My host home, a warm nest for my introduction to Thailand, seems to relish in challenging my independence (and breakfast routine) as a form of familial affection. For example, last week, I walked in the rain from the main drag where the taxi lets me off to my home about half a mile away. I had had a good day at school, and the rain pattering off my raincoat paired with one of those uncannily appropriate “shuffle” sessions on my iPod made for a pleasant walk. When I was almost home, Mae intercepted me in a car, informing me that I was sure to get daily bloody noses as a result of rain exposure. The crusts are even cut off my diagonally sliced sandwiches.
I understand that the host families do not maliciously limit student autonomy. After all, I wonder how I would treat a exchange student who chokes on pieces of wood, can’t dress herself appropriately, buys salt-flavored toothpaste by accident and climbs up mountains “for fun.” (Before I went on an 8-hour day hike with my class last Friday, crawling through dense jungle and sliding down steep mud-soaked terrain, Mae handed me an umbrella “just in case.”)
This Saturday, I will move from my host home into apartments with my friends. Just as I was starting to wallow in premature nostalgia, my host family offered a final cultural hurdle. I had heard a rumor that we students would be performing in a talent show as a thank you to our collective host families. What I had not heard, was that our respective “talents” were those chosen by the host families.
When I arrived home, mine showed me a wooden Thai recorder that my sister played when she was younger. Desperate to assert competence in any circumstance within my host home, I snatched the instrument and proudly offered my repertoire of the few songs I remember from fifth grade music class. I basked in the smattering of applause, and my family continued about their business.
Glimpsing an opportunity to seize some self-respect, I informed Mae that I wished to dazzle the audience with an authentic Thai song. Later, I would find out that when Thai students learn to play recorder, they learn the same “American” songs that I did. Mae said that Fai did not have any Thai sheet music. Unfettered in the face of this overwhelming hardship, and to determined leave my host family with a burning memory of The Little Host Daughter That Could, I marched into Thai class and asked my teacher to help me find a song.
Today, my ajaan handed me a slip of paper with several Thai characters listed in a row. These, she explained, were the equivalent of Thai “do, ray, mee,” notation. Using this slip, I decoded the notes first into English, and then transcribed these into notes. I then searched for the corresponding recorder fingerings.
Though I still lacked a rhythm for what I was beginning to consider a stoic Thai battle hymn, I smugly played notes to Mae when I got home. She laughed shaking her head, saying “Chan” and “deg deg,” or “elephant” and “little baby.” It turns out, my battle hymn is actually a song Thai kindergarteners sing (at the tops of their un-tuned lungs, I discovered on YouTube) when they learn what an elephant is. Mae, head cocked to the side and pursing her lips, told me people will think “it’s childish.”
Though my last ditch attempt to gain credibility from my host family was failing with each knot, I finally resigned all dignity when, an hour ago, Mae interrupted my practicing by handing me a hula hoop. She told me that if I hula hoop while I play, people will like it better and not be so distracted by the embarrassingly childish song. Since writing this original post, I have also acquired an "authentic" Thai costume in which to perform... lest someone should think I'm inauthentic whilst playing my baby song and attempting to hula hoop.
