My Heart Will Go On, Asian Karaoke Rendition

My Heart Will Go On, Asian Karaoke Rendition
Originally uploaded by Leo III

There is always so much going on here, with so little time to actually sit down and write. Ideas are always flowing through my head during the day, but when it comes time to write them down, I never seem to be able to remember them all, nor have the time to discuss them at length. I may be posting more often now, but with shorter posts, once I can plod out this long one and catch myself up with my whirlwind life here.

Every day after school, I ride home in my host brother's rickety white Suzuki, the thumping bass from the subwoofer in the trunk rattling the dashboard as we weave in and out of traffic on the left side of the road, dodging the swarms of erratic motorcycles that own the Chiang Mai streets. When I get home I usually do homework under the ceiling fan to stay cool until dinner, during which I wolf down some unknown concoction of sticky rice and meat - I still don't know half of what I'm eating after three weeks; I'm not sure I want to know - and then work on more homework with my mother until "Love Trail, Sin Trail" comes on at 9:00, during which I iron my clothes. By that point in the night, I'm exhausted, and usually just decide to retire to bed after having talked to Sam (my girlfriend) for a while via skype.

However, that schedule only applies Monday through Thursday and makes it sound like there is little variation in my days. Actually, that summation is probably borderline of being a lie, for every day here is almost impossible to predict. After school on Thursday, my host mother and father picked Claire and I up, randomly deciding that they were going to take us to my Aunt's house, whom I had never met previously. Now in Thailand, it's common for households to own small businesses that aren't defined as "businesses" in the sense we know them as. Usually they just consist of knick-knack shops that are attached to the side of their homes, selling anything from groceries to fauna and usually operate without paying taxes (illegally, of course, but the legal system here is not what it is at home - I'll get to that later). My family owns an internet cafe across the street that has about 8 computers, all of which are filled with Thai children on a 24/7 basis, glued to the screen, playing none other than "World of Warcraft." We rumble into my Aunt's compound, and through the scratched windshield I can see people in bleach white clothes, mouthes covered with surgical masks . . . making muffins. Claire and I look at each other quizically, not really understanding why the hell we're here. "Come, come!" my father says in Thai, waving for us to follow him. He leads us over to a concrete pit with a shoddily erected tin roof, and at the bottom are about 500 frogs, sloshing in the algae-ridden water as they jump on top of each other. My dad waves a woman from the muffin factory over and she pulls out a giant tub of pelleted frog diet, throwing cup after cup in, causing the frogs to go absolutely berserk as they scrambled for every last piece. "You like frahg?" He asked, a huge smile strewn across his face. "Chai kraab," I replied, returning the smile. We watched the frogs for a little bit and then as we left, I realized that the compound was not only a joint muffin/frog leg selling operation, but beneath her house was a shop selling fauna. Wouldn't be my choice for industry, but hey, someone has to do it.

I completely forgot a story from the weekend retreat. After the swimming assessment, a group of us were standing by this spirit shrine, watching as hordes upon hordes of ants descended upon the offering of food and whiskey (a spirit's gotta get his drink on too, I guess). Pi Ben came over and was telling us about the spirit shrines and how we should respect them, emphasizing that we shouldn't stand too close to them, "like Farrangotang over there," he said, pointing at me standing no less than two feet away from it, still oogling at the swarm of ants. In Thai culture, the word "Farrang" is slang for a foreigner, the name derived from a popular type of fruit the locals eat. Obviously, the 'otang came from orangutaun, a reference to my tall, lanky self. The name has stuck slightly, and Martha now calls me it all the time. That’s okay though, because seeing that the Thai can’t say an “arth” sound, her name is just Maa-taa and I don’t let her live it down.

We’re all still learning to tread carefully in the dangerous world of a tonal language. Today in class, Martha asked “Koon chawb geen kee…” pausing as she tried to figure out the next word. Our Ajaan broke out in laughter, our class confused as to what was so funny. “Kee with falling tone mean manure!” The phrase she was asking was “How much do you eat?” which, as it stood was instead “You like to eat shit?” I made a similar mistake later as well, as I went to high-five Kyle and say “Awesome!” in Thai, but just ended up yelling the Thai word for “Plate!” Epic language failures were the theme of today.

Another theme of this past weekend was my family’s desire to show me a variety of retirement parties, as I have been to three in the past four days. First off, let me say (having just gotten back from one), damn the Japanese for inventing karaoke. In America, we find karaoke fun for an hour, maybe two if you’re pushing it, but tonight after four and a half straight hours of Thai karaoke, I was praying that my 47th glass of water would induce hyponatremia and I would have to leave seizing on a stretcher. Unfortunately, its only effect was causing me to have to piss like a racehorse. In the middle of the marathon, my mother passed me a note, the letters “Ama” already drawn on it. “Write song name!” she said to me in Thai, and so, logically thinking that she meant finish the song name, I wrote “Amazing Grace.” Good idea? Nay. She grabbed the note and ran up to the front of the room and scrolled through the karaoke machine, slapping the microphone triumphantly in my hand when she finally found it. “Sing!” she proclaimed. Oh good. I thought. I get to sing Amazing Grace for these 25 high-status Thai people. For those who have never heard me sing, it’s not a far cry from an asthmatic honking goose who’s pharynx has tangoed with far too many cigarettes. Not wanting to offend them, however, I was treated to the wondrous extended edition of Amazing Grace, and six and a half arduous minutes later, I was surprisingly met with applause.

Now while karaoke was a unifying theme for all three of the parties I went to, it was about the only unifying theme, aside from the copious amount of whole fried fish. The one I attended to on Friday was a free-for-all karaoke theme, with person after person trying their hand at Thai songs for another three hours. A great comedic relief was met with a great rendition of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.” I knew words wouldn’t be able to do it justice, so I took a video that you all can enjoy above.

Now the retirement party I attended on Sunday was quite possibly the most interesting of three. As I walked into the banquet hall, no less than 300 pairs of eyes were turned and fixed on me, the words tall foreigner (soong farrang) poking from the dull murmur of the crowd as I followed my father. I took my seat at the VIP table (apparently my host dad is well connected), front and center of the entire crowd, and I took a seat facing forward, sandwiched to my mother on my left and father on my right. We dug into the food and watched the ceremony unfold. Overall, it was very dignified, presentable, and well put together, except when my family failed to understand why I was close to tears when they played the Star Wars Imperial Death March and Rocky theme song as the professors received their awards. I used the word dignified deliberately, as the entertainment that followed was anything but. As soon as the Ajaan left the stage, it was seized by coke-bottle women, singing Thai pop songs and gyrating their hips seductively, scantily clad being a conservative term for their dress. A huge cultural paradox began to form in my mind, as I kept iterating “What the hell? This is a collegiate function. . .for old people.” It was furthered by the amount of men getting even more plastered off of whiskey and soda, air-thrusting the exotic dancers as they stumbled around drunkenly in front of the stage, the dancers returning the motion, the crowd squealing in laughter and approval. I looked to my mother for an answer and found none in the smile across her face, attentively sitting with her legs crossed and laughing at each drunken antic. “Sanook mai?” I asked her, seeing if she really enjoying herself. “Mai sanook. I no like.” What?! Then why are we still watching? Over the next hour, I reached a new personal record for awkwardness, rating about a 12.5 on a 1-10 scale, particularly exacerbated by one of the drunken men grabbing my arm, insisting that I shove some of my American money in her bra and/or thong (I declined, but he and several other men offered their own money in my stead), or when my host father, having the time of his life, 5 or 6 glasses of whiskey deep, leaned over and asked me, “Sexy, yah?” In short, specific expletive-ridden phrases are about the only thing adequate to describe the confusion was coursing through my mind when we finally decided to leave around 10:30. Yes, welcome to Thailand.