I Don’t Want To Post This.

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

While riding my motorbike I often tell myself that I am fearless. I am not afraid of anything. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want and I am not scared. Fear will not take over my body when I see a spider, snake or stand on the edge of a cliff. I can generally logically talk myself out of that fear and walk by ignoring the creature or jump off that cliff.

People are saying that fear, discomfort, manifest themselves in other places. If you don’t nod your head to it, you don’t say hey every once and awhile it may pop out and say hey to your body in other ways. Maybe a big pimple on your chin with surface, perhaps you’ll begin to get headaches or your nails will begin to be weak and crack. Who knows, every body is different, every fear is different—but, apparently not acknowledging this fear isn’t so good for your health.

I’m writing this blog post full of fear. Fear for my health: both physically and mentally I have been shaken. It sounds stupid, it sounds really kind of lame but I have been unable to run for three days. I want to run today—but I won’t. I don’t even want to be writing this because it makes the situation more real. I’m nodding my head at pain and giving in, instead of ignoring the snake on the porch and walking by I am that childlike girl with a fear, jumping up and down screaming for a prince to save her from the slithering creature.

I know what happens when I am unable to have my daily endorphin high. I either eat so much that I gain weight, or I go to bed before dinner, I move my food around on my plate at lunch and I drink a lot of coffee for breakfast. I lose 5 pounds of muscle in two weeks or I gain 10 pounds, either way I cry every night. Running isn’t just about running, it’s about balance.

I have the word B A L A N C E tattooed on my ribcage to remind me that that is what is key in life—finding a balance between everything. It’s something I’ve been searching for forever, I think we all probably are. For me, running helps that. It not only keeps me healthy but it gives me a sense of accomplishment with every mile I put on my shoes, I solve the worlds problems with every lap I do, I think about things an process. It’s the reason I wake at 5am every morning; I go to bed looking forward to coffee first, then a run. Especially here in Thailand, running through the historical park has been something that has kept me from falling far down a rabbit hole of being overwhelmed and unhappy. This ‘balance keeper’ has been taken away from me and I’m scared. I’m really really scared.

 

There. I said it. It’s out in the universe, I give it to the universe and hope for some energy to have the strength to heal. Energy to have the strength to not fall into a bad place. Energy to feel good and perhaps find a replacement for the next week or two while I search deep inside myself for that balance that I usually find on the road or trail in my shoes.

 

I’m still scared. This fear, having and admitting this fear terrifies me.

A Silly Storytelling Session About Storybooks

/ Sloan / 2 Comments

Bored and confused they look up at me, their eyes begging me to stop. We’ve been repeating the same seven “S” words over and over for the past 15 minutes. I’ve broken down the syllables, reconstructed them, repeated them in order, out of order. I had all the girls stand up and repeat, while the boys sat happy they didn’t have to do anything for a moment—then had the boys stand, then had all over them stand. I get it, nothing can make repeating words you don’t understand interesting. Not even a goofy white girl making faces, doing motions—it’s boring. I know.

            I have my reasons for these “S” words—not just because I love the letter and enjoy alliteration (Silly Sloan stands in front of class snickering stupid secrets.) I want them to read the words so that when I read them the “S” book they get it. 20 minutes into class I pull a storybook out of my book bag. They smile, they’ve forgotten all the boringness I just put them through and the 33 eight-year-olds grin so hard their faces may stay that way.  They stare at me, waiting with excitement. (The students stare at Sloan as she starts the storytelling.)

 

I love reading to kids. Even to kids who don’t speak the language that I’m reading, they all have the same awestruck reaction to pictures, words, the cadence of the teacher’s voice. They forget about the worksheet they were working on and they listen, they unconsciously repeat the words they just learned (yes! It worked!). I imagine them doing what I did when I was kid; making up definitions for words I didn’t understand, giving characters names, wondering how on earth the teacher is reading upside down or without looking at the book! I now get how my first grade teacher did it, I can now read upside down, I can read with out looking at the pages.

 

Bombarded

Bombarded

Story books, story telling, being so absorbed in what someone is saying is an amazing feeling. Being on the receiving end is magical, but I am enjoying giving this to the students; I feels as though I’m blasting them away from the hot classroom, away from the teachers that yell too much and we’re in our own world of story time.

Craved Intimacy

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

I’m not sure what kind of kid I was, if I was affectionate, ‘huggy’, or standoff-ish. Was I the kind of kid that latched onto a new friend’s leg and ‘koala’d’ them until they shook me off? I really have no idea—maybe my Mother or Father could chime in on this one. As I’ve gotten older and my relationships have become closer I like to think of myself as a hugger. I have memories of cuddling with my best friend on the couch, spooning, in the least sexual way possible. Him and I just fit so well, watching a movie and enjoying another body’s warmth.

Living in Chile where a kiss on the cheek is a standard greeting, college where a hug was normal or having a boyfriend to hold my hand, living on the west coast where a hug was the only way to greet—I definitely became accustomed to daily, multi daily embraces. My old roommate can vouch for the fact that I used to knock on her door and just ask for a hug every once and awhile. South East Asia isn’t quite as comforting.

Instead of a kiss on the cheek or a hand shake they/we wai. A simple bow, a smile, sawadee kahhhh. As funny, and as light hearted as this culture is there isn’t much physical affection—I’ve never seen couples holding hands, you won’t see teenagers making out under the stars by the river front, or old couples embracing. It’s such a change from my old norm.

 

I spent the last weekend in Ko Chang, an island South East of Bangkok. I met up with a friend Friday evening and we embraced after not having seen each other since first arriving and meeting in Thailand nearly two months ago. Sitting on the beach, watching the sunset and talking about how this is our real lives, a head on my shoulder an arm around my waist walking home from a crazy night—such little things but it was unexpected because it’s been two months since I was leaned on out of the blue.

While getting a Thai massage and hearing the water lap on the sand my eyes were closed and I listened to different languages be drowned out by the ocean. A woman I never met, a woman who spoke little English was sitting on my butt. She was rubbing the muscles of my back, neck, glutes, calves, feet, fingers, cheeks; such intimate touch was welcomed but again, after two months it was a struggle to relax into the touch.

View

View

I’m finding that I don’t like to be surprised by these little intimacies, I want to have them often enough that they are not a surprise. Never before did I crave an embrace and not know where to turn to get one, (there were days I would text a certain friend and he would come to my work specifically to give me a hug when I asked.) Here, I know I can count on getting latched onto by a child daily. The children have no problem wrapping their arms around my waist or legs and not letting go—sometimes I wonder where this love for embrace disappears. It’s nice, but not the same as what I’ve grown to take for granted in the US.