My Thailand adventures: Chiang Mai (Part I.)

Chiang Mai is the second largest city in Thailand known for their Northern hill tribes, temples and traditional handicraft. We spent two nights there and on the third night, took a 12-hour sleeper train back to Bangkok.

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The MCU Buddhist University in Chiang Mai has this program called Monk Chat that was created about six years ago. Basically, Monk Chat is a program that occurs on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 5PM to 7PM where foreign visitors are invited to talk to the monks studying at the university. It gives monks a chance to practice their English while allowing non-Buddhists to learn about the lives of monks on a more personal level.

The monk I spoke to is 23 and still learning English, so we talked about simple things, such as our families, what we are studying and what we like to do in our free time. Maybe I had this romanticized notion that all monks radiate with this inner glow of serenity because they chose to live a spiritual path dedicated to God, but it was somewhat of a relief to know that even student monks get tongue-tied, have awkward silences and shift their eyes when they speak. It makes them more human that way.

I wish I could speak Thai fluently because I’m sure in his mother tongue he has so many complex, interesting ideas that could only come from choosing to live this kind of life. Still, I find it rather miraculous that we were able to have a conversation in the first place because our respective worlds couldn’t be any more different. Me, a college girl from Los Angeles weaned on wireless boba cafes, trashy hipster culture and iPods; him, a young man born in a small village in Thailand who spends his days begging for alms and meditating.

“Do you miss anything from your former life?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “I already have everything I need here.”

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Even if they may speak the same language as you do, a whole world of differences still sets you apart. It is one thing to speak the same language in terms of vocabulary and syntax, but a whole other thing to speak the same language of shared experiences. And by shared experiences I mean the particular rhythm of a language that cannot be taught but only lived, whether this rhythm manifests itself in regional slang, a certain type of sarcasm or making references to bad 80’s movies.

So they may know English, but they don’t know your English. It’s a fragile connection, but a connection nonetheless.

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It’s frustrating having to speak in a second language. I feel the frustration when I have to argue with my parents in Japanese and I have a limited ammunition of vocabulary to choose from. I can see the frustration in other international students, who, having learned English only in a classroom setting, now have to write essays, go to lectures and talk to their peers in this completely foreign language. You can see it in the way they pause mid-sentence and furrow their eyebrows as they search and falter for the right words. They have a whole world of ideas to express at the tip of their tongues, but they can only mouth crude reproductions of what they really want to say.

I think I’m lucky with my bilingual-ness. While my Japanese is certainly not up to par as my English, I at least know Japanese well enough to occasionally dream in it.

Maybe I should try to learn Spanish again after a five-year hiatus. Maybe.

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Contentment finds itself in the most unexpected places. I remember thinking this when I was laying sprawled on the upper bunk of a sleeper train eating peanuts from a bag and watching the scenery go by. I remember thinking to myself: I am riding a train to Bangkok and I am eating peanuts; I am content.