractive; skirts I wear to school five days a week. I, quite simply, would be happy only wearing dresses.

Since coming to Southeast Asia, my dress wardrobe has expanded over and over again. Patterns, colors, and cut vary, but not my clothing choices. It’s all dresses for me. I can admit when I have a problem. And I do not, thanks to the baht and Thai cost of living. A dress here, reasonable and purchased at a street market or from a small local shop, runs me the equivalent of six to ten US dollars. Spending Thai baht makes an otherwise dangerously expensive shopping habit into something relatively manageable.

However, I recently spent an obscene amount on a dress. This dress, beckoning to me from its mannequin, had caught my attention every time we drove past a certain store front. It was like nothing I have seen in Thailand, in terms of both cut and material. Made from imported blue and pale silver-purple Nepalese silk, the two-sided wraparound dress can be worn six ways. I was in love. At 950 baht (just under thirty dollars), the price was five times higher than my normal dress purchases. But how often do you fall in love? So, I bought it, regret-free.

Lucky for me, that expense was a rarity in this country. I just have to stick to my regular 200 baht dresses for a bit to stay within a reasonable dress budget. That is, until next month when I will most likely go buy a vibrant yellow-orange dress from the same store. I just can’t help myself.

The Coolest Thing Since Doraemon

A new craze has hit CVK. All the coolest middle schoolers are doing it. The official toy of the season: yo-yos. There must have been a yo-yo sale nearby; they appeared in droves and have invaded every classroom.

Never a yo-yo-er myself, I still remember how cool yo-yos were around the time I was in middle school. The tricks were limitless. Clearly, time and patience had been dedicated to learning, practicing, and then mastering each one. Though, this isn’t necessarily the case with our Thai students.

Just getting the yo-yo to do the stall-at-the-end-while-spinning thing is enough to provide them with endless entertainment. Half of the kids are so short that not hitting the ground is a trick in itself.

Was this a problem that we also had in fifth, sixth, and seventh grade? I cannot remember ever being that tiny. Were we technically too short to be using a yo-yo, or are the Thais just smaller by nature? I suppose it’s somewhere in the middle. But one thing is for sure: yo-yos are apparently destined to be popular in middle school, forever. 

Creativity Nurtured

At the end of our Cambodia excursion, we decided to go to Battambang. Cambodia’s second largest city, though by no means actually a large city, Battambang isn’t exactly jam-packed with sights and activities. But, our aim was mostly to relax and spend as little money as possible before heading back into Thailand. However, fliers for the local circus certainly caught our eye; knowing that the circus was also a school for children made the money worth spending. 

Phare Ponleu Selpak, meaning “the brightness of art,” is a Cambodian NGO aimed at helping the children of Cambodia with education, life skills, as well as creative and performance skills through their art centers. Originally opened at a refugee camp near the Thai border in the 80s, PPS began as a way to help children deal with the psychological impact of war. They then moved to their current locale in Battambang and continued their efforts, as well as opened a public school, a circus school, and housing for children who were victims of child trafficking, poverty, street begging and the like. The organization helps to renew Cambodian culture through its children, and to foster learning on an individual level. 

We opted to go during their Community Day, a showcase of all things PPS, rather than simply paying to see only the circus. The event was promoting a coffee table book published by one of their circus troupes that was about to go on a European tour. The books, while beautiful, were expensive by Southeast Asian standards. At $1 a glass, the beer was more reasonable, so we did our part to contribute financially. 

Scattered about the grounds, children worked on drawings and watercolors, set up easels for paintings, and paper-maché’d masks. The public school got out of session around 4 pm and throngs of elementary children flooded the area around the arts buildings. As the only foreigners, we stood out from, as well as towered over, everyone there. This distinction also meant we were the proud recipients of limitless high fives and hellos.

There was a toddler fashion show, a live painting, and a break dance performance. The circus school was open for spectators, red, yellow, and blue mats lining the floors. We took off our shoes and watched them flip, spin and fly, contort and bend, juggle and climb. They balanced, lifted, and actrobatted. It was more diverse than an entire circus, and all happening simultaneously.

Before the actual circus performance, they had live ice painting, pretty much the last medium you would expect to see in Cambodia. By layering color after color of paint across the tops of large blocks of ice, the blocks began to slowly melt away. Very slowly. As it did, the paint seeped into cracks, gaps, and little tunnels in the ice, slowly causing elaborate designs to spider through the clear white ice. 

Eventually it was time for the circus, and we filed into the tent. Seats were full, so we stood off to the side, children seated around our feet, perched and leaning for a better view. The performers clowned, tightrope walked and unicycled to the delight of the audience. But in the late afternoon, the heat under the big top became stifling, driving us out before the performance was over. Having seen the full showcase of the day, the circus wasn’t the main event anymore. Missing a little of it was okay. Not only did we feel good about where our money was going, but we were excited to get back to teaching and spending all of our time playing with kids.