elephants: everywhere but in the room

*Disclaimer: this post was not written as a cry for help or need for compliments, so please don’t take me for an insecure little child!

Oh Thailand. These past two months have treated me so well. The atmosphere? Thrilling. The food? Mouth-watering. The people? Kind, generous, caring, loving, and...what was that last characteristic that named them so well? Oh yes...HONEST. 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned living in Thailand which trumps all the others, it’s the fact that Thais will sugar coat everything except the truth. I’ve seen elephants at the conservatory, at zoos, and even a few times a week on the street here. But as far as elephants in the room go? Not a one. 

What I mean is this: Thais will call you out. If there’s something wrong, they’ll tell you. If there’s an inappropriate question, they’ll ask it. If they have an opinion, they’ll make it known. It’s these qualities that make me love the people so much. However, one opinion that everyone I’ve come across here seems to share is that I. Am. Fat. 

No one would ever say this to my face in America. Maybe a small child. Or a grumpy old man. Or a close friend who knows how to push my buttons, but only in jest. I’m sure it’s been said behind my back, but to my face? It just wouldn’t happen. Not because I’m not overweight, but because as Americans, it sometimes seems as though it’s a wild competition to see just exactly how many pink elephants we can stuff in a room. So many of us judge each other, but if asked our honest opinion, we’d smile and tell the person they’ve never looked better. Maybe this is only a Southern thing. And it’s not to say that I don’t have honest friends who’d be the first to tell me that yes, Kels, your butt does look big in those pants. But most of the people I know in America wouldn’t in a million years so much as hint I’m fat (again, to my face). 

What’s my motivation for this post? I’ll admit that my weight has been an issue to me for a while. When backpacking through Europe, I chose to do away with being health conscious, and instead made it my job, my very purpose in life, to taste every delicacy known to man in each and every country. Multiple times. My metabolism has never earned bragging rights, so naturally all those delicacies caught up with me. Somewhere between coming back to the states, moving around, and settling into a few jobs, I never could seem to shake the weight back off. So now at the heaviest I’ve ever been, I’ve inadvertently become Sensitive Sally. It’s not because that one little girl I told you about a couple of posts ago called me fat. It’s not because I feel big compared to the small stature of the Thais by whom I’m surrounded. It’s because every day, by multiple people and several times (ya know, in case I forget), I am told I am fat. It’s never in a mean insulting way, but rather just like telling me that I have blonde hair or blue eyes--”Oh, and teacha: you fat.” 

Now, before all (five) of my readers take a collective gasp and think I can’t believe those people would speak to her like that! She shouldn’t think that! How rude of them!, please know that I’m not taking it to heart...totally. At first, I laughed it off. I was mainly getting it from the kids, and I was just happy to hear them speak English so well. I jokingly mentioned it to one of the kindest teachers in the university here, and she replied, “Yes, the children will always tell the truth. But at least you have a pretty face!” In a way, it felt like she was saying Hey, at least you’ve got that going for ya! Maybe there’s some hope! In America, a mention like that would’ve gotten me a “Honey, don’t you dare listen to what those little babies are saying; they don’t know what they’re talking about!” In America, in America, in America...Dorothy, honey, we’re not in Kansas anymore. 

I hadn’t given too much thought to the situation (although I’m sure Meredith would disagree, as I’ve come home venting about the number of times on which it was commented each day--if only I had a baht for every time!) until a little girl asked me, as I so often get asked here (much like by my students in America), if I have a boyfriend. When I gave her “no” as my answer, she looked at me simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and replied “You fat, that’s why you no have boyfraaann.” That’s that, everybody. Alert the presses! Mystery solved! If only I knew enough Thai to put that little rugrat in her place...

I’ll admit: this one cut me deep. And then, to make matters worse, the same week a couple of the guys at the boxing ring (including my trainer) motioned to me that I needed to stop eating so much because I am fat. I’m always described as “the big one” when people are distinguishing between Meredith and me. The one that took the cake, though, was at the English camp I worked this weekend. They students were on a scavenger hunt, and one of their tasks was to find something fat. Oh yes, you guessed it. Passing up the 350 pound Buddha look-alike to my right, they came and took a picture of me to exemplify the characteristic. Excuse me?! If only they could grasp what a healthy eater I actually am! At each of these instances, I was distraught that people saw me this way. They don’t know me! They aren’t with me at mealtimes! I’m here working hard, aren’t I? Rude! 

All of these instances combined triggered my email writing. I typed away to my nearest and dearest, whining about being fat. Their responses were immediate, being the greatest friends that they are. My best friend, Ashley Bass, reassured me and suggested I think logically. Of course these people would call me fat because of what they had to compare against. They’re all of a tiny stature and are naturally skinny people. She padded my ego and made me smile again as only she knows how. Cain Anne, my other half, used a little less sugar when coating her words, which ended up being exactly the dosage I needed. Her reply was filled with the utmost reassurance as well, but also that extra kick in the pants telling me to suck it up. No, but really. Those were her exact words. “Suck it up, Crow. You are going to have to deal with people constantly pointing out your biggest insecurity because you live in a place where the citizens are genetically and economically thin.  Of course they think you are fat; look what they have to compare: other skinny Asians. You are strong, and you can do it.  Beg for it.  Embrace it.  You traveled all this way, and for what?  To be called fat?  No; you went there to make a difference.  You are there to change the lives of the most amazing children you will ever meet of course, but to also make a difference in your life.” The gal put it to me plain and simple. How am I supposed to argue with that?

Sometimes it takes people who know you better than you know yourself to remind you of what you already know to help you regain the strength to get your crap together, collect that negative energy, and convert it to positive. Did I make that as clear as mud? Thankfully (and unsurprisingly), they did just that. And between their immediate (and obviously effective) responses, Zach’s daily encouragement to keep kicking butt and taking names during boxing sessions, Meredith’s (daily, hourly, by the minute) patience, understanding, and guidance, and remembering Steven’s (who has earned the title of my most interesting closest friend) reminder that I am single right now because I choose to be, I am back on top and working harder than ever. 

That being said, I have continued to be diligent in my Muy Thai training, motorbiking it across town to be beaten to a pulp for nearly two hours every single day. I’m working the hardest I ever have. These sessions make everything else I’ve ever done before feel like child’s play. The physical change may be a slow and (I’m hoping) steady one, but the mental and emotional one has already far exceeded my expectations. This week, the guys gathered around the ring, clapping and cheering as I jabbed, kicked, blocked, and sparred against trainer, telling me how beautiful my forms were, clearly proud and telling the trainer he’s done well with me, and asking me when my first fight would be (I’m telling myself that their questioning was in support instead of being anxious to see me get my rear end handed to me in the ring). I’m finally at the level where trainer is wrapping my hands and hitting me back; I’ve reached the mark that made me want to begin training in the first place!

So I’m not in the figurative Kansas anymore. Thank God for it! Maybe their truth telling and ignoring of elephants is exactly the motivation I need to get my head in the game and become the very best person I can during my time in this country. With any luck (and by luck, I mean I will keep my determination, hard work, and perseverance at a maximum--it’s my promise to you, my five dedicated readers;), I’ll extend it to my next stop after Thailand, wherever in the world that may end up being.   

If anyone needs to borrow a soapbox, I’m done using mine.