Rhena Writes

Tag: asia

  • Surviving extremes with koselig, sabai, and balance.

    Daily writing prompt
    How do you feel about cold weather?
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    I love cold weather. No. That’s not right. I love the feeling of being warm and cozy, which is only possible with cold weather.

    When I was teaching English in Thailand, I’d try to explain what it was like where I’d been living in the United States. I had recently graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Madison which is, well, cold. I studied Thai language for a semester or two and for some reason language classes are often first thing in the morning. I tried to describe trudging up Bascom Hill in the snow and ice to make it to Thai class on time. I wore heavy boots and multiple layers, a scarf wrapped up all the way around my face so that only my eyes were visible. I’d describe to my students how my breath would condense on my eyelashes and scarf and then freeze. Entering the warmth of the language building, it would all instantly melt, leaving my face, scarf, and hat slightly damp.

    Sometimes, as I was describing this to them, a slight breeze might cut through the tropical heat of the open air classrooms. Sabai. Sabai. A study in contrasts.

    Here are the two languages I’ve felt pulled to learn more about recently: Thai and Norwegian. Perhaps my ancestors are trying to tell me something. Maybe they’re warring it out, both trying to make claim space on my tongue, in my brain. It doesn’t bother me. There’s room for both and all.

    For a while, I lived in Minnesota, which has an outsized Norwegian influence. It makes sense, the climates are somewhat similar. As much as I love both places, it’s mostly because of the summers if I’m honest. Like I said, I enjoy the feeling of “koselig” in cold weather. And I like to knit. I enjoy a steady fire, warm drinks. Candlelight. But it’s also easy to forget that what comes with the cold and koselig is the dark. There are times in both places — Minnesota and Norway — where there’s almost no sunlight for long stretches at a time. It’s hard. Really, really hard.

    But so is the heat of Thailand, sometimes. And the flooding.

    So I guess it makes sense that I live at a latitude somewhere between those two extremes now — not too far from the latitude where I was born. And perhaps pleasing to the ancestors on both sides.

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  • Celebrate this breath. And then the next.

    Daily writing prompt
    What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
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    The trunks of banana trees, sliced into thick rounds, make for the perfect floating lantern. The bigger ones can be loaded up with flowers, incense, a candle, coins, and candy, (along with any manner of spiritual detritus that one might want to send away) and still remain buoyant once they are placed on the surface of the water. These gifts are for the Water Goddess. Children wait further down river to retrieve the money and sweets perhaps in her stead. My guess is that witnessing the joy and exuberance the children experience in the water is the real gift to the Goddess. Well, it was a gift to me anyway when I got to partake in Loy Krathong in my father’s hometown many years ago.

    The paper lanterns, the ones that float upward into the sky are lifted by the heat of the candle inside. They cannot bear the weight of so many offerings, but wishes and blessings in the form of words can be written on the paper before launching them into the night sky. And the hope, of course, is that they do not land in a dry patch of forest or a thatch rooftop and cause a fire. Unlikely, of course, as this of Loy Krathong is celebrated at the end of rainy season in Thailand while everything is still wet.

    During the day, there are performances, dancing and singing, likely a parade. There is a fair, too, with food and vendors.

    Or at least, that was what I remember from the year that I got to celebrate Loy Krathong in Thailand. The floating lanterns — both in the sky and on the river — are beautiful. I think now the whole thing would be considered very instragram-able. I feel lucky to have been able to partake before instagram, to have the memory of launching my own floating lantern into the river that used to come all the way up to the very back door of where my grandparents lived. I can’t really say why it’s important to me or significant that my memories of this holiday are from before Instagram but somehow it is.

    One year, as a child growing up in DC, we went down to float lanterns on the reflecting pool between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Of course, they weren’t carried away on the current. That we had to retrieve them made the purpose of the ritual — to send away our bad luck — a little less poignant. And it was much colder in DC in November than in Thailand. Trust me: no children were wading into the reflecting pool to retrieve floating coins and candy. Still, it was lovely. And perhaps, in retrospect, it brought home to me the sacrifices that immigrant communities make especially when attempting to hold on to something of our ancestral homes.

    One of the things I love most about holidays like Loy Krathong is that they are tied to the seasons and the earth. Although I haven’t really lived in a culture that celebrates it as its own holiday, I love winter solstice. I love summer solstice too. Many years ago, I visited Norway in June. The long hours of sunlight were beautiful. (And, also, yes, at times a little eerie and disconcerting.) On the flip side, every year, I find winter solstice unexpectedly cozy. Something inside of me (maybe my Norwegian ancestry?) wants me to acknowledge each of these special dates, turning points on our solar calendars. Is it possible to celebrate a holiday alone or is this something that must be done communally?

    This question of what is my favorite holiday called forth these vivid memories of the few times I got to celebrate Loy Krathong. Still, I didn’t get to writing this blog post until rather late in the day compared to when I usually respond the daily prompt. My normal routine was disrupted by a doctor’s appointment and other parenting and household tasks in addition to the fatigue of radiation that I’m still experiencing. I’m glad that in between these chores, I had the memories of lanterns, bobbing along the river current and floating on the night air, to call upon. At the same time, I cannot say that Loy Krathong is my favorite holiday. Certainly, some of my favorite holiday memories are of this festival of water and light, but I do not celebrate this regularly enough in my current life to call it my favorite.

    And I feel this ambiguity particularly on a day like today when I was busy but also very much felt like a patient, very much still in the midst of dealing with cancer. A blood draw. Drugs. Pain. Fatigue. I’m painting a miserable picture here. But that’s not my intent. Or it’s only part of my intent. Because in between these moments of being poked and prodded and even within the pain and discomfort, I have to find a reason and a way to celebrate. I cannot wait for the full moon of the twelfth lunar month. I cannot wait for summer solstice. I cannot even wait for this weekend. I have to find the holiday, the reason to celebrate in each moment. Each breath. And so I do.