Rambo

So my first story with JRS is up on the international site now. (READ IT HERE) Regrettably, the only thing I knew about Burma before I came here was a vague geographical understanding mixed with the latest Rambo movie. That's honest.

So I spent last weekend reading and watching as the people of Burma were forced to participate in a sham election, controlled by the military junta.

The day after the elections, around 20,000 people fled Burma after violence broke out. They crossed the river into Mae Sot, where JRS (and dozens of other NGOs) work in refugee camps.

I wrote the story and then rewrote it every time I got new information, waiting to get approval to publish it.

What was interesting to me was the fact that I am now covering news with a strict angle: JRS. I am no longer at a newspaper with minute to minute deadlines. I am no longer writing for a general audience and I have to write certain things in a certain way.

While it can feel frustrating, I'm interested in figuring it all out, like a puzzle. In the mean time, I think I should re-watch Rambo... bone up on my knowledge about Burma.

Pete Seeger saves my sanity

Consider this a bit of a response to my last post.

I knew I brought my favorite possession along with me for a reason.

Pete Seeger sent me a postcard. He knows better than I do. While his post card doesn't say much, I remember the letter I wrote to him. It was about how he inspires me to do good for others and work hard. He simply said "Stay well and keep on."

His post card sits next to Saint Francis' prayer in my apartment. So I shall. Keep on keepin' on. God will be with me, even if my only form of prayer these days is in the form of angry accusations.

Where is God?

Yesterday, I read part of the JRS online retreat. This section spoke about God being present with the most poor. It was a reflection about God's choice to become man, and be with us as a poor person. Obviously, there are dozens of examples in the Bible about God being with the poor.

My question is this. If poor people don't feel God's presence, then what is the point? Sure, God may be there. Sure, I can (attempt to) see God in poverty because I am privileged. But if no one in these situations feels God's presence any longer, then is God still there?

How long can one continue to believe that God will exalt the poor? I can believe it my whole life, because I have been given a free ride through life. I can believe that the poor are closest to God. I can feel close to God if I choose to walk with the poor. But what about each individual? Is God there for people who don't recognize God anymore? And, if so, how?

As always, my solution is a simple one. I am going to turn on some Van Morrison and eat a stack of Chips Ahoy. Perhaps God will self-reveal through chocolate chips.

motorcycle taxis and Thai hospitals

I had to go to the doctor today. The cough I picked up in Rome (I bite my thumb at Rome) progressed into something a bit more disgusting. My coworkers politely suggested that I get medicine if not for me, for them.

So I rode sidesaddle on a motorcycle weaving through traffic, arrived at the hospital and proceeded to realize that I may be the most worthless traveler in the city.

Five solid observations from my day:

1. Instead of calling me Miss or Ma'am, the hospital staff referred to me as "madam." I think I like that better. Take not, America.

2. That feeling I get back home that people are laughing at me as I walk away is realized in it's full form here. Because they actually are laughing at me as I walk away. Every time. I am SORRY that I don't know my own weight in kilograms or my height in centimeters! I am 5 feet, 7 inches and 140 pounds. The way God intended. Because the American system of measurements, like God, is not based in logic.

3. I like how all of my pills has the Pfizer logo printed on each. They must think that's what makes Americans well: swallowing a healthy dose of the free market system.

4. Motor taxis are my new favorite way to travel. My heart leaps into my throat like I am on a roller coaster. But, unlike a roller coaster where the danger is false, I probably could get killed on one of these. And isn't that better?

5. Every time I see a person on the street wearing one of those swine-flu srugical masks, I assume they have the plague and automatically resent them for existing in public. Then I had to wear one in the hospital. You'd think it would have reformed my opinion. But it didn't.

Dancing at a lesbian bar

This was not as fun as Jonathan Richman made it out to be. In fact, there was no dancing... just funny looks, bad music and all sorts of miscommunnication.

Perhaps starting off the night drinking with an ex-Jesuit is a sign of trouble. But that's how it began. I went out for a drink with two friends from work, where, after a few drinks we decided that we should make a dating website for ex-nuns and ex-priests. That is my million-dollar idea. Get on board.

Then my friend and I went down to some clubbing district where all the women looked... too hot for their own good. The kind of women who would never make eye contact with me.

We wandered down the street, slightly drunk and still in our work clothes against the hoards of sequined mini-dresses, up-dos and stilettos, until we found our bar. The women-only lesbian club.

I walked in and before I could try out some of my award-winning pickup lines, our waitress shuffled us over into a corner of the bar behind the DJ where we were seemingly quarantined from the rest of the women. Either because we were white, under-dressed or non-Thai speakers.

After wriggling our way back into the populace, our waitress came over and explained in broken English that another white woman just came into the bar, and sat her next to us. The poor French girl looked confused as to why she was forced over to our table, but the waitress looked very proud of her possible matchmaking skills.

Needless to say, we left early. Not that the Thia chick band attempt at "I Will Survive" went unappreciated. Sigh.

Halloween

I ate a scorpion. I had my feet eaten by fish. I tried three kinds of Thai beer. All in all, not too shabby for a city that doesn't recognize the holiday.

I was nervous since I haven't met any Americans yet, that my Halloween would be a total bust. But luckily, Bangkok made a solid attempt at the holiday and the Australian and Brit I was with were troopers, considering we all had to work the next day.

First thoughts on Bangkok

Hot. Humid.