It is a small wonder that I had any friends at all in college. Instead of acknowledging the excruciating pain of my parents’ divorce, I became the classic martyr, taking responsibility for as many others as I could, not yet having the tools or insight to take responsibility for myself. I built tremendous ramparts of defense around my bleeding heart, walls of bitterness, anger, and curly fries, and gained a solid 40 pounds of cellulite-filled, razor sharp edges. Despite this though, a few women were able to penetrate my defenses, and become some of my most treasured friends. Erin was among them.
To me, Erin was the quintessential “cool girl”, and I couldn’t believe she’d want to be friends with me. Erin was self assured and confident when those things were still abstract, distant concepts to me. Together we’d smoke Marlboro Lights, and write poetry, and question “Where is God when it hurts,”, and “Where are men when we’re sober”. Erin taught me authenticity before it was mainstream, and gained my trust and respect when I wasn’t giving it away very freely, if at all. To this day, she remains one of my dearest friends, so when she began pushing me to connect with Amanda, I knew I’d have to figure out a way to make it happen.
Getting to Amanda however, was no small feat. Though I’m not sure it’s necessary, we shall call her town Nowheresville for security reasons. On the Thai border, it is a town with a notorious reputation for easy access to weapons and drugs, though I experienced none of that. Perhaps because we were living in a classroom of the school where she and her husband teach English, my experience was both cozy and tasty, as local dishes and delicacies were our only options. The only safe access to Nowheresville is by local air, which was an adventure in and of itself, and one I’m glad to have experienced, apart from the constant hawking and spitting at 30,000 feet: flight attendants actually hand out extra barf bags to support this ubiquitous local custom. Nast.
I knew immediately upon meeting her that my spittle-filled flights were going to be worth it. She was warm and friendly, and for the first time in a long time, someone with whom I knew I would really connect. How many others can understand the refreshment of a cold bucket shower, or the art of not peeing on your feet over a toilet hole? Her friendship would quickly prove to be a gift, and it began with a suggestion to visit a pool she had recently discovered. Simultaneous offers of friendship and a cool dip were magic to my lonely, swimming-deprived, sweaty ears, and I dove into both.
After paying our admission with Thai baht, we found the most obscure little table we could, knowing we’d receive the curious stares of everyone in attendance. Amanda was a great model of patience for me, as at this point, I’m running on fumes alone, desperately tired of being no more than an anomalous object of interest. It was glorious to splash around, to reconnect with one of my most favorite lifelong pleasures. That is until it began to rain cannonballs of moderately obese Chinese boys. I did the best I could to tame my inner bitch, until they began squeezing their masks onto their fat faces and bobbing around us, snorkeling not to see coral or starfish, but our white lady bodies. Culturally sensitive or not, I sent those little suckers flying: I don’t think they saw it coming.
My time with Amanda was as deeply satisfying and encouraging as any I’ve had on the road. We took advantage of proper coffee in a cafe with real wifi, raided a 7-11 to satisfy our curiosity about a variety of Asian snack foods, and came to the joint conclusion that roasted watermelon seeds taste like sweet feet. We spent most of our time lying on the floor of her classroom, staring at the ceiling and talking about life. Being away from home for a year, how we want our lives to be different when we get home, what faith looks like when it has to grow legs and stand on its own, apart from community and a dogma that makes very little sense outside of the distorted cultural Christianity that we come from. We talked about a faith boiled down to knowing nothing more than loving well, and doing the best we can. Which probably means not being a bitch to fat children. Did I mention doing the best we can?
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