Asking the Hard Questions

I'm a freelance writer, but to what end? Presumably the writing I am doing now should be building toward something, should be part of a body of work that can be used to achieve a next goal. But what is that next goal?

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Ready for the fall

It's been a little while since I concluded my series on my year of living in Chiang Mai. I hadn't planned on taking a break from posting on here after I finished that, but it appears to have been a good time for a break. Writing that series helped me get closure on a lot of things that happened during my first 12 months in Thailand, appreciate everything I've had here and cleared some mental space for what's next.

I went into the last full month of the summer somewhat uncertain of what the rest of my year would look like, but knowing I was feeling restless and ready for some changes. Since turning 28 in April, I have noticed an underlying sense of...urgency, perhaps, to figure out what comes next, a feeling that I've entered a new stage of my life.

Birthdays have never freaked me out; I never fretted about turning a year older. After all, another year on the planet seems a cause for great celebration, not despair. But 28 did freak me out. It's close to 30. It's firmly in the late 20s. Suddenly things that I used to put on the mental backburner seemed much more urgent and important: my health and overall well-being and what I was doing (or not doing) to maintain it; my finances; my professional ambitions; long-term goals for a romantic relationship and starting a family.

Earlier this year there was a lot of buzz about Meg Jay's TED Talk on Why 30 is Not the New 20. While watching it, I had a moment of fleeting panic - what if I've wasted my 20s? What if I've gotten everything wrong?

The panic subsided when I evaluated just what I've been doing for the past eight years of my life, and considered the investments I've made in myself. I graduated from college and grad school, gained valuable professional experience working at a newspaper and freelancing for reputable publications, traveled, evaluated long-held biases and embarked on a path of learning about people and the world that has changed my life.

Most importantly, I have invested in self-growth and development, which has changed the way I see myself, solidified my values and laid the groundwork for the types of enriching, supportive, healthy relationships I want to maintain and cultivate.

So all of that is great, and I'm thankful for the experiences I've had up to this point. It's been an incredible ride so far.

But that doesn't mean that there isn't room for growth (isn't there always?) and that it's not worth asking questions about what comes next, where I want to live and travel, whether my priorities are shifting and if so, what are they, where do I want to be focusing my energy going forward.

I still haven't answered all of those questions for myself, but some priorities have become clear. The top priority is my overall health and well-being. Once I started reading seriously about fitness and nutrition, I was alarmed to realize how much of my diet and lack of exercise were likely exacerbating my feelings of anxiety and depression. I won't go into all the gory details here, but suffice it to say that some changes needed to be made.

This is an ongoing journey for me, but an important one, so vital to making real progress in any other area.

I'm not sure what the future of my work life is and for the first time, that excites rather than terrifies me. I love writing and will focus on creating a body of work I'm proud of, though I am eager to learn new skills, such as design, that will allow me to do more professionally and creatively. I'm excited to think beyond my self-imposed constraints of “I'm a writer and that's it; that's all I will ever be” and see where that takes me.

I'm also not sure where I will live next, though I have some ideas in mind and all of them have some great potential benefits. In the meantime, I've continued hanging out in Chiang Mai and have decided to visit America this fall.

It will be the first time I've been back since I moved to South Korea, and I am deliriously thrilled to have booked the trip. For a long time, the prospect of visiting the States seemed daunting for a number of reasons, not the least of which was how much I've changed and how much my relationships with people there have changed.

But I've wanted to go back for a visit for awhile now, and decided that this fall would be the time to do it. The idea had been there for months, and then one night, I found an incredible deal on a flight and took the plunge. I expected some waves of anxiety or a feeling of “What the frell did I just do?!” but to my pleasant surprise, all I felt for the first week after booking the ticket was elated.

The response I got from people when I told them I was coming to visit was so warm and enthusiastic, it was impossible not to get swept up in the moment. I felt totally at peace with the decision, and genuinely happy to plan for the visit.

I fly out a month from today and will be there six weeks. It's a short trip for having been gone such a long time, but I'm going to make the most of it. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, to visiting some of my favorite places in the States and to spending some time in cities I've never visited before.

I planned the trip for October in part because that is my favorite month and I have missed autumn in America something fierce. I'll get to enjoy all the fall colors and the pumpkin and apple treat goodness for the first time in three years. To say I'm looking forward to that would be an understatement.

Oh and the food...I'm already fantasizing about the food.

It will be an emotional trip, I have no doubt. I also think it will be an opportunity for me to reflect on where I want to live next, what I want out of my lifestyle and what I'll do in the coming year. There are some trips that I just know are going to be great opportunities for growth, which adds to the excitement and eager anticipation. This is certainly one of them.

2013 has been interesting so far, with many highs and some lows. But fall has always been my favorite season, and I'm going into this one looking forward to some wonderful things.

As far as Spinning Free goes, I'll be posting more frequently, and am working on moving the blog to a new platform that I think will give it a more elegant, enjoyable look. I hope to have that ready to roll out in a week and look forward to sharing it.

A year worth celebrating

This is the fifth and final post in my Unexpected Year in Thailand series. To read the other posts in the series, click here It is now exactly one year since I arrived sweaty, tired and elated in Thailand, not knowing that I would spend the next year of my life in Chiang Mai.

Even having looked back and seen my struggles with depression and anxiety during the past year, I find that what I feel more than anything else is gratitude for all I've experienced in these 12 months. Playing in the world's biggest water fight, releasing lanterns at the Yi Peng ceremony, sleeping in a bamboo hut in a hill tribe village in the mountains, volunteering with elephants, hanging out with friends at a (vegetarian) piranha fishing resort, interviewing a world-class chef in Bangkok. The list goes on and I know years from now, I will still treasure those experiences and what they taught me.

But most of all, I will treasure the people with whom I've shared those experiences. I've written a lot about the negatives and how badly I felt before I came to Chiang Mai. But to close out this month of reflection and this month of blog posts about this year in Thailand, I want to talk about the people I've met here and who are so important to me.

Back in September, when I found out my friends Will and Skeeter were planning to come back to Chiang Mai as well, I was stoked. Skeet was heading back to the States in October so I knew he'd only be here a short time (he has since returned to Chiang Mai with his partner - I'm telling you, this place has a way of getting under your skin) but Will was also planning to go back to Beijing. We figured we'd hang out in Chiang Mai for a little while and then head to China, just in time for a bitter cold winter.

But then people started giving us all of these reasons to stay: "You can't miss the Yi Peng festival or Loy Krathong; people come from all over the world for those!" and "The winter months are the best time to be in Thailand; not humid, not rainy, just perfect weather!" (This was quite a selling point for someone like me, who hates the cold.)

The real reasons to stay, it turned out, would be our friends. When I arrived in Thailand last summer on a quest to get my head on straight, I didn't expect that the journey would be aided by other people. I already had good friends in China and the States; I didn't expect or think I needed to make close friends in Thailand. I thought I'd find maybe a few interesting travel companions at best.

I don't believe in God or fate or destiny, but I believe deeply in the power of the unconscious and its intuition for what we need in order to heal ourselves and grow. I needed Thailand. I needed Chiang Mai. I needed a space to break down, really break down, to be afraid, to face my fears, to be sick, to be sad, to grieve. I needed that so much more than I realized, which is something I was unwilling to accept or see clearly until recently.

I needed to allow myself to be happy and appreciate the beauty in the world, too,  and to really, fully enjoy being healthy and alive and engaged. And I also really needed friends and love and compassion; I needed to receive those things and to give them. And I had that, in an abundance that humbles me and makes me grateful in ways I'm not sure I’ll ever be able to fully express.

There are so many people I've met in Chiang Mai who have inspired me, impressed me, given me much to think about and been a pleasure to know. But there are a few in particular who I now count among the dearest in my life, and who I hope to know for many years to come.

Will has been my closest friend for several years now, and this whole Chiang Mai experience - the good, the bad, and the outrageous - would certainly have been less exciting and less enriching without him. He's a better friend than even he probably realizes, is one of the most genuine, smart, thoughtful and inspiring people I know, and a fantastic human being.

Ruby, Mika and Hilary - affectionately known as my biscuit sisters - will forever be woven into the fabric of who I am. Ruby, who taught me the meaning of Minnesota nice and who delivers even the harshest truths with love and support; Mika, who inspires me with her willingness to defy conventions and her passion for the oppressed; and Hilary, who I knew was a kindred spirit from our first meeting, when we talked religion, corporate America, writing and a million other things over beers.

There have been so many smart, interesting, passionate, kind women I've met here - Kailyn, who reminded me constantly to be generous and nice simply by so embodying those qualities herself; Sarah, whose effervescent personality and willingness to be unique and embrace the world (not to mention amazing dance skills) made me want to let loose and enjoy life more, too; Alyse, who is friendly, giving and game for a laugh no matter what else is going on; Jules, Laura, Agnes, and so many others who touched my heart and who I'm so glad to know.

Before I came to Chiang Mai, it had been a long time since I had had a close group of girlfriends and here, I was fortunate enough to become friends with a group of women who are all passionate, hilarious and warm. They reminded me of how vital it is to have a community of women you can relate to, cry to, and with whom you can drink copious amounts of wine and just really be yourself - scars, mistakes, dreams and all.

The men I know here are wonderful as well. In contrast to the stereotypes put forward about men's inability to emote and empathize (which I disagree with, by the way), Neil and Rob are both sensitive, compassionate, intelligent, well-read and also hilarious. Neil's earnestness and integrity, and Rob's candor and unique sense of humor make them both so much fun to be around. The romantic relationships between Neil and Mika and Rob and Hilary have taught me a great deal about relationships, and inspired me in their closeness, intimacy, and honesty.

Skeet and his partner, Ally, came back to Chiang Mai later than everyone else, but it has been great having them here, too. I have long been impressed by Skeeter's talent, creativity and passion for music, and his commitment to being a good person and standing up for what he believes is right. Ally continually reminds me to question my own biases, to consider the other side of the story or argument, and to be just in my considerations, an area that remains a challenge for me - but a worthwhile one.

Then there are May and Num, the wonderful people who run the guest house where so many of my friends and I have lived. They have really made Chiang Mai a home and made the place where we live somewhere special.

And there are so many others I haven't mentioned who have made this experience as great as it has been. Together, these people have taught me so much about relationships, honesty, bravery and about the world, and I only hope to be able to return the favor. And they have made me laugh, endlessly, which is such a gift in and of itself. It is a privilege to know each one of them.

A special bond developed among our group and while many have left Thailand to travel to new places and start new chapters, we'll always have Chiang Mai, and the hopeful plans to reunite and be part of each other's lives in another part of the world.

When I stop to think about all of the special occasions, the hangouts, the jokes, the stories, the experiences I have shared with the friends I've met in Chiang Mai, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of love and gratitude.

To commemorate this year in Chiang Mai, I decided to make a short video with some highlights of the time I've spent here. The music is "Safe & Sound" by Capital Cities. I chose this song because while listening to it one day, I thought, This is exactly how I feel about our Chiang Mai crew.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A08Y0tKXBg4?feature=player_detailpage]

I'm not sure where I'll head after Chiang Mai or when exactly I'll go just yet, but I do know that I will always look back on this time as being among the most special in my life, and will be so grateful to have lived in this special place with such wonderful people.

How Thailand taught me to be generous again

This is the fourth post in my Unexpected Year in Thailand series. To read the earlier posts, click here About two months ago, I was talking to a friend about feeling like I was in a transition period in terms of my professional life. I was trying to decide what types of stories I want to be writing, the type of work I want to be doing, and mapping out my goals for the rest of this year and beyond. A few days later, this friend sent me a link to "The Desire Map", a book by Danielle LaPorte.

Admittedly, some might read that title and roll their eyes, writing it off as New Age-y fluff about living your best life. And sure, there are some things in there that don't resonate with me, like aligning your chakras. But there is also a lot I have found quite helpful, not the least of which are suggestions for shifting your perspective from bitterness and negativity to one that brings your outlook into alignment with your desire to be happy and fulfilled.

LaPorte invites readers to identify their Core Desired Feelings, or CDFs. These are what you want to feel regularly in your life and can include everything from happy to sexy to wealthy to inspired - pretty much anything you can think of.

So I considered my own CDFs, and came up with a list that included happy, abundant, safe, debt-free, creative, loved and loving, and a range of other words. But the one that really stood out to me was generosity.

I've always considered myself a reasonably generous person. I enjoy buying gifts for people I love, I like doing things to brighten their day, and am usually happy to help a friend in need, whether that's with money or time or some other type of assistance. One thing I don't ever want to be considered is miserly.

But this past spring and early summer, I started to feel...well, like a miser. Not only when it came to money, but when it came to my time, patience, empathy, compassion. I found myself getting impatient with people, and with myself. And I stressed out more when lending people money, or covering a dinner here and there.

To put this in context, my year got off to a pretty rough financial start. I was robbed on New Year's Day, and had to spend money I had saved to cover my living expenses replacing some of what I had lost.

So that sucked. But it wasn't the end of the world. I knew I'd get back on my feet and that the whole episode would just be a good story.

But getting back on my feet was harder than I thought it would be, and I started to feel badly about myself. I kind of got stuck in a rut when it came to work and my finances, and those negative feelings made me crabby about other things more often than I would have liked. I was aggravated that I felt I always had to monitor my bank account, annoyed with myself for not making more money faster, and then even more annoyed with myself for not doing something to stem the tide of frustration I was feeling in general. This was all exacerbated by the fact that I was trying to decide where in the world to move next and what I wanted to do creatively - which are really exciting decisions to make, by the way. But I was blinded by my crabbiness and negativity and saw all these opportunities for growth as added stressors.

I really wanted that outlook to change. The negative thought spiral was hampering my creativity and drive, and I'm smart enough to know that you have to step out of that cycle and get some perspective in order to move forward.

So one afternoon, I took myself to lunch and went shopping for art supplies, deciding I'd try a new creative outlet. I read some of "The Desire Map" during lunch, and found that one passage in particular really resonated with me.

LaPorte wrote, "In the toughest of moments, what makes me feel better is thinking about my core desired feelings." Instead of staying stuck in a negative thought pattern, she reflects on the way she would prefer to feel in that moment. This helps her make choices that will bring on those feelings, rather than just bitching about how bad things are.

I loved this idea. I like to think I'm generally a happy person, but I have been known to latch onto a bad mood or a grudge, sit down in it and refuse to move for long past the sulking expiration date.

I decided to try LaPorte's tactic that afternoon. Rather than stress out about the cost of my lunch, I thought, "I desire feelings of generosity and gratitude, and a sense of abundance." I didn't want to be miserly with myself, or with other people. I wanted to do good things for myself, and feel positively about that, not go stare at the numbers in my bank account and raise my blood pressure by berating myself for spending $5 on lunch.

Armed with this consciousness of my desires, I set off to finish up some last-minute errands. It was hot and I was tired after eating, and annoyed that I couldn't easily locate the local post office. But I was determined to not get cranky. For every negative thought: "It's hot out", "I have work to do and this is taking forever", "Who insists on mailing hard copies of documents anyway?", I recognized those complaints but then countered with some gratitude. "I'm grateful I'm healthy enough to walk around and run these errands without assistance", "There's plenty of time to get things done today; I'm not on deadline"; "I'm excited to be working with this new client, so it's a positive that I need to go to the post office at all."

Surprisingly, this actually helped. And the more I was able to shift my mood, the more goodness I began to notice. I was grateful for the generosity of the cashier at 7-11, who not only gave me directions to the post office but walked me there herself and translated my request to the clerk who mailed the documents. I found myself feeling increasingly grateful to be in Chiang Mai at all, and reflecting on the many times people in the city had shown me kindness and generosity, even though they didn't know me.

When I arrived home to the guest house where I'm living later that afternoon, I found several friends and fellow residents gathered around a table on the porch, sharing food. They invited me to join them and before I knew it, I had a full plate of food, a glass of whiskey and a shot of some other type of alcohol that had been fermenting for a year and had just been opened by one of the guest house owners. He and one of the other men encouraged everyone to eat and drink, making sure we all had enough or did not go wanting.

Here, I thought, are abundance, generosity and so many things to be grateful for.

For the first time in awhile, I made myself sit down and relax and socialize in the middle of the afternoon, rather than rush to my room to get back to work. I enjoyed the food and the company and the warm, breezy weather. And I allowed myself to really reflect on all I had to be grateful for, and be thankful that I was in Thailand, among friends, surrounded by people who were willing to give and share what they had.

And I considered all of the people I have had the opportunity to meet this past year, all of the strangers who have shown me kindnesses, and the friends who have been generous with their time and patience, and with sharing their own stories with me. I'm not saying money isn't important or isn't helpful, but I think it's easy during lean months to get caught in a web of scarcity and forget that abundance and generosity aren't only the products of financial wealth.

I've been trying to be more conscious of when my thoughts and feelings turn toward annoyance, frustration, impatience and this overall sense of being in scarcity mode. And I try to shift out of that now by doing something for someone else, or treating myself to a massage or just thinking about what I could be grateful for in the situation. It usually does help and has made me appreciate all the positives in my life, rather than living in the negatives.

photo (1)

One last chance, this world is gonna pull through

The Buddhist New Year festival, Songkran, was celebrated in Thailand this past weekend. It's the biggest festival of the year and the celebrations go on for at least three days. These celebrations are not your average holiday festivities, however. Songkran is a massive, multi-day, city-wide water fight. Everyone buys water guns and buckets and plays outside for three days, the only goal being to soak everyone who passes you as much as humanly possible. It's quite possibly the greatest holiday in the world.

Thapae Gate

Friends who had been in Chiang Mai for the holiday before had been telling stories for months, getting the Songkran newbs pumped for what promised to be the most epic waterfight we had ever seen.

I marveled at the stories; I watched the videos; I saw the pictures. I was not prepared for all that is Songkran.

Thapae party

The day before the holiday officially began, people were already lining the streets with Super Soaker knock-offs, PVC pipe syringes, buckets and hoses, ready to take down anyone who crossed their paths. Street vendors lined Chiang Mai's famous moat selling sausages, sweet corn, spring rolls, water and beer.

My friends and I donned t-shirts we had made for our crew, the Songlorious Basterds, and spent a wonderful pre-Songkran afternoon eating home cooked Thai food and drinking Sangsom, a sweet Thai whiskey, in between bouts of unleashing hell on every passerby who dared walk past our guest house.

Songlorious Basterds

Already, the holiday was off to a glorious start. But even that didn't prepare me for the real deal.

In some ways, words fail me when I try to describe Songkran. On the first full day of the festival, we took to the streets and found the best party you could ever imagine: an entire city playing, eating, drinking and dancing in the sunshine. It's absolute mayhem and you can't walk two feet without getting soaked to the bone. There's no place for vanity or reservation. You simply jump into the fray and enjoy.

Swimming in the moat

Celebrating Songkran in Chiang Mai was, without exggeration, one of the most wonderful experiences I have had since moving overseas. There were many times when I couldn't stop smiling from the sheer joy I felt at being there, and being surrounded by friends and a city full of people in celebration.

There were countless instances and interactions that made me smile or laugh out loud: getting covered with foam and dancing in front of Thapae Gate, having children smear talc on my face to stave off the heat, being beckoned by a laughing old woman eager to throw her bucket of freezing water on me. But I will never forget the way I felt on the first day of Songkran.

Songkran child

The water symbolizes a time of cleanse and renewal at the start of the new year, which is why it factors so prominently into the celebrations. On Saturday afternoon, the first day of the festival, rain clouds rolled over the steaming hot and already drenched city. People had been in the streets all day, blasting each other with water guns, dumping buckets of ice water on each other's heads, clinking cans of warm Chang beer in a toast to the new year. But then the sky opened up, punctuating what had already been a perfect day.

If I was Buddhist, or religious in any way, I would have taken the rain as a sign from God that the coming year was a blessed one. Instead, I stood there in the middle of the street, arms wrapped around my friends as we laughed and hugged one another and I was grateful that I, and they, are alive.

Foam party

That's the kind of celebration Songkran is. The generosity of spirit, the abundance of people and food and drink and water and music - it makes you happy to be alive. And when you're dancing to Bruce Springsteen in the middle of a reggae bar, sopping wet and surrounded by people who are just so damn happy they could burst, you can't help but love them.

And when you start teaming up with Thai kids to attack trucks full of people with squirt guns and buckets, and see groups of strangers helping a drunk old man who's done a little too much celebrating for the afternoon, you can't help but really like human beings as a species. And when you watch a little girl celebrate her first Songkran with shrieks of delight and demands to be doused in water, you want to cry a little out of happiness because it's moments like those that make you think that maybe humanity does deserve to exist.

Songkran trucks

Songkran is the sort of holiday that helps you continue to believe that people are good, even when you wake up the morning after it to the news that people were murdered and maimed at the Boston marathon and that 55 others were killed in Iraq on the same day. Yesterday morning, when I read about this wave of horrors, I held on to the memory of Songkran. Seeing people in such a pure, happy state, in a communal moment of joy, sharing and celebration ... I have to keep that in mind in the face of senseless tragedy, and believe that decency will eventually triumph.

Thanks to Will Moyer, Joshua Du Chene and Agnes Wdowik for the photos.

A reflection before the new year

If I had been asked last Dec. 31 where I expected to find myself in exactly one year, on the last morning of 2012, I probably would not have said sleeping in the back room of a friend’s bar on an island in Thailand. But that is where I found myself this morning, and somehow, it seems a completely appropriate ending to the year that’s been. I’m in Koh Phangan, Thailand, and because it’s New Year’s Eve, and there is a Full Moon Party tonight, there are no available rooms and this bar is the only thing between me and sleeping on the beach.

I don’t remember exactly what I expected 2012 to be like, but it’s safe to say that it turned out far differently than I had envisioned in nearly every way possible. For a long time, I tended to think of the year as a bit of a wash, marred by stress, emotional upheaval, and professional frustrations.

But when I lifted that gloomy pall a bit, I saw that the past 12 months have been more nuanced than that.

Yes, there were some dark and low points. Yes, I worked to the point of burn out not once, but twice, this year. Yes, I went through bouts of depression and anxiety that felt at times like they would never end. Yes, some relationships that meant a great deal to me ended, in sad and less than ideal ways. And yes, there were times when I felt that unresolved issues from the past were too great to surmount.

However. There has been more to celebrate this year than there has to lament.

In the past 12 months, I’ve visited three new countries. I’ve lived with elephants for a week, experienced an intensely beautiful lantern festival I’ll remember all my life, and been to a rave on an aircraft carrier in China. My friends and I started a t-shirt company, and I had the opportunity to write for the Wall Street Journal and Vogue India, two publications that, when I was just finishing grad school a few years ago, would have seemed like a far-off dream. Some relationships ended, but new ones were formed, ones for which I am deeply grateful. And others have become stronger, more honest and rich throughout the shared experiences of the past year. I came through the other end of depression with more emotional clarity and a stronger sense of self than I have ever had before.

If there was one thing that I was searching for throughout the past 12 months, I think it was a sense of peace - an acceptance of the past, a putting to bed of old insecurities and grievances, a freeing of my mind, energy and attention to embrace all the possibilities of the present and the future.

It has been a struggle at times, but as I reflect on the past year, and all the curves in the road, the unexpected and often delightful experiences I’ve had along the way, I think I am closer to finding that peace than I realized. Perhaps I’m not quite there yet, but I’m finally ready for it. I’m ready to allow myself to let go of the regrets and struggles, the self-criticisms and the bad days. That’s not to say I’ll forget them, because all have provided valuable lessons I’ll take with me going forward. I’m just ready to put them to rest, forgive myself and move on. I’m excited for 2013 and about working toward the new goals I’ve set for myself.

I don’t want to sugarcoat 2012, but I don’t want to dwell on it either. As I enjoy the last day of the year, I will focus on one simple theme: gratitude. I’m grateful that among the bad, the stressful, the frightening, I have had so many beautiful opportunities to explore and learn about the world, to meet people and to gain a greater understanding of myself. And most of all, I am grateful to be alive to experience all of it, and to have the opportunity to move forward and create new memories, new bonds, learning from but not being imprisoned by the past.

Photo essay: Children of Koob Kub village

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit Koob Kub, a Lahu hill tribe village, in the mountains of northern Thailand. I visited the village with members of The Christopher Robert Project, an organization created to help better the lives of children living in Thailand’s hill tribe communities. This was my first visit to such a community, and the experience was humbling and in many ways profound. The village is not without its issues - hierarchical corruption and rampant opium addiction among the men being but a sample of them, and I hope to write a more extensive piece on hill tribe history, culture and the issues they face at some point. In fact, that’s what brought me to Koob Kub in the first place, research on a people and tradition that fascinate me but about which I know very little.

Koob Kub left a lasting impression for a number of reasons but whenever I sat down to record those for the purpose of a blog post, all I could think of were the children I met there.

To say the community is poor would be a gross understatement, a fact underscored by the state of the children’s clothing and filthy hands and faces. There was certainly reason for concern for their health and well-being, and again, perhaps I will write more on that another time. But these children, through their energy, intelligence, and their warmth toward me and especially toward one another, moved me in a way I have not felt in a long time. I find myself thinking of these kids often, wondering how they are doing and finding myself drawing inspiration from their example.

Rather than attempt to wax poetic about what each of these children did to leave such an impression, I decided instead to go with a photo essay that I hope will give some insight into what their lives are like.

Nasay, Koob Kub Village

Koob Kub boys

School pictures

The next several photos are shots of the kids in the classroom and at play. I've included photos of the old school, which was mostly destroyed in a fire several months ago but is still used occasionally, and the new one, where students of all ages attend "class" together.

Old schoolhouse, Koob Kub

Schoolhouse, Koob Kub

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Sibling Love

The following photos are of siblings from one village family.

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Koob Kub village

Mae Tao Clinic: the best and worst of human nature

Note: All information in this post is based on my experience, conversations with a Mae Tao clinic staff member and the clinic's 2011 report. Be aware that there are some disturbing images and descriptions in this post. All photos were taken by Will Moyer I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands and ground my teeth together. No matter what, I vowed, I would not cry. Not now. There’d be time for tears later.

The man lying in front of me was the victim of a horrific act of violence. The left side of his face was covered in a patchwork of black and red, of skin wounded beyond recognition. His eyes blinked rapidly but he barely moved. His exposed torso was partially bandaged but the cloth strips didn’t conceal the extent of his burns, which crept down his chest and toward his abdomen. Mae Tao Clinic

I shouldn’t be here, I thought. This is invasive, inappropriate. It was not the first time the thought had crossed my mind since my friend Will and I arrived at Mae Tao Clinic earlier that morning.

The man stretched across the wooden table was a day laborer from Burma. He had been brought to Mae Tao Clinic with severe injuries from an acid attack that had been meant for his boss. The boss’ wounds were minimal, our clinic guide told us. The man lying before us while his wife and young child looked on had borne the brunt of the attack.

“His wife tells me he has trouble sleeping,” our guide, Jue, whispered when we turned away from the man. “The acid got into his ear so he has terrible pain in his head. Cannot sleep.”

As we walked out of the surgical unit, I looked back one last time and smiled at the man, even though I cringed at the sight of him. It wasn’t his mutilated body that caused me to shrink back. But to look at his face was to imagine his pain and be horrified that one human being could do this to another.

A crisis of conscience

When Will and I decided to go to Mae Sot, Thailand, for a few days for a visa run, Mae Tao Clinic (MTC) had been at the top of my list of places to see. I had read that the clinic provided assistance to Burmese refugees and migrant workers and was eager to see the work being done there.

Until visiting the MTC, I had never before come face-to-face with the cruel realities of poverty and brutality. I had read countless articles about the atrocities being committed against ethnic minorities in Burma, about the crowded refugee camps in which thousands of people are forced to live, the high costs of health care, the plights of migrant workers. None of those articles prepared me for what I saw at MTC: a man whose face had been mutilated by acid; premature babies born in extremely bare-bones, basic conditions; and a prosthetics ward where land mine victims await new limbs.

Land mine victims

When I first arrived at the clinic and saw people gathering outside the pharmacy and surgery areas, I felt a sudden pang of regret. This was a bad idea; I’m exploiting these people. My intention was to visit the clinic in the hopes of writing a piece about it, but suddenly I felt ashamed that I had been so eager to witness the suffering of other people.

And yet I also felt I had to. Having now spent nearly four months in Thailand since the beginning of 2012, I have gotten the distinct impression that there is a great deal of good being done here, but a great deal of suffering as well. I felt compelled to witness that, in order to better understand this part of the world, to grasp the horrors and the goodness happening in places like Mae Sot and, on a more personal level, understand what it was that had always drawn me to learn more about refugees and conflict zones.

By the end of the tour, my regrets were gone. It was one of the more important places I’ve visited in Asia and the experience left a profound impact on me.

The clinic

The MTC provides free health care to refugees, migrant workers, and poor Burmese people who cannot afford care at government hospitals. Treatments here range from eye exams to surgeries to reproductive health counseling, all of which might otherwise be out of reach for the patients who visit the clinic by the hundreds each day. The work here is funded by donations and they are facing a critical shortage this year - a $320,000 shortage, to be exact. Without additional funding, they will have to cut services and staff, of which they are already in limited supply.

Old woman getting eye exam

The maternity ward was one of our first stops on the tour. Nearly 3,000 babies were born at MTC last year. There is one delivery room, as well as a dedicated area for special needs babies. Expectant mothers sleep on wooden tables in a communal room. Some parents are too poor to buy clothes for their newborns. I am of the firm opinion that people who cannot afford clothes and health care for their children should not be having them, but as these women are already pregnant, that point is moot here.

Maternity ward

To think that this is how so many infants come into this world is heartbreaking. I felt deep despair considering all the challenges these babies are up against before even leaving the womb. Many of them will likely grow up in poverty and in dangerous border zones, and on their first night in this world, they sleep in a hot, crowded room without the comforts of a private crib or bassinette, or the safety of a proper hospital bed.

To be clear, I think the work being done at MTC is remarkable and vital for the tens of thousands of people who visit it each year. I applaud their efforts at providing safe care to the many, many patients who rely on them and to giving newborns as much of a chance as possible at being healthy, under the circumstances.

Children's ward

The in-patient rooms for children and adults consist of a handful of hospital beds and tables. Sometimes there are more patients than there are beds, Jue explained, so some have to sleep on the floor. The ailments they see at the clinic vary widely, she said. Sometimes it’s liver and kidney problems, heart disease, hypertension. During the rainy season, there is an increase in cases of malaria and dengue fever.

In patient room

The conditions at the clinic were quite basic. I thought of the few hospital visits I have had to make in my life, almost all of which were in the United States. The clean, sterile atmosphere, the curtains dividing the beds, the pillows, blankets, adequate amounts of food. Though I have visited a Chinese hospital in Beijing and found it lacking in a number of aspects, I had never visited anywhere like MTC before and it was difficult at first to reconcile the experiences.

One of the biggest impressions I was left with was how beautiful the people there were, and how quick they were to wave and smile. As we passed the children's recreation room, a group of young kids were holding hands and singing a song. Jue, who is from Burma's Karen state, smiled. "They're singing Karen songs," she said wistfully. The children singing amidst these conditions was bittersweet and I found myself once again fighting back tears.

Finding the silver lining

By the time we left the clinic, I was saddened by the amount of poverty and suffering I saw there but also inspired. Because of the work being done at Mae Tao Clinic, people who would otherwise go without have access to potentially life-saving health care and resources on keeping themselves and their families healthy.

The experience left me with the thought: in the face of so much suffering and sadness in the world, what can I do? Mae Tao Clinic is just one organization out of many around the world attempting to provide services and care for those who need it most. The volunteers and staff at MTC are proof of the goodness, generosity and empathy in the world and that’s what I want to be part of. The question is how…and I haven’t quite figured that out yet.

Young girls

Update: The man mentioned at the beginning of this piece was transferred from Mae Tao Clinic to a facility in Chiang Mai, where he underwent surgery, skin grafts and physical therapy. He spent six months in the hospital, and was recently released and is now continuing his recovery at home with his family.

Click here to learn more about donating to the Mae Tao Clinic. 

Things I'm learning as a solo traveler

Since departing from Beijing about two and a half weeks ago, I have essentially been a solo traveler. To my delight, two of my close friends happened to be in Thailand the same time I landed here so I was able to spend some time with them and have been meeting some lovely people along the way.

But for the most part, I’ve been alone.

This alone-ness was kind of the point of the trip, to spend a couple of months relaxing, journaling, identifying my own preferences, developing healthy habits on my own. Besides, I had always wanted to do a trip by myself because I thought it would be a great growth experience. So far, it has been.

But it’s been some other things, too.

The Downsides

For one thing, it gets a little lonely. Sometimes when I’m sitting alone in my guest room reading or watching TV at night, I find myself wishing I had someone to talk to or grab a beer with. Someone to discuss the events of the day with. Or just someone to sit around and watch “How I Met Your Mother” with me on the occasional night in.

Bungalow in Pai

Traveling alone has also proven to be a bit stressful. When you’re with other people, there’s always someone there to keep an eye on your bags in the bus station when you need to run to the bathroom or want to grab something to eat. There’s always someone with whom to cross-reference your packing list when you’re leaving a hostel and venturing off to a new city. And there’s someone to navigate tense, frustrating or nerve-wracking situations with you. Not that I’ve been in any extreme situations thus far, but there have been times when I’ve been aware that having a travel buddy would definitely alleviate the stress or anxiety - or at least there’d be someone to share the burden.

And traveling alone can be scary. Earlier today, I arrived in Chiang Rai, a city in the far north of Thailand that sits close to the border with Myanmar, or Burma. I’ve had mixed impressions of the city so far - the food is crazy expensive and most places were closed on a Sunday afternoon, though that may be due to the fact that it’s Thai Mother’s Day so I won’t judge it solely on my first impression. On the bright side, every person I’ve met here has been incredibly nice and welcoming.

However, a little while ago, shortly after waking up from a nap, I heard a sound not too far away that sounded like repeated gunshots. I took a breath, told myself the sound could have been any number of things and tried to put it from my mind. But 10 minutes later, the noises started up again, this time much closer to the guest house where I'm spending the night.

Now, the Thai family who runs the guest house was, and still is, sitting outside having dinner and none of them seemed disturbed by the noises so I’m sure it was not gunfire and if it was, it's not something I needed to worry about.

But for a few minutes, despite my rationalizations and reassurances to myself, I couldn’t shake a sense of fear and my mind flooded with horrifying scenarios of rebels or terrorists busting into this small village-esque neighborhood and slaughtering people to make some kind of political point. I felt sick to my stomach, going to extremes and thinking, “What would I do if that did happen? How would I escape? What if I’m shot? How would I get help? What if I die?”

The sounds eventually faded and then stopped altogether and all seems to be well outside. I know the noise probably wasn’t gunshots and that the probability of a rebel group shooting up this small guest house are likely slim. But it was another moment when I wished I had someone with me. Not if there really was an attack, because of course I would never want to see anyone I care about in danger. It just would have been nice to have a friendly face here tonight to reassure me that everything was fine and to help me calm those fears.

The Positives

There are a lot of up sides to traveling alone, too. Until this trip, the most traveling I had done on my own was my move from the United States to South Korea about two and a half years ago. With two layovers in a flight that took me to the other side of the world, I was traveling for two days, entirely by myself. I actually quite enjoyed it, as it gave me time to reflect and think about the new beginning ahead of me.

But as soon as I arrived in Seoul, I no longer felt alone. I became friends with several of my co-workers and immediately started going out and meeting people. All of the traveling or moving I have done since then has been with friends or to a city where friends are waiting. Which is awesome. I’m really grateful to have had people to travel and share experiences with. And knowing that moving to Beijing meant spending time with wonderful people I care about from the moment I landed was exciting and reassuring.

Pai River

Still, I always wanted to try traveling alone. I knew it would be a whole different ball game than going with other people and this trip I'm on now seemed like the ideal time to give it a try. Burned out and looking for some rest and just a space to heal and grow emotionally, coming to Thailand on my own seemed the obvious thing to do.

And aside from the occasional hiccup, it’s been wonderful. I’ve spent so much time journaling, going for walks, doing creative writing, trying new foods, seeking out new destinations and opportunities - all based completely on my interests and preferences.

Only two and a half weeks in, I’ve learned a great deal about myself. It turns out long bus rides through the beautiful Thai countryside make for rich reflection and self-conversation opportunities. Many thoughts and memories, some from the past few years and some from much farther back, have been coming up and I feel as though I am able to understand and process them in a new light.

The hours upon hours of just seeing where my mood or preferences have taken me have proven rich so far and I expect will become only more so as I work toward getting healthy and really being present and making the most of this trip.

Plus, I've just been having some fun adventures. Like renting a riverside bungalow by myself and learning that while reading in a hammock on your front porch is everything it's cracked up to be...living in a bamboo hut and sleeping under a mosquito net while animals crawl dangerously close to the cracks in your roof in the dead of night is maybe not as romantic or appealing as I once imagined.

Of course, I don’t want to be alone all the time. I love having my friends around and embrace the chance to spend time with them in a place as lovely as Thailand. I’ve been going to meet-up groups and getting to know some other travelers, which has been fun. But I am also learning more than ever the importance and value of “me” time and believe that by the end of this journey, I’ll be stronger and healthier as an individual and a better friend, listener, partner - a better everything - to those I care about.

And that will be a very good thing.

Embracing second chances

Five months ago, I wrote my first post on this blog. I had just set out on a month and a half long vacation to Malaysia and Thailand, and was simultaneously eager to visit new places and also burned out to the point of extremely unhealthy exhaustion. At the time, I declared that this was an opportunity for me to rejuvenate, get inspired and reconnect with myself.

The reality turned out somewhat different than that.

Through a combination of personal issues and diving back into work less than two weeks into vacation, the trip was far less relaxing and rejuvenating than I had expected. While I saw some incredible places and have some fond memories of the trip, I came back to China only slightly less burned out than I had been when I left.

While traveling, I dove headlong back into work before I had really had a chance to rest, took on new projects, overcommitted myself, and then was surprised when a couple of months later, things began to unravel. For real this time.

It started out as a few bad days - throbbing headaches, irritability, a feeling of boredom with my work and circumstances in general. "I just need more sleep," I told myself. "There's no reason to feel upset. It's just X thing that's stressing me out. I'm fine."

Then came the full body aches and the exhaustion that had me napping multiple times a day, reluctant to do much of anything that required me to leave my apartment.

I had to admit something was wrong. Some days were great, and I'd feel happy and enthusiastic about my life. Others were the exact opposite, and I'd find myself filled with shame for not doing better work, not being further along in my career, frustrated by certain aspects of my personal life, and above all, exhausted at every level.

Things weren't out of control, I knew. Yes, I was going through a tough time, but I could make changes, figure out the root of the problem. I made regular appointments with my therapist, which helped. But I also recognized that I needed a break. A real break.

It was 4 a.m. on a Monday and I sat on my couch crying, confiding in a friend about how I'd been feeling. I described the sensations of exhaustion and numbness, and a sense of being unmotivated and emotionally drained. Intellectually, I knew that there were a lot of things to celebrate in my life, and that there were a number of work projects I was doing that I loved and was proud to be working on.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew all of that was true, but I couldn't connect with it emotionally. Most of the time, I just wanted to curl up in my bed and hide.

"I just keep having this thought that I want to go away," I told my friend. "I want to be left alone for awhile, to really let things go and give myself a break."

"Maybe you should," he said. "Maybe you should just go somewhere and be by yourself for awhile."

The relief broke through as soon as he said that. It was exactly what I had been thinking privately in recent weeks. To go away somewhere, to give myself a second chance at that relaxing, rejuvenating vacation. To really spend time traveling, tasting, experiencing - not keeping one eye on the scenery, and one on my computer screen. A vacation during which I'm not spending most of my days holed up inside a cafe working or stressing about things beyond my control.

The more I talked about it, the more excited I became. Yes, I could go away somewhere beautiful, somewhere quiet, somewhere fresh. I could rest, meditate, write, meet people, return to exploring my love of photography. It all seemed so colorful and easy and right.

By the time I crawled into bed as the early morning light broke over Beijing, I had decided to go back to Thailand.

The relief and excitement I felt in the following weeks told me I had made the right decision.

Still, the similarities to the beginning of my last trip could not be ignored. Burned out, overworked, running on perilously few hours of sleep and emotionally drained, vacation was meant to be a sanctuary, an oasis toward which I had crawled, fueled by the promise of rest and relaxation. The same patterns that had brought me to that point last time are what had brought me to the same place again.

Vacation is not a cure-all for what ails me. I know that. I have to deal with the underlying issues that push me to take on excessive amounts of work, to set aside things I'm passionate about in favor of less worthy pursuits, to become preoccupied by things that are not emotionally healthy, to move so quickly through my days that I don't stop to reflect, breathe and keep perspective.

It hasn't been all rough, though. Things brightened as soon as I committed myself to taking a vacation and taking that time to myself. I found that, while I hadn't broken the old habits, I was becoming more conscious of them, being more proactive to start healthy ones and feeling more appreciative of the great people, relationships and circumstances in my life.

Despite the chaos surrounding the actual travel out of Beijing, I left on a positive emotional note, and feel confident that I'll be to open myself up to the good things and all the new opportunities there when I come back.

In the meantime, I am happily back in Chiang Mai, Thailand, and consciously appreciating this second chance I've given myself, and all of the opportunities it represents.

This is what a China day looks like

If you’ve ever spoken with someone who’s lived in China for any extended period of time, you’ve probably heard talk of “China days.” China days occur with varying frequency and are usually triggered when you try to accomplish what should be a straightforward, simple task but it turns into an hours-long debacle, and by the end of it, you’ve locked yourself in your apartment, shamelessly ordered a shameful amount of McDonald’s delivery and binge on hours of American television shows until your China frustration has subsided.

Today, as I made my second attempt to embark on a personal well-being trip to Thailand, I had perhaps my most extreme China day ever.

In truth, this “day” had started about 48 hours earlier, when I had shown up for my original flight to Bangkok, scheduled to depart Tuesday, July 24. Not 10 minutes after I had walked through the airport doors was I alerted by a bored-looking staffer that my flight had been canceled. Immediately irked by her nonchalance, I asked what she meant.

“Your flight canceled. Call the airline.”

She handed me a slip of paper that confirmed that my flight had been delayed due to bad weather. Apparently a typhoon had hit Hong Kong, where I had a layover. That's a fairly legitimate reason for a flight cancellation, so I called Hong Kong Airlines to inquire about getting on another flight. I struggled to maintain my composure as the woman who answered the phone repeated that she didn’t know when she would be able to book me on a new flight because “maybe there are no seats from today until July 28.” But, she suggested, maybe I could call the website from which I had purchased the ticket and pay for an upgrade.

I explained to her that it was not my fault that there was bad weather and that the flight had been canceled, and while I recognized it wasn’t hers, either, I should not have to pay additional money just to guarantee a seat sometime within the next week.

She laughed and repeated that she could not guarantee me a new seat any time this week, but would call if she could. Certain that I would be spending a lot of time arguing with her and her co-workers over the course of the next few days, I shuffled outside into the rain and hailed a taxi. The driver glanced at my bags, then at my red eyes (I might have cried a little out of frustration and sheer exhaustion before leaving the airport), and offered me a cigarette. I was touched, but declined. Foolish move. By 8 a.m. this morning, I was fiending for a cigarette. Or a drink. Or a strong opiate.

To my great surprise, a Hong Kong airlines rep. called a few hours after I left the airport on Tuesday and told me they had secured a seat for me on the same flight, two days later.

Great.

Well, because this is China, I prepared myself for the fact that things would probably not go smoothly. And of course, this was exactly the case, once again. It was like deja vu, getting to Terminal 2 of Beijing Capital Airport and immediately sensing that something was wrong.

For one thing, the lines seemed strangely long for 5:45 in the morning. For another, I observed quickly that the lines were not moving. Determined to not let a little delay in check-in harsh my vacation mellow, I pulled out my Kindle and started browsing the articles I had Instapapered for the flight. That, I thought, would keep me cheerful.

But when another 20 minutes had passed and still there had been no movement, I could feel the frustration stirring. I glanced around and saw that those who did make it to the front of the line came away still carrying their luggage and with a cheap voucher tucked into their passports where a boarding pass should be.

Of course, because this is China and because customer service essentially does not exist here, no one alerted us travelers to the fact that there was no 7:40 a.m. flight, the phantom trip for which we were all queuing.

I had to push my way to the front of the line and find out from another frustrated foreigner that “there is no flight. All these people are here for the same flight, and there just isn’t one. There's no plane.”

My roommate, who is British, once told me that she has observed that Americans are quick to complain and far more likely to be assertive and verbal about their displeasure than Brits or other Europeans are. At that moment, I was thankful that I had grown up in such a culture. I could have been waiting all day for a shred of information otherwise.

Among the other foreigners was a Canadian woman who was originally from Hong Kong. She looked to be in her late 40s or early 50s and was traveling with her husband. This was apparently her first trip to the mainland and she appeared thoroughly disgusted.

“If I had known this is what it’s like, we never would have come here,” she said. Excellent, I thought. A middle-aged Western woman of Chinese descent. She will get answers from these people. I'll team up with her. 

She and her husband managed to glean that Hong Kong airlines claimed there would be a flight at some point today, they just didn’t know when. The plane was still in Hong Kong and no one in Beijing seemed to have any clue as to when it would arrive here or when it would take off again.

Obviously, these things happen sometimes when traveling. Bad weather occurs, flights get canceled or delayed. It’s frustrating, but all part of the experience.

I can accept that, however disappointing it may be that my sorely needed and much-anticipated vacation has been delayed.

What I cannot accept is when the people who are supposed to be able to give reassurance and direction begin blatantly lying to shut customers up temporarily. This is a common trick employed in China; it just seems even more outrageous under these circumstances.

I told the woman at the counter that I had a connecting flight in Bangkok that I was clearly going to miss, given the circumstances. Was there another flight I could get on later in the day? Would the airline compensate me for a hotel room in Hong Kong if there was not?

She smiled nervously and said, “There is a departure time now, so go eat and when you come back, I will help you.”

“There’s a departure time?” Ten minutes earlier, an airline rep. had told us no one knew when we’d leave.

“Yes, there is.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but if you go eat and then come back, I will tell you and I will find out, maybe the flight to Bangkok will not leave.”

"But you just said there's a departure time."

"Just go and eat, and then come back here. I will tell you the departure time then."

All of this, I knew, was fabricated to get me away from the counter. I wasn’t through, but I could see I was getting nowhere with her for the time being.

The comrades in misery I had met while waiting in line and I headed to The Lucky Shamrock clutching our breakfast vouchers (I finally figured out what those passengers ahead of me in line had been carrying). You might expect that, after your flight on a particular airline has been canceled twice, said airline might consider comping you a night in a hotel while you wait out the storm or wait for an available plane. Not Hong Kong Airlines. Instead, they gave us vouchers to The Lucky Shamrock, which purported itself to be an Irish pub.

Now, I’ve lived in China long enough to know better, but my growling stomach and throbbing head could have really done well with some sturdy Irish food. Perhaps they'll have some sausages and eggs with toast, and a nice cup of tea, I thought hopefully. I could refuel before going back into battle.

Ha. Again, this is China. An airport eatery in Beijing that bills itself as an Irish pub is probably anything but, and such was the case with the Lucky Shamrock.

It turned out the vouchers were only good for 50RMB, which was less than the cost of most of the dishes on the menu. The photos of the English breakfast and the French toast looked like the little plastic toy foods I kept in my Playskool kitchen in 1987, but I was so hungry, I would have gone for it anyway … except, the kitchen was only serving two meals: Japanese noodles with strips of chicken that looked like flayed Vienna sausages and Japanese noodles with beef that smelled like wet dog.

So, no eggs, no toast, no bacon, and apparently, no juice, no large bottles of water…my companions were aghast but I just shrugged. This is so absolutely typical of China, I told them.

After powering through the bland noodles (and leaving the questionable beef simmering in the broth), I headed back downstairs to go another round with Hong Kong Airlines.

Evelyn, one of the foreigners I met, who had landed in Beijing after a 13-hour flight from Brussels only to find that her connecting flight to Hong Kong was non-existent, stood in line looking more upset than before.

“They’re saying there’s another typhoon in Hong Kong,” she told me. I started laughing. How convenient. There actually was a typhoon in Hong Kong earlier this week, but it had reportedly moved away from the city by the end of Tuesday night and when I checked the weather there before leaving the house this morning, the report was of light rain. I just checked again while writing this post, and the status is partially cloudy. Must have been a quick typhoon.

“They’re lying, I’m fairly sure,” I told her.

“Probably,” she said, but looked uncertain.

“No, really,” I said. “That’s standard in China. They don’t know what to say about the flight and everyone is angry, so they’ll lie and say there is another typhoon to get everyone to calm down.”

“But that’s just not true!” said a bewildered British man behind me. “I just came from Hong Kong. There’s no typhoon.”

Oh, China. It’d be funny if I didn’t feel like I was banging my head, hard, against a wall every three seconds.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Unfortunately for most of those people, they were actually heading to Hong Kong and needed to get there for business. For me, it was just a layover. My destination was Bangkok. There seemed to be no clear guarantee that Hong Kong Airlines would get me there.

So I decided to hedge my bets on Air China. I walked back out of the check-in area to the international ticket office, where a French man was semi-good-naturedly, semi-expasperatedly trying to secure seats on a flight for him and his wife, after they had been bumped from their original flight a few days earlier.

I felt his pain. As I stood listening, and the minutes dragged on, I must have looked increasingly miserable because a staffer standing next to the counter asked what was wrong and if he could help me.

I tried to be calm but my guess is that I came across a little bitchy and shrill. I told him that Hong Kong Airlines had been useless and would not give any information, assistance or support even though everyone was waiting for their flights.

“I just want to go to Bangkok,” I said, almost pleading. “Are there any other flights there today that don’t go through Hong Kong?”

As it turned out, there was one. A 7:35 p.m. direct flight from Beijing to Bangkok.

I hustled back to the Hong Kong Airlines check-in.

“Can I still cancel my reservation?” (They had offered that option earlier in the day: cancel your reservation with a refund, or wait it out and hope a plane arrives).

“No cancel.”

“No cancel? But I saw you let another passenger do it earlier.”

“No cancel. Just delayed.”

“Right, the flight is delayed. But I don’t want to be on it. I just want my money back.”

“Refund or wait?”

“Refund. I just want a refund.”

They gave me some paperwork and promised I would get a full refund for my ticket. I hope that wasn’t another lie, because the cost of my new ticket was not even close to cheap. I’m sure I’ll have a nice freak out over that tomorrow but for the moment, I’m too exhausted to focus on it, and have ill-placed faith that I will get back the money I spent on the original ticket. All I knew in the moment was that I needed to get out of China for my mental and emotional health and for practical reasons - my visa expires tomorrow and seeing as I had no idea when Hong Kong Airlines was actually going to schedule a flight that would make it out of Beijing, I had to take desperate measures.

If China is done screwing me around, I will be in Bangkok by sometime tonight. If not, I’ll probably be slinking around the duty-free, spending my dwindling cash on something strong and alcoholic to make me forget I’m still in China and not relaxing on a massage table - or even better, watching “The Dark Knight Rises” - in Thailand.