Banishment, Blouses & Buddhist Monks
‘Stranger in a new land’ was the title of
my first panel at the Sydney Jewish Writers’ Festival – and it’s exactly how I felt
as I entered the Shalom Institute gates, past a row of security guards and into
the belly of the building where academics and award-winning authors discussed
Israeli politics and the ‘Jewish experience’.
I was a self-published, first-time author
with no literary credits to my name who could only boast of visiting a
synagogue once in her life.
I’d done my best to prepare for the event.
I’d purchased a floral blouse. I don’t usually wear blouses but I thought it would
make me look more like an ‘author’.
Photo by Elana Bowman. |
I’d also familiarised myself with some popular Yiddish words which meant I was able to smile, with pride, when one panelist said ‘chutzpah’ during his speech. Yay! I knew what it meant! I was part of the cool club!
* * *
I may not have been forced to flee my
homeland, like the Jews of Europe, but I did opt to leave my country of origin
at the age of 22 and move to Thailand … hence why I had been chosen to
participate in the ‘Stranger in a new land’ panel at the festival.
When I arrived in Bangkok, I didn’t know a
single person, didn’t speak the language and had no idea that if I rubbed the
head of a monk I would most likely be expelled from the country. (For the record, I have never touched a monk’s noggin, although once I heard about this Thai Buddhist taboo, I often fantasised about doing so … not only because it would be highly daring, but also because some monks are totally hot).
Like many expats I began my time in
Thailand with a strong desire to assimilate into the culture. I tried to dress
like the locals – talk like the locals. I took my shoes off at the front door.
I paid my respect to the King. And a year into my time in Asia, I had convinced
myself that I was, indeed, a local. I still remember the moment this notion of
self was shattered. It was on a sweltering Bangkok day, about a year into my
new life, and I was walking down a busy street with my Thai friend, Peung.
I said to her: “If you were standing
behind me right now and didn’t know me, I reckon you’d think I was Thai. I
could totally be Thai from behind,
don’t you think?”
To which she laughed hysterically and replied:
“Oi, Khun Ange, too funnnny! You are farang!
You always will be farang – even when
you wear fisherman pants and say ‘Sawadii
Kha’ … still be farang!”
My second session at the Sydney Jewish
Writers’ Festival was about travel writing. I was on the panel with an author
who was in his 60s, who had written a book about his pilgrimage across Spain. As
a well-educated gentleman, he used big words when he spoke – some of which I
did not understand.
The session started well. I sat in my
pretty blouse. I told my stories. The audience laughed. I felt their love. Then
the moderator of the panel asked the gentleman author who his literary heroes
were in terms of travel writing. The gentleman mentioned a bunch of authors I’d
never heard of. The audience nodded and smiled and proclaimed words of
acceptance like “Yes, I love that author too!” and “Oh yes, yes, he’s such a good writer!”
The host then turned to me: “And how about
you, Ange?”
“Um, when it comes to travel writing I’d
have to say that I really liked Elizabeth Gilbert’s – Eat, Pray…”
Before I could add the “Love”, a wave of
disgust swept across the audience so violently that one woman in the front row
looked as if she was going to vomit on me. The woman sitting next to her
shouted “Oh my god, no! Not Elizabeth Gilbert!” The man in the row behind her
threw both his arms up in the air. And the woman sitting next to him just
buried her face in her hands.
I’d apparently broken the first commandment of the
literary festival Torah: "Thou shalt not admit to enjoying the works of 'lowbrow' authors".
In other words - I’d rubbed the head of a
Buddhist monk.
* * *
I met a lot of expats in Bangkok who were
bitter about life in Thailand. Their complaint was that they’d lived in the
country for a decent amount of time, learnt the language, adopted the culture …
but were still considered an outsider … and this upset them.
But I wonder if the pain we experience as ‘outsiders’
is caused by the people who exclude us from their club / culture / click – or
whether it’s caused by our inability to accept that it’s okay not to be
accepted?
And what would happen if we not only
accepted our outsider status, but actually embraced
it?
I think there’s a beauty that exists on
the periphery. There’s a lightness of being that can be felt when one is able
to skate across the surface, rather than trudge through the centre. There are
things that can be observed from the outside, looking through a window, that
those living inside will never see.
Unlike my expat acquaintances, I managed
to make peace with being a farang in
Thailand. I learnt to enjoy the feeling of floating above life. Being an
outsider allowed me to witness beautiful moments that would have gone unnoticed
had I been buried in conversation. I developed the ability to ‘feel’ my way
through the world – to figure out what was going on between people without needing
to comprehend their language. I learnt more about human beings in my two years
of existing on the edge of Thai culture, than I ever learnt within the heart of
my own.
At the same time, my isolation from
Australian society freed me from the expectations of my family and friends. I was
able to live without the noise of my peers telling me what to think, say and
do. And in that silence … I was able to discover my true self.
*
* *
I’ve never had much of a talent for ‘fitting
in’.
I’m a musician who doesn’t drink alcohol
and prefers to go to bed early and wake with the sun.
I’m a journalist who gets emotionally
involved in almost every story she writes and has a tendency towards tears.
I’m a traveller who has never felt at home
in any one place – not even the town of her birth.
I’m a Jew who knows little about the Holocaust
and has no opinion about the Palestinian ‘situation’.
And I’m an author who hasn’t read Tolstoy,
Hemingway or Twain (I actually had to Google ‘famous authors’ in order to
complete this sentence) but who has a fondness for Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Eat,
Pray, Love’.
Strangely enough, the longer I dwell
on the outside … the stronger I feel on the inside … the firmer my feet feel on
the ground … the greater my understanding of life has become.
A poet once wrote: ‘No man is an island’ – but sooner
or later we’ll all experience the feeling of being banished from the mainland.
All we can hope is that the version of ourselves that ends up sitting under a
palm tree on a patch of sand in the middle of the ocean, is a person we’re happy
to pass the time with.
Ange you are a fabulous woman!
ReplyDeleteGorgeous post - you are such a wonderful storyteller. When is the next book coming? Lx
ReplyDeletethis is a great piece of writing Ange, love it x
ReplyDeleteLove it. So many resonances, I couldn't even start to speculate to know where to begin. Don't you love the reverse cultural cringe in liking lowbrow stuff? And that if you're one who DOES dabble in the non-mainstream that you're labelled as such?
ReplyDeleteCase in point (yikes, stealing some of my own thunder from an upcoming publication): a week or so ago, someone I know very well had a night out and when I asked about it, she rolled her eyes as she replied, 'I know, I know; you don't like covers bands'.
I recoiled, paused and considered my response carefully.
'Are you kidding? I love covers bands. Some of my best nights out dancing have been to covers bands. I lost 5kgs one night dancing to the Nude Antz at the Grail. Some of my good friends are in covers bands!'
Go low or high brow, Ange. (Just maybe not mono-brow. You'll always be a farang if you do that! 8->0 That started out as a surprised face, but I changed it to a flower. Happy Wednesday!!
Ha Ha ha... Bill, you make me laugh!
ReplyDeleteLJ, Julia and Lans - thanks so much for taking the time to read this blog. It feels nice to shape a piece of writing, but it's even more wonderful when those words are appreciated.
Wonderful writing as always Ange. And I must admit, sometimes even Elizabeth Gilbert is a bit too highbrow for me.
ReplyDelete;-) Can't wait to read your book Mary-Lou!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Ange I have tears of appreciation sitting here at the window of an uber cool cafe in Collingwood, feeling and looking very uber uncool and proud. I adore you! xo
ReplyDeletefunny, I just wiped away a few tears too, & I'm not even sure why! Perhaps it's your honesty reaching right in & making me laugh! but I'm easily prone to tears too...especially a touching song.
ReplyDeleteI'm finally getting through your book...not that it's a chore at all!...I'm loving it, & loving getting to know you through your writing. I love that you're not afraid to share your "mistakes", or embarrassing moments. It's those experiences that others may try to hide that make for interesting stories, & often very funny.
I confess I've been reading it ever since I moved to the sunshine coast nearly a year ago...I'm not usually such a slow reader, but life has been so fun & full of travel & adventure, & roundabout love that I havn't found much time for reading.
But now I'm playing gigs in the snow & have made a pact with myself I will finish your book by the time I get home. I've just read about your second trip to Vietnam & your peeing adventure! Sometimes when I'm out in the snow all zipped up in my attractive lime green bib & brace at the top of the chairlift on the phone(it's the only place to get telstra reception)...I feel a similar feeling!
Look forward to singing with you when I get home,love Caroline