School morning chiang mai
Just another weekday
Rise and shine at 6:50 am, the sounds of a few birds and motorcycles come into earshot. I open the blinds, shutters, French doors — blue sky, sunshine and the temperature of the morning is upon, fresh, soothing — a calmness awakens the senses.
The drive to school is bustling, as I weave in and out of traffic I notice a monk gliding up the sidewalk, his bright orange robe capturing, he appears deep in practice, I pass sleepy students, families crammed onto the back of motorcycles, and pick-up trucks rammed full of Burmese workers, the men exhaling cigarette smoke, the women heavily shawled, shielding themselves from the sun’s fierce rays, gazing despondently out at the birth of the new day.
Pockets of smoke taint my nostrils from the sizzling pork on skewers being barbecued on the side of the road, street merchants selling sticky rice, Jok and fresh fruit, smiles are extracted as money is exchanged for morning meals, the daily routine at the helm, the city gently stirring.
I have the thirst for a fresh coconut, so stop at the market, I’m greeted by the usual glinting complexion, a beaming broad grin from the seller, she cracks it open right in front of me before pointing at rows of dragon fruit and guava, my eyes intrigued as I devour the last puddle of water, I feel enlightened, the wavering headache subsides from last nights beers, I leave with a feast of fruit, cleansed, ready for the day ahead.
I cross the bridge over the river, past temples and food stands, I see an elephant being led by a skinny male, obedient, sad, no smiles, a frowning pallor, and the deep sorrowfulness of the elephant’s eyes hold my gaze, resonating, as I continue my journey, thoughts of poverty, desperation and luck roate around in my head.
At school, I enter the staffroom, I’m greeted by the usual morning glumness, tired and worn-out faces mixed in with souls fresh off the boat with the lust for adventure, looking to turn over stones, awaken the western blandness, trading the mundane for something at the other end of the spectrum, newfound excitement.
Long-standing expatriates, weathered, transformed, lost, or holding on for dear life, for some, the magic has dispersed; for others, the baptism from the land of smiles has given a sense of freedom, the shackles have been released, the journey has just begun.
Idle chitter chatter is traded over coffee and cigarettes, sniggers turn into laughter as stories from last night’s antics bloom to the forefront, the bars, girls and beers playing a habitual part amongst some. For others, the more sombre, clockwork distractions of films, books and newly discovered restaurants are traded.
The sudden alarm of the national anthem beckons with the rush of students and teachers lining up outside the classrooms, regimented, highly organised, the gang of apprehensive foreign teachers wallowing for a few last minutes in the AC before evacuating into the scorching heat and humidity, some more forthcoming than others.
Cheeky grins appear as we stand in front of our classes, the morning blues evaporated into feelings of positivity, inspiration and being blessed, the children enlightening, the day upon uncertain, as with teaching everyday is different — emotions, feelings change, but one is lifted by the spirit of the soul standing next to one, whether it be laughter, anger or solemness.
