“We’ll take two Thai teas waan noi,” I say to Bo, my favorite barista in town. Her smile says, “I know you only like a little sugar.” Ali and I thank her and tuck our teas into our bike baskets. After teaching five classes, we are excited to bike to my local beach.
While making sure not to spill our teas, I hear Sawan from the bike shop calling my name. Before we can blink, he is blowing up our tires with air to ensure a smooth ride. “Mai ben rai” (don’t worry), he says as he shoos our money away.
Beyond the mechanic shop, we pass a gathering of older women, affectionately referred to as Aunties, seated on wooden benches. “Sa wad dii ka,” we say!
“Teacher,” I hear as I slow my bike down to see who is saying my name. Six boys kick a soccer ball between two large bamboo sticks, scoring a goal and aiming right at us. I stop to kick the ball back to the field, and they run back giggling.
Homes turn to huts. Plastic water bottles and Styrofoam shards line the road. Vibrant pink flags, ripped from cloth, flap in the breeze above. Drooping telephone wires crisscross between the dwellings, and tattered tarps drape down from the lopsided roofs. Balancing on stilts, the houses stand tall, declining gravity’s daily invitation.
“Teacher Rainbow,” a girl’s voice calls out from the plastic chair in her driveway. “My name is…?” she says, pointing at herself. Hopping off my bike once again, I greet the six little girls wearing light purple hijabs and long dresses, running towards me without shoes on. I recognize her beaming brown eyes and hesitate before saying, “Your name is Marissa?” Laughter erupts from the pack of girls. “Chai (yes),” they say. They pause, gaze up at me, and say, “I go to NASA.” I smile and say, “Yes, you can go to NASA.” After a week of teaching about space, my students have decided that being an astronaut is their dream.
The street market welcomes us with all the vendors calling my name as we pedal through. Then six kids run up in front of us. They grab our hands, and we give them Utah stickers in return.
The sun dips below the mountains and paints the clouds in soft-hued pastel pink; time to bike home. Breathless, we contemplate the outpouring of love that unfolded in thirty minutes—love from the baristas, mechanics, aunties, chefs, farmers, and students.
“Two hundred people said hello to us today,” Ali whispers, and “If we paused for even a moment longer, we would have been fed two hundred dinners.”
I smile and nod, tears silently slipping down my cheeks. In lieu of sorrow, tears flow from a profound sense of wholeness, a realization that the essence of abundance lies in the simplicity of generosity.
My community’s generosity is radical; my gratitude is indescribable.
These people and my students are redefining what it means to have.
Corrine Sullivan – Fulbrighter to Thailand 2023
