This is a little embarrassing, but oh well...

Here is a poem that I wrote a few months ago and that I thought still summed up many of my recent reflections and thoughts. To preface this, know that I don't usually put poems I write out there because it makes me feel quite vulnerable (moreso than revealing blog entries, haha). But oh well, this year is all about embracing discomfort, right? So here goes nothing.


To be (the fundamental verb):

I start from my feet
My father’s feet, long and thin
The second toe almost bigger than the big toe
Bony but strong, standing on the earth
And feeling the roots of my home, the ones who came before me
Roots that go deep into the Piedmont, Midlands, and coastal soil, formed by the
Mill villages, farms, and cities
The feet of my mother’s family that worked the land and then
The mills
The feet of my father’s family that worked the land and then
The city.

Legs, long
Bones underneath long and strong connected to the feet from my father, the bones
That give me my height in the world from my father and grandmother
The muscles, fat, and skin from my mother’s side to give them their size
Flesh to fill out the bones.

Skin so pale that you can see the veins through which the blood
Flows , a mix of folks both known and unknown
The hair so thin and pale it’s barely visible unless you’re up close.

Hips, wide from my mother
Aunts, grandmother, great-grandmother

My stomach with the moles on it that I used to trace
Belly button that looks like a pinched bean
Source of teenage angst and fear of looking fat
Always hidden under t-shirts

Breasts, small and firm but still there, showing themselves
In long, spring dresses that flow all the way down to my feet, over my legs
Loose around my stomach and my mother’s hips

Strong shoulders built of bones from my father,
Going into arms so long that I got detention in high school for wearing shorts
Shorter than my arms
Wrists that are small and thin into hands that are small and thin

Hands that hold cigarettes and love
Covered in the same pale skin of all those before me.

Fingers that are pulled, scarred, and now type

Arms that lift and wrap around my back
The most elusive part of me, strong with ribs built of bone built of generations

Up to the neck, long but not too long.

The face that is connected to all that the body, bones, and feet feel

The structure given to me by my father, Tillman grandmother
Bunch mouth and nose from my father,
Lips my parents called “Princess lips” to make me smile
Eyes to see those around me from my Gray mother, eyes from
Poor white farmers, workers, eyes that married up and moved to the city
Eyes that watched a husband die, a love

Ears from both to hear hushed voices and things that go unsaid

Hair that falls into my face and sometimes covers all of this
Fine and blonde and straight until puberty hit
Now wavy, thick, and dark blonde

Bones from my father, flesh from my mother. Roots that reach deep into the soil
Soul of a state.

Inside a brain, always racing and stopping and churning and moving the limbs and the future around inside. The brain that keeps to itself and likes to keep its secrets hidden well behind the mouth, lips, and eyes.

Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth that have seen and brought to the brain things that the other parts of me never saw, never entertained.

I that move thoughts and plans through my nerves, from my hair to my feet.

I couldn't help but add this, too...

Many thanks my mom's fiance, Bob, for sending along a few photos from the receiving of friends yesterday. I couldn't resist posting this one as well, because to me it represents the joy that comes with life & friendship, even when in the midst of grief and loss.


Aunt Evelyn, Ama, and friends

Life, death, and a lot of love.

Some days, I find that I am so lazy when it comes to communication. At times, I feel excited and inspired to write--other times, I relish the fact that my Blackberry doesn't work here and that I can "go off the grid" in many ways.

However, I am never really off the grid. After being in Khon Kaen for over a month now, I still feel at peace with my reasons for being here and feel as though I am learning and growing everyday. But, with this schedule, you do always have to be on and ready to discuss, ready to think, and ready to work. This has been an interesting challenge for me the past few days, particularly because my grandfather passed away two days ago.

Due to the time difference, I got the email from my mom almost right away. This instant connection through the internet was both great because I knew, but a mixed bag because I found out right before entering into a meeting with the other interns. After going outside for a sec and taking a few calming breaths, I sat down and went through the meeting. Only several hours later was I able to sneak off behind the office and take some time for myself.

It is especially poignant for me that Nonnie (grandfather)'s funeral is today. On this day, 13 years ago, my father passed away. Both had struggled with illness, and for both it proved to be a blessing that their suffering did not have to continue.

These men were, in many ways, two of the primary male influences in my life. I remember that, at the receiving of friends for my father, I sat in my grandfather's lap because he reminded me of my father. You see, both were close in age (my father was 62 when I was born.) Both were from the same Depression-era generation, and both had the same slight belly that I could curl into as a young girl.

My life path has differed greatly from either of their experiences, though. Nonnie spent all of his life in Laurens, SC, a small textile community in the Upstate of South Carolina. My father, on the other hand, was from the Lowcountry and, after finishing a tour of duty in the navy during WWII, moved to Columbia so that he could go to medical school on the GI Bill.

Both were firmly rooted in the Southeast and embodied many of the stereotypical "Southern maleness", both good and bad.

I find it important, at times like these, to pay homage to those in my life who have shaped it, for better and worse. While I did not always agree with the political or social views espoused by both men, I find that their spirit, rootedness, and capacity to love are lessons I hope to keep practicing.

The main lesson I take away from my relationship with both my father and grandfather is simple-- time. I am so grateful to have had time to spend with them, trips to take with them. Nonnie had the patience to take me to the mountains along with the other cousins, and was even diligent enough to hunt down my baby doll after it disappeared at a hotel. I remember when he took me to the cemetery in Laurens so that I could take photos for my school project and how he used to put Clemson stamps on our hands as children to irk my aunts and uncles.

With my father, many of my memories are associated with an old, brown Lazyboy chair (one that my grandfather would later use after my father passed.) In the chair, he would watch the Little Mermaid with me for hours, patiently putting down the paper whenever I wanted to climb up. We'd watch the Discovery Channel and National Geographic, then play house so that I could "cook" for him.

So, for all the time spent with me, for all the patience y'all showed to me as a girl, teenager, and young adult-- the best I can do is say thanks, and that I hope to make you proud.

Now, thanks to technology, I not only have memories-- I have photos, videos, and other documents to look at whenever I want. I can even access those in Thailand, half way across the world, through sites like Flickr and Facebook.

I can even write this post and know that family, no matter where they are, can read it too, and share in my reflections with me.

Thus, my thoughts today are less about being abroad, but more on what it means to be home. The place wouldn't mean anything without the people, after all.

The people here are wonderful and kind, just as the people in South Carolina are. This common humanity that we find ourselves always tangled up in can serve as more of a uniting factor than a dividing one. My experience with death is common to the Thai people I have spoken with. Because we are all human beings.

During times of great change and distress, this is never more apparent. Our common love unites us, and is a much stronger bond that anything else I have experienced.

So, to end, I send back my love and thoughts to my family in South Carolina and the United States, as well as to the CIEE/Thai family that has taken me on. Many thanks, kob kun mah ka.