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My hobbies include laying in bed in my underwear while I listen to music and hate myself

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Khwap Khun Kah

In the interest of doing fair and balanced journaling which I am absolutely not committed to, I think I owe myself a happier post. When I first started this it was to help relieve some of my anxiety. Then it became important to relay the uglier side of travel. But I had a really, really nice day and a half. I went to town with a person I'd just met and did the price bargaining for us, I swam in the ocean, tanned in the shade (is this a dad joke?), watched some Star trek and then rented a scooter and went to the other side of the island. I was pretty certain I was not going to rent a scooter here. Because I'm alone and without cell service - it's easy to see why a person who doesn't drive shouldn't do it. But there was a smaller side of me that just kept saying fuck it. It's that tiny bit of ... gumption, if you're from the 1920's and you will, that ends up how I do most of anything: from leaving the house without headphones to moving to Korea. So after reading some tips (which turned out to be more detrimental to my confidence), I got my scooter and I just... went. It was awesome! At first I was terrified and videogame play turned out to be true -if I start to panic a trend to hit the gas. I know I know. But I started coaxing myself out of it and doing deep breathing when other cars were around and it really helped. I cut across some small mountains and saw beautiful plants, a smashed snake, and just... Something closer to real life here on Lanta. Then I got to old Town, ate by the beautiful sea and accidentally left the restaurant right in time to see the parade! I went to old town because it was their Laanta Lanta festival so I stayed and watched some awesome dancing and then decided to head back. During the parade I ended up having to duck into an alley and cry because I was just so overwhelming happy to be here. I just felt so incredibly lucky. I really couldn't get over the fact that me, some shithead from Texas, was allowed to be here on this tiny island and share in this beautiful, simple celebration. Laanta Lanta is a festival that celebrates the harmony that has always existed between the different groups that settled here 500 years ago. Muslim, Sea Gypsy, and Buddhist. How freaking cool is that?

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Sawatdiikah!

When I was younger I made a huge fuss over what I was using to write. Certain surfaces werent conducive to the artistic flow or whatever the hell bullshit I came up with. Then the latter half of college happened and I got over it. Now I find myself slipping back into excuses. I’m writing on my tablet with no keyboard and using Swype is a real pain in the ass. But today is a break from the beach day, and I’m gonna feel really guilty is I don’t even attempt to do something semi productive, even if it is às self serving as a blog post.

Standards.

Getting to Thailand was no picnic. Instead of spending the extra $70 I chose the flight with the ten hour layover. Imagine a very sleepy Ashley trying to get some shut eye, using her purse as a pillow and a towel as a blanket, sprawled over a row of chairs. The lights were on and the kids were hopped up on sugar, y'all. But I made it through and was rewarded with a four hour nap once I got to phi phi. (After a few hours of minibus and ferry riding.)

Koh Phi Phi was gorgeous. I can’t get over how beautiful it was, from the dramatic cliffs to the perfectly clear and blue water. But it was filled with assholes. European and American assholes as far as the eye could see. I stayed two nights and then moved on Koh Lanta.

It’s not nearly as breathtaking here, but the water is cool, my hostel is okay, and the food is fucking. amazing. Everytime, minus the garbage “western breakfast” I was stupid enough to buy, whatever I eat is the freaking best. Thai food, I love you. Thai beaches, I love you too.

I’m finding it hard to just be by myself though. Ya know, it’s making me re- examine my gratitude and ability to appreciate. The first few days were a mad rush of just wanting to show everybody everything. It was so exciting and new and beautiful. And then crept in the desire of wanting to share but with a little but more substance - particular things with particular people. Still a massive need to share and communicate but also a longing for specifics and inside jokes and appreciations. The honest to goodness truth that I’m figuring out about myself is not just that I don’t know how to be alone, but that the concept is terrifying.

I mean of course there are reasons why having a bud would be nice, including, but not limited to, goading each other into things, an extra pair of eyes for jellyfish lookouts, entertainment, but I guess I haven’t realized how necessary for myself it was to be with somebody. As soon as I got to Korea I had Anthony. When I moved to NY there was Jam. Here there is nobody. And I really don’t like how uncomfortable I am with solitude. It goes beyond just needing a friend for encouragement to do something new. It’s… I dunno. Something else.

Anyways, this didn’t head in the direction I wanted it to. I was gonna talk about talking to you to strangers and not being able to stay in the water for longer than 20 minutes because of goddamn jellyfish but oh well. Have some overly personal information courtesy of the wifi that keeps cutting in and out.

And don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. I just… Need to figure some things out. Or figure out how to get more distracted so I can keep on ignoring them. :)

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Some days are kinda hard

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But did I clean my room?

Well, I bought my ticket to good ole Thailand! I haven’t bought my return ticket yet but I’m looking to leave around the 31st. (I only have a 30 day visa and unless I find some sort of magic job it just wouldn’t make sense to stay longer.) 

I sent out a few messages to hostels and schools on workaway so keep them fingers crossed for me!

I have a dried mud mask on my face. 

I caught a lickitung finally. Thank you Valentine’s Day event! However... still slightly disturbed at how... grotesque that pokemon is. 

Been researching a lot of different hostels to stay at. Have a few scary items on my things to do check list. Most of them involve talking to strangers. :0

Juhnee asked me to come back after Thailand again. I told her I’m sorry and couldn’t and then she went on about how she won’t be able to find a replacement for me and yadda yadda and it took all of my strength, but I still said no, apologized again and then, as I said on facebook, actually ran away. I was getting pretty overwhelmed. I sincerely hated saying no. But I don’t need to come back to this job. She’s just going to have to figure this out. 

I was unable to call BHC and order chicken. I had the number up, the speech prepared, but I still couldn’t do it. It made me feel nauseated and my brain just shut down and said fuck no, man. So I made some weird stir fry ramen instead.

 But this is kinda getting to the point that I want to make with these blog entries: traveling isn’t just for upbeat, extroverted people who aren’t riddled with anxiety and have like a picture of them jumping off the side of a cliff. I mean I wake up and my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth and my muscles are sore from the weird positions I sleep in and I have nightmares and anxiety dreams nearly every time I go to bed. But I’m still doing this shit. Because I want to see this damn world we live in, goddamnit! Even if the idea of ordering food is horrifying. Or talking to a stranger is panic inducing. Or not knowing where I’m gonna sleep three weeks in advance is enough to make me want to call the whole thing off and go spontaneously combust underneath a bridge or whatever.

 I’m trying very hard to work on things like my self doubt. It’s fucking hard to stop telling yourself the same old song and dance though. But when I moved here to Korea it was because I couldn’t think of a reason not to besides being scared. And that was a good call to make. So I’m trying to keep on pushing myself to do stuff even though it scares the living shit out of me. 

Dear god though, somebody please call BHC for me next weekend. I need that damn chicken at least one more time! Seriously, all you have to do is say, “Anyonghaseyo, Kid’s College waygookin. Matchoking chicken, hana. Kamsanida!” She knows what’s up because Juhnee talked to her. I bet you don’t even have to say hana. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?

And shit no I didn’t do anymore cleaning with my room. What am I? A robot?

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Fuck the Bus

I had very clear ideas of what I wanted to write earlier and now I’m sitting here like... what the hell am I doing? what the hell is even the point? Clarity! Trying to gain some goddamn direction and clarity. But I’m reminded of something I saw in Emily’s house... or instagram. Or cover photo? Whatever. It was something like, “sometimes everything seems so oh, I don’t know.”

Lemme backtrack to Thursday. I walk into my morning class and one of my students calls me a pig. I walk into an early afternoon class and a different student calls me a fat pig. And to round it all out I walk into my elementary classroom and another student calls me a hippo. I’m not called these names every day, but I am called them often. It took a solid four to five months before it stopped being a daily occurrence. Like the kids decided, “Okay, she’s a fat pig, but she’s alright enough.” Or whatever the fuck kid logic is. But sometimes they like to revert back to it, perhaps as a fond greeting for an old friend. Or maybe it’s because KIDS ARE ASSHOLES. I don’t know.

Whatever, regardless, this was a hat trick on a bad p.m.s. day with shitty classes all in a row and I was fucking over it, yall. When I finally come trudging down the stairs, one class left on the docket, Juhnee, supreme overlord of KC, comes up to me and asks if I’ll come back to the school after going to Thailand for a month. She wants me to teach for 3-4 months so she can wait until September to hire a new teacher. I laughed. I laughed so hard. And then I said no and laughed some more.  And then I panicked and asked, seriously? She explained her sob story, offered me a raise, told me we could negotiate. She wanted me to decide then and there but I told her I needed time to think about it. 

Why the fuck did I need time to think about it? Well, I feel bad for Juhnee, even though she’s completely shit all over our contract. She’s still a nice person... somehow. I mean like... it’s just a thing for another blog post, I guess. But skipping over the complex Juhnee feelings, I felt bad for her. And I have been scared about money, finding a job, throwing caution to the wind. If I’m working at Kid’s College then I couldn’t possibly be trying to couchsurf my way around and, oh no, there goes that life altering experience that I’m not even sure I want. It’s also familiar. I could probably get away with a bunch of bullshit. I could still have a month off to go home and be with my friends and maybe even some family. And my beloved tacos.

So that night I went home and thought about it. It was a very gradual conclusion though. No epiphany, no grand gestures. Just a painful knot in my stomach that only got worse the more I thought about coming back to this cesspool. I wish I could say, in the grand decision of Brandon Weir, Fuck the Bus, but, as always, I am never capable of being fully convinced that what I’m going to do is the right decision. But, at least in this instance, I’m pretty sure it’s the most right decision. 

Fuck Kid’s College. I’m going to Thailand, goddamnit. And maybe I’ll hate it and maybe it will be a huge waste of money and maybe I’ll go back to Texas and end up having to work some shitty job for a hot minute. But I sure as shit won’t be listening to Mir call me a fat pig anymore. 

Come September, I’ll have a new Mir calling me a fat pig. But also maybe a co-teacher who gives a shit. Who knows? The world is a terrifying, unpredictable place. 

(And just to explain, on vacation Brandon once paid a cab driver $45 to drive him to his hostel instead of grabbing the city bus for $1 and had absolutely no qualms about doing it. Thus birthing the most beautifully exuberant, financially defiant attitude of fuck the bus. That motto is almost regal to me.)

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Girl With Death Mask (She Plays Alone) 1938

Frida Kahlo

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I don’t like writing, and I definitely don’t like reading what I’ve written. So this might be some sort of testament to how much my mind is lashing out. 

I don’t really know what the hell is going on or what’s gonna happen. 

Well, I can tell you a few things.

First off, there will be no revisions. I’m just writing some idiot ramblings here, yall.

Secondly, this is not an adventure blog. Have you ever read those? All these damn people writing about teaching English abroad with their cute ass word play names, half of em finding some new way to use the word adventure and the other half using the word living. Well, being halfway to dead with no knack for artistic arrangements and a fondness for sleeping and practically no energy as well as a very low tolerance for positivity/peppiness/inspirational pictures I can guarantee you won’t be getting any of that here. 

The third thing I can tell you is that I am terrified. I’ve got enough anxiety to fuel a goddamn rocket to the moon. I’m not brave. I’m not some extrovert that loves talking with new people and walking for long hours during the night. I don’t like getting lost, and I don’t enjoy lugging around a bunch of crap and living out of a backpack. I simultaneous want to lay my roots down and see something new and beautiful. Some days it’s more one than the other, but a lot of the time I’m really not sure.

I’m not exactly the picture perfect definition of a “Traveler” - whatever the fuck that means. I want to do couch surfing, but it’s scary. I want to sleep on a beach, but I worry about bugs. I want to talk to other people, but my first instinct is to runaway as soon as possible. I’m not tan or athletic or blonde. I don’t speak multiple languages, and I still don’t like eating seafood. 

I can’t even call the fucking pizza place when I want to eat. It is a horrendous experience that leaves me feeling sick to my stomach. Please god just do it for me?

So how the fuck did I end up here? Some subhuman who’s thinking of going to Thailand and trying to find some temporary employment? How in god’s name do I think I’m gonna pull that one off? I dunno. But I think if I don’t try I’m gonna be pissed at myself. 

I kinda fucked myself over / got fucked over on getting a job straight after KC. I genuinely thought I had one in the bag and EPIK would be a safety. But neither worked out this intake, so I’ve got my choices. Spend the next 5.5 months sleeping on couches / bumming around different parts of the world / living that life I read about but am firmly convinced, down to my very bones, is reserved for other people / maybe loosing more money than I can afford / maybe have a terrible, frustrating time, or go back to Denton / mooch off of beloved friends and their bedding / maybe substitute, maybe get my old job back at target / and have a relatively smooth time. 

Maybe most people would know exactly what they’d want to do either way. But me? I’m still trying to figure that out. 

#i'm an idiot