nets for kids

wooden bridge

This is the longest wooden bridge in Thailand and it takes you to the Mon people. It was almost twilight and I took this using low ISO (100) . It created a steel like tint in the image. The bridge was rickety and gorgeous to walk across. House boasts having been built alongside the structure, added more inevitable photo opportunities.

amazing light

The fried tofu and vegetable in peanut sauce topped with creme fraiche was AMAZING but the Nikon D50 that captured this image using only available light (which was very very little) produced even more amazing results...

war

One of my favorite local health assistant coordinators has already left for war. He was one of the most happy go lucky, positive human beings I ever met. Such a hard worker. This is truly a sad day for me. I really do hope he keeps safe.

Fortune was told

Today I was having a conversation with the resort owner about including more vegetables in our meals, and then he asked me if I was happy with somtam. I thought he was talking about green papaya salad, so I said yes, I love Somtam and it makes me happy. "No! not somtam! No! Are you happy sometimes?" I smiled and emphatically said yes! most of the time. He told me the mole on my right cheek is preventing me from being happy. Wow, my mother has been telling me this for years. Is this an Asian thing? He subsequently took my hands into his and stroked the tips of my longest fingers, saying I had a difficult childhood and that is why my second and fourth fingers are uneven. It made me think about my parents divorce, being burned by scalding water, being separated from my sister, in an orphanage, and sojourning to the US and not knowing a single soul. He proceeded to tell me that he could see from my hands I help many people and that no one helps me in return. And so because of this, I should never expect people to pay me back or help me. I thought well, that is pretty reasonable. Could be just good advice, something I'll totally heed. He did reassure me, though, that when I hit rock bottom, someone will be there to pick me up. At which my new coworker, concerned about my destiny, invited me to stay with him if I am ever having problems. Glad that is covered! He also told me that I am a bullheaded person and that when I want something, contrary to the advice that my friends and family might proffer, I will go for it. He nailed that one. Then he got into the juicy stuff and told me that I have two people who are in love with me right now. I asked him who they are because clearly I've been left out in the dark. He proceeded to tell me that I am not really good at saving money. I was starting to not want to believe him. And that I also have a sixth sense and can occasionally know things are going to happen before they happen. OK, now he's becoming my friend again. And that I have a very deep secret only in my heart which makes me very sad and nervous.

hanging

Some of the best times i have here in MS is just hanging with Cate and taking pictures of random dogs. We've come up with a classification system of the thai dogs: Burger, BFF, and Polio Dog. How many degrees of separation are they away from these 3 dog types? we ask ourselves. Then we dash for the dogs and take numerous photos. It's raging fun. Then we go and look at random T-shirts.
This one is definitely 1 degree away from Burger with his scruffy factor. It was so sad, why was he eating poo on the road? I didn't know dogs eat poo.

Then we came across two little puppies. They were many degrees of separation from the 3 dog types, but their puppiness still warranted a pull over and oogling.

an afternoon at the beach

-rayon shawl passes by

-handkerchief bandana passes by

-tribal henna tatto passes by "Not permanent! Only lasts 2 weeks!"

-duvet cover floats by

-bamboo flute passes by, music emanating

-leather braided shell bracelets pass by

-curtains stroll by

-roasted corn on stick passes by

-rayon shawl passes by again

-oversized oriental motif fan walks by, dramatically thrust open for details of oriental motif to be seen

-fried broad beans pass by, with a few, eerily, almost landing in my hand without my volition

-rayon shawl passes by, again

-linen sundress walks by, i'm tempted. the white ones always tempt me.

-the musical bamboo passes by playing a different tropical tune

-wooden carved lamp passes by

-wow, an oversized carved wooden wall clock but designed like a wristwatch walks closely by.

my dream vacation

when i'm not working these days, my mind daydreams about the vacation i will finally be taking at the end of may. agenda: yoga, warm crystal aqua green waters, spa, watch DVDs, read, surf and access to internet (just to check a few work related emails in the morning after my breakfast and coffee). or maybe i'll hit the beach first and then come back to a nice and lazy afternoon.

How I will achieve immortality

Lobby the Committee of Small Body Nomenclature of the International Astronomical Union to have an asteroid named after me.

inspiring medic

Here I am at E-- and I go to bed at 8pm and wake up when the roosters start cocking, which is about 4am. It’s really quite frustrating, but it’s the price I pay for working in such a sexy industry. Today we debriefed with the malaria medics and one new major issue that has come up is lack of continuity. Medics leave and they don’t train the new person who is assigned to take over before up and going. Sometimes or most of the times the medicine cannot be accounted for. Sometimes we know that the medic has taken the medicine with him and sometimes we just don’t know where they left the medicine.

Despite all these challenges, it’s heartwarming when you debrief with a medic and all their data and accounting all make sense, and he’s followed every instruction and then I feel proud that this village health worker approach can and does work. H--- L-- from the Y--- area manages 11 villages in a particularly unstable internally displaced persons area. Yet, as he’s been trained, he’s got a village health worker in each village that provides quick diagnosis and treatment to every villager in each of the target villages. When the B Army comes near a village, and many villagers flee into the jungle, fearing direct confrontation with soldiers, he is alerted to the news and he’ll make sure and go to where the villagers are hiding to make sure that they are being monitored and treated for malaria. They are unable to carry their belongings let alone their insecticide treated nets with them when they’re hiding in the jungle. He’s even set up a malaria committee in each village who actively participate in health education and recruitment of village health workers. His job is to train and retrain the village health workers and make sure they’ve got enough supplies. He makes his rounds his areas and stays in each village several days at a time when monitoring their work. He also trains them as a group, let’s them practice and then debriefs with the village health workers, in order to address their questions or difficulties. He is keen on building up their confidence and skills in to insure that they give proper malaria education and treatment. He says that without the help of village health workers he would only be able to cover just a few villages. However, with their help, he’s able to cover almost an entire population of about 2000 villagers. He’s happy to be the malaria medic. I can tell, he’s an older guy who is always cheerful and always smiling, and it’s infectious, his positive attitude. He always makes small talk with me and anunciates his words so that I understand clearly and he is I’m sure quite charismatic and fun to learn from. He also makes the tastiest tomato and onion and chili pepper salad, which I enjoy very much eating on a hot jungle day, after 8 hours of training in a bamboo hut.

vomiting

The only reason I know that Valentine's Day is coming up is because all the toy stores along the main drag are vomiting oversized stuffed animals out their doors in the shape of hearts and teddy bears and flowers, in very conspicuous colors like red and pink and hot pink, hot red! Red Hello Kitty heart-shaped dolls, heart-shaped pillows, pink non-descript shaped-somethings are spilling onto the sidewalks. I zip by these stores on my bicycle, with absolutely no reason to stop. As much as I would love to meander into one and peruse all the knick knacks they sell (which I actually enjoy doing if I have a few minutes to procrastinate), I've got more practical things to shop for - 2,500 small plastic medicine ziplock bags, some string, a bed net, toothpaste...On other occassions, when I have more free time and I do get a chance to take a 'brain break', I like to look at the endless quantities of either fake Lesportsac wristlet clutches or coin purses or cell phone doilies that cost a dollar or so. This activity makes me very happy. Sometimes on a hot day, I'll indulge in a bowl of Thai jelly dessert served over crushed ice or I'll get real Thai iced coffee brewed with a sock, served in a plastic bag and stroll the aisles and just buy something. Shopping here does not break the bank. Shirts cost a few bucks, a pair of jeans can cost 5 bucks. Other times, I'll go over to the store next to the air-conditioned coffee shop in town because there is a miniature pomeranian there and go over play with the dog. The store owner probably thinks I'm a little coo coo because I squeal just a little too loud every time I see the dog, but it's pretty darn cute. When it was a puppy, it fit in the palm of my hand. And my hands are small.

a ghost encounter

Today I had an encounter with a ghost. And it was my friend.

I met an extraordinary man a few years ago, here in Thailand. He came out here to train some of our jungle medics in trauma surgery. We had so many wonderful talks about Buddhism, life, commitments. We had our share of moments of being intoxicated, literally and figuratively. We went our separate ways. I stayed working in Asia; he went to head a Doctors Without Borders hospital in Sudan. Then a few weeks before we were going to meet up in Los Angeles, I received an email from his brother. My friend was found dead in his hotel room, his cause of death was unknown. I was devastated, sad. Life went on however, I thought about him periodically. I still do. I thought about the book he forgot to give me the name of that impacted his outlook on life, his philosophy.

Today, I logged into my gmail account. And on the left sidebar that shows all your friends who are available for gmail chat, appeared his name, with the green dot next to it, indicating that he's available for chatting. I froze. Was it him? I didn't dare write anything to him, in case it wasn't him, I didn't want to be disappointed.

If it really was you, Bryan, I'm thinking of you.

One word, two words

I attended an opening ceremony today for a maternal and child health program follow up training. It's traditional that one representative from each organization and/or district present make a speech. My favorite speech, of the few that were translated into English, was given by one of my favorite medic leaders.

He started out by saying, "When I talk, I may sound angry, but I'm not angry, just warning you...." and he subsequently broke into a very emotive and touching sermon-like oratory.

"One word brings us all here together: HOPE" And I nodded in agreement, and looked around the room to study the facial expressions of all the women medics at the ceremony, wondering, "Are they driven by this as well?"

And then he continued..."We are here to make change and to develop our communities, but we will face many challenges, difficulties, and barriers". An immediate roster of examples started forming in my brain like a Top 20 hottest celebrity couples of 2008.

He ended by saying, "But the one word that will help us overcome all these: LOVE." Period.

His words made me very very happy and inspired. It was one of those moments that made me love what I do and appreciate so much the people who I get to work with.

Tagore

The first time I learned about Tagore (or so I thought) was when I was in Calcutta last September, for work. I was strolling along Sudder Street, and there was this bust of this old man and the caption said that he used to hang out on this street and write a bunch of his poems. I was like, "cool". Whatever, I was more interested in taking a photo of the leathery old Indian man standing next to the bust. A week later, I'm reading an article in Harpers and it makes a reference to Tagore's poems. I thought, "How coincidental! I just happened to be in India where he used to hang out. Cool". But! A few weeks later, my best friend gives me a birthday card, and I was carefully reading her words since she always says the most thoughtful and heartwarming things in cards (not your typical "OMG, I love you! Let's be BFFs forevs!" stuff), and at the bottom of the card, there was a couplet written by no other than Tagore! Right then, I got the chills, and I told my friend Katy about the two previous instances with my Tagore encounters. I didn't put 2 and 2 together, but she did. She said, "Linda, you know what this means? Tagore is speaking to you. You must buy his book or read his poems and figure out what he is trying to tell you." Oooh, that gave me another set of chills.

So, I was resolved on buying a book by him. Of course, a few weeks go by, and I completely forgot about Tagore. I even had ordered a few books on Amazon.com and didn't even think to buy Tagore's poems. Well, I'm up at my parents house a few weeks later, where I store some of my stuff. I'm going through a few boxes, looking for old photos. I come across a box full of books, and I'm going through them really quickly, trying to prioritize which ones I can take home and make fit in my new bookshelf. I'm tossing books out left and right and there is one in particular, with a Korean title, and I was like, no way, it's probably one of my Mom's books from her literature club or something, toss that aside. I make a pile of the few books I'm going to take home and when I look at the pile to assess if it's too many for me, I notice the Korean titled book that I tossed aside is sitting on top of the pile. Just as I was about to toss it aside again, I look a little closer at the title, and it says "Tagore". Bam. There it is. Tagore just lands in my hands. Chills run down my spine, real bone-chilling chills this time. I open the book up gingerly, half thinking that some crazy light force was going to blaze out of the book, like when they open up the Ark in Indiana Jones.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, there's a caption my Mom wrote in Korean when she gave me the book 5 years ago. Translated, it says "So that my daughters can be loving daughters, love Mom". I never remember her giving me the book back then and it takes five years and a journey halfway around the world to finally accept her gift and the words of Tagore. Specifically, these are the Gitanjali poems.

I delve into the Gitanjalis, thinking big things, like they're going to tell me if I need to go back to school, or I'm going to find the love of my life or give me answers to what my purpose on this Earth is. But they don't. Yet, I'm not discouraged. I remember what my Mom has told me, particularly in reading Hesse. "You need to read Hesse every 10 years. What you get out of reading Hesse at age 20, will be different from what you learn from Hesse at age 30, and 40, and so on. " And so that is the approach I'm taking with Tagore.

One Gitanjali, #48, stands out in particular for me at this point in my life:

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went our our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shephered boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid msyelf down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distnat blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered greem gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

The journey is just as important, if not more, as the endpoint, the arrival. What's the point of reaching your goals, or getting what you want if the process to get it wasn't fun, beautiful, appreciated? I just need to stop and smell the roses. In concrete terms, this means I will take a few days this year and head down to the islands of Thailand (which are so close to me) and actually wear my two bikinis that I bought and haven't worn yet. And of course, this poem is telling me about love, but I don't want to write about that now. That's for later to share.