8:44 pm

Have I mentioned how hot it is here in Bangkok?

It is currently 8:44 p.m. and at 99 degrees Fahrenheit with 82% humidity. It's dark outside. And it actually feels much cooler than it did this afternoon. And this morning. And at noon.

It's hot. It's really really hot!!!

I love my air conditioner. :-) Oh and my rooftop pool - was uncomfortably warm last night. I think it may actually boil during the day! I'm not complaining. :-)

The sunshine still instantly makes my day! I can't wait to enjoy it on the beach in a couple of weeks!!

happy endings

The other night I couldn’t sleep. I called a friend and she told me a bedtime story. The story turned me into a princess and was created around some of my life events. However, she gave them a little different spin than I normally think of when I look back on the past. It was nice. :-) And it got me to thinking about people’s stories. How much of our translation of these stories changes the events or how we respond to them; how the stories are written and the words we use to describe; the picture it paints in our memories.

I record people’s stories every day. Then my supervisors read what I wrote. Some comments come back and often I am either too descriptive or not descriptive enough (I think it depends on their mood that day!) Either way, it is a balance and a judgment call of how much and what I write down on paper. The stories I communicate play a large part in whether these refugees are approved for resettlement or not. Any little discrepancies can disqualify them.

I was thinking today as I wrote a case that this would make a good movie! And then I thought of the cases I had yesterday that were even more dramatic – they would have a deeper plot and create a much more colorful film. I then thought of the film I watched last night on Kurdish refugees in Iraq at the beginning of the war. The film was done beautifully and was very interesting…but as the story unfolded, the truth of it was very difficult to watch.

I’m not able to visualize a lot of the events that make up many of these refugees stories. I can’t wrap my mind around what it would feel like or look like to be tortured and beaten or raped and pregnant, carrying that man’s child as a reminder of that awful night. I struggle with the words to relate or bring a bit of comfort to these people as they sit in front of me and share these very uncomfortable events. I normally share and empathize with people who I’ve had similar experiences with – or try to find a similar experience to relate with. I can’t do that with many of these people. And I wish I could. I don’t wish for the experiences, but I wish I could understand where they came from and what causes the looks on their faces when they share with me their stories. I wish I could understand. I want to communicate their stories in a way that would not provoke sympathy, but share their life and who they are. They are beautiful people.

I like to watch the documentaries or the international films that are out there to communicate reality and share truth of what is really happening. And I used to think that the more exposure I have, the more I can see and read and hear of what’s really happening, the more empathetic I could be with people and more effective in working towards a positive change in this world. But I don’t know that seeing such horrific things will do that. I don’t know that experiencing those things would do that. Those experiences leave scars and I don’t know that they are always able to heal.

I wish I could turn each refugee story into a bedtime story that would be enchanting and make you feel good at the end; I fear though that many of them are still in that documentary stage that is interesting and intriguing, but leaves you a bit haunted with the images the next day. I hope that for many of these refugees, their stories will continue. And that they all will have happy endings.

it's been one of those days...

My day started out perfectly fine. And then I had a “little village” of a case, as my interpreter called it – a very large family. For each individual we have to write up a family tree and each time a spouse or parent is married multiple times, they must have a separate tree for each spouse and family. The original family had 14 siblings with one mother; the father was married three times and had children with each wife! It took me forever to complete this! And then just as I finish, my computer decides to act up and is moving slower than a tortoise. Then the printer acts up and decides to print the wrong pages back to back and had to be fixed several times.

Ok. So the morning wasn’t so bad. I pick what looks like an easy case of two people for the afternoon. In walks a family of five! It was a father and daughter on the case; the wife and two younger girls had just arrived in Malaysia and need to be added-on. Then I find out half way through the interview that their two sons are still in Burma and they don’t have the money to bring them here. They decide to fly without them and hope to file for the sons once they reach America. I start the family tree and the father tells me that his father was born in 1800. Now, obviously this was incorrect! But it took a good 10 minutes for the interpreter to understand the incorrectness of this statement and to change it. (Ah the joy of working with amateur interpreters all day long! :-)) The date of birth is changed to 1900; with the date of death at 1970. I look at the case and realize the man in front of me has a birthday of 1970. I ask again – thinking he must be wrong – but no, he insists that his father was 70 years old when he was conceived. I didn’t know that was even physically possible! I fill out the five family trees with the multiple spouses for this case. On to the persecution story! I won’t even try to explain that now. :-) So I finish everything on the case, make all the necessary notes to add on the family members and try to reunite the sons…and the mother speaks up and says they have a problem. I can’t even imagine at this point what the problem could be – I really thought we covered everything possible in a case interview today! (it took over four hours!) Turns out the 17 year old daughter was recently raped in her home by a man who was living there. (many of these urban refugees are sharing one or two bedroom apartments with 20+ people. Or they are living in construction sites or in the jungle). As the interpreter stated “the girl was not lucky this time – she is pregnant as result of the rape”. This information is difficult enough to hear; the family was afraid to tell me as they feared it may change the case or she would not be able to travel. They are also afraid that the man will come back and rape her again. This case has now turned into a Protection Case. The father sitting in front of me was about to lose it. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next – nor did the interpreter. He tried to convey his concern that his young daughter is pregnant and unmarried, his wife and two children recently joined him after three years of separation, they are all still living in very harsh conditions with five other men, and his young sons are still in Burma but he has no money to bring them to Malaysia and therefore has made the decision to travel to the US without them because he can’t provide for his family here and get the money to bring the sons over. But he understands that by going to the US, there is a chance that he may never see his sons again. I ask what he is asking for me to do – I really don’t know how I can help. He didn’t have a request. I make a case note and flag the file that this case is now in need of protection for the minor who is pregnant and to try and speed up the entire process for the health of the family. And then I’m at a loss of words.

Thankfully this was my last case of the day. Oh and did I mention that in the middle of all this, it started to rain really really hard? I love the rain, but we are in tin roofed trailers and can’t hear anything when the rain starts! The trailers are also only partially partitioned, so we are often trying to talk above each other. Yesterday I had a torture case to my left and a rape case where the woman ran out of the room weeping to my right. The man in front of me was suffering from post traumatic stress and/or torture – he was quite dazed. Today, along with the heavy rain, one of the little girls kept passing gas for the last four hours that made the rest of us have to plug our noses and try not to faint. Babies are also screaming outside. I had to step out for a minute as I could feel myself about to laugh at the craziness of the day and didn’t want to offend the family – I return to find oranges rolling around my floor! I have no idea where they came from! :-)

And that was my day.
:-)

where is heaven?

One of my favorite things about air travel is getting a window seat to sit and stare at the clouds. I can stare at them all day and never grow tired. I’m completely fascinated. Are they made out of snow? Or cotton candy? Are they sticky or if you jump, would you fall right through them? Some even look like rigid mountain tops. And the shapes…so many shapes for the imagination to create! In my childhood, there was this dip in our back yard where I imagine an old stump must have been pulled from. A saucer-like hole where green grass grew up. My dad and I used to lie on our backs in that dip and watch the clouds float by. We’d create animals and dragons and imagine what it must be like to fly high in the sky. I always dreamt of cloud hopping and lying on my tummy on a big fluffy cloud with my legs kicked up and laughing at the silly little people below me.:-)

Yesterday as I flew to Malaysia, it was still light outside and I once again lost myself in the sheer joy of the clouds. But as I thought back on my fond childhood memories, I looked out and down beneath the clouds. You can’t see anything. We were flying just above them and you can’t see anything below. That kinda killed my romantic notion of belly watching once I got to heaven. :-) And then I thought of where heaven must be? If God can hold the whole world in his hands and if the universe is just a small creation of his making…where is heaven? As a child we’re told our loved ones who pass away are watching us from above. But you can’t see anything that high??? The thought made me a bit sad. Maybe it’s one of those beliefs that require a “child-like faith”? Or maybe…once we get to heaven we’re given super sonic vision that lets us cut through the atmosphere between the clouds above and the earth below? :-) It would go along very well with our ability to spread our arms and fly!! (I can’t wait to be superwoman! :-))

waiting on the world to change

A catchy tune played on my ipod the other day. It’s one of those songs that you sing along to on a sunny day as you take a drive with your arm out the window feeling the breeze. :-) The song is called “waiting on the world to change” by John Mayer. And I really like the tune, but every time I listen to the lyrics they make me upset. I understand his message and I think it’s a good one. We need to not wait on the world to change, but rather take the power within us and make the change ourselves. I just think that we so often feel powerless to do so – and therefore justify our actions of doing very little.

Some say refugees are “waiting” for the world to change; for it to be safe to return home. No more military soldiers gone bad; no more famine; no more injustice.

I think they are changing their world.

They have courage. They flee – but only with the hope that there is something better. For nothing is worse than what they leave behind. To flee is not always a negative thing. Many people view refugees as running away from their situation rather than taking action against changing it. That could be true for some; but the majority of refugees whom I have had the opportunity to meet and to work with are running towards something. Safety. Education. Food. Shelter. Hope. Many of us flee as well. Are we fleeing from things within our individual worlds we created or are we creating a better one? Or are we just waiting for the world to change? Ignorance is not a plea. If a family from the poor lands in Burma who can find hope that there lies something better across the border and if they can survive to get there; and if the Africans who are starving and suffering in the extreme heat of the desert can make their way to a camp in hope of some food and protection; and if both extremes can make a go at resettling in the America – surely we who are able to access this computer and read this blog are able to make a change. We need to stand for something and we need to take action. No more waiting.

“it's not that we don't care,
we just know that the fight ain't fair”

It’s not fair. But that doesn’t mean we step aside and allow things to continue. I’ve run into some conflict with people at work and to be honest, I’m tired of fighting. But I was kindly reminded that it is my responsibility to stand up for what I know is right and to fight for it. Too often I’d like to step aside and let someone else fight the battle. But if we all stepped aside, who would step up? Who would fight to make change happen? The world will not change without action. This past week I’ve been working in the Bangkok office and I keep trying to remind myself as I’m drowning in endless files and papers that I’m taking a stand for those who want to make a positive change. It’s the little actions we do each day that will amount to great changes…right?

I have to believe so. :-)

Check out the lyrics:

John Mayer: Waiting On The World To Change

me and all my friends
we're all misunderstood
they say we stand for nothing and
there's no way we ever could
now we see everything that's going wrong
with the world and those who lead it
we just feel like we don't have the means
to rise above and beat it

so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

it's hard to beat the system
when we're standing at a distance
so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change
now if we had the power
to bring our neighbors home from war
they would have never missed a Christmas
no more ribbons on their door
and when you trust your television
what you get is what you got
cause when they own the information, oh
they can bend it all they want

that's why we're waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

it's not that we don't care,
we just know that the fight ain't fair
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

and we're still waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting waiting on the world to change
one day our generation
is gonna rule the population
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

the clothes washer

I have been in battle with my tiny washing machine since the day I moved into my flat. Its gone mad. First off, the dials and buttons have no universal symbols or English instructions. Secondly, the door does not like to open once it has been closed; my dirty or clean clothes are therefore held in hostage. And third, it shakes so fiercely that I found it in the middle of my kitchen during a spin cycle! (It is suppose to stay tucked neatly under the counter between the refrigerator and the sink!)

I decided I had to laugh at the incredibly long and ridiculous amount of energy it takes me to wash my clothes! I almost resorted to hand-washing instead of this newly purchased machine because I could not get it to work properly! But before I battle the machine, I must conquer the supermarket! Detergent must be bought. Not a problem you say? Ah but I am in a foreign country where English is not all that widely spoken. And all products are advertised in Thai. I find the detergent isle; it’s quite lengthy and with an extensive selection of brands and smells. I look for a familiar but am not so lucky. Then I decide to try and decipher the foreign words. Nope, that surely doesn’t work! Finally, I resort to the sniffing method; they have little bottles of each detergent to open and smell. My friend Kate would love this aisle! I sniffed all twenty plus options. Half of them cleaned out my nose! And in the end…I picked the one which looked similar to a product at home. No rhyme or reason. :-)This process took me a mere 30 minutes. And while I was hard at work, two little Thai girls came up and watched me. Giggling. I wondered what was so funny. :-)