I don’t really know what I want to write about this week. Life has just been plodding along and is rapidly becoming very uninteresting to me. I know that my mundane is probably very different from your mundane. But everything here has become normal. For example, a staff member died suddenly and without warning last night. So today, there is a funeral happening at the clinic. Now, his tragic and untimely death is not “normal” at all, and there are a lot of people around that are understandably upset, especially as he was only 32 and his wife also works here. Although, many people are not that surprised by his death, as death is so common here. The part about it that is “normal” to me, is that I don’t really feel like it’s weird that there is a funeral going on about 50m from where I am sitting now. Or that I can hear one of the men that lives here, a one armed, one eyed ex-Karen National Union General, who has severe PTSD and lives in a world of his own, walking around yelling at nothing. Sometimes he sings songs – Amazing Grace and Take Me Home, Country Roads are two of his favourites. Another woman that lives here walks around rambling to herself all day.
It doesn’t seem strange anymore that there is a family of chickens living in the doorway to the Medical Inpatients department, or that there are very small children wandering around with tiny babies. Or that these small children and tiny babies often pee on the ground right next to my bare feet, instead of in a toilet. Or that as I type this, a dad is advising his three little kids on peeing on my friends bike, right outside my office window: other than at my screen, there is nowhere else for me to look but at them. It smells bad
Before I came here, the newest baby I’d ever seen was my cousin’s daughter, born in March, who was one day old when I met her. Now I see brand-spanking new babies on a daily basis. I am no longer surprised to see people of all ages getting around with only one leg, one arm or often, no legs at all. The dark red betel spit all over the ground doesn’t faze me; neither does the beautiful, creamy white of the Thanaka that the women and children apply to their faces each morning. This is all normal to me now. And that, in itself, feels like it is not normal.
Before I came here, my normal was working as little as possible at a job I hated so that I would have money to travel around the country in the weekends getting drunk, eating shit food and watching bands play. And I loved it. My normal was wearing black jeans and hoodies.
And I loved them. But I haven’t worn a pair of long pants or a long sleeved top in three months, let alone a pair of jeans or a hoodie. I also haven’t worn closed shoes in this time. Only jandals (and I have a pretty sweet jandal tan on the go). So which life is more normal? For the people that live here, my life at home would be incomprehensible. For some of you at home, my life here may be incomprehensible. “Normal” is a subjective term. Life is a subjective journey. I definitely miss my life at home, but for now, my weird life here has become very normal to me. I’m happy with that.
I don’t really know what I want to write about this week. Life has just been plodding along and is rapidly becoming very uninteresting to me. I know that my mundane is probably very different from your mundane. But everything here has become normal. For example, a staff member died suddenly and without warning last night. So today, there is a funeral happening at the clinic. Now, his tragic and untimely death is not “normal” at all, and there are a lot of people around that are understandably upset, especially as he was only 32 and his wife also works here. Although, many people are not that surprised by his death, as death is so common here. The part about it that is “normal” to me, is that I don’t really feel like it’s weird that there is a funeral going on about 50m from where I am sitting now. Or that I can hear one of the men that lives here, a one armed, one eyed ex-Karen National Union General, who has severe PTSD and lives in a world of his own, walking around yelling at nothing. Sometimes he sings songs – Amazing Grace and Take Me Home, Country Roads are two of his favourites. Another woman that lives here walks around rambling to herself all day.
It doesn’t seem strange anymore that there is a family of chickens living in the doorway to the Medical Inpatients department, or that there are very small children wandering around with tiny babies. Or that these small children and tiny babies often pee on the ground right next to my bare feet, instead of in a toilet. Or that as I type this, a dad is advising his three little kids on peeing on my friends bike, right outside my office window: other than at my screen, there is nowhere else for me to look but at them. It smells bad
Before I came here, the newest baby I’d ever seen was my cousin’s daughter, born in March, who was one day old when I met her. Now I see brand-spanking new babies on a daily basis. I am no longer surprised to see people of all ages getting around with only one leg, one arm or often, no legs at all. The dark red betel spit all over the ground doesn’t faze me; neither does the beautiful, creamy white of the Thanaka that the women and children apply to their faces each morning. This is all normal to me now. And that, in itself, feels like it is not normal. 
Before I came here, my normal was working as little as possible at a job I hated so that I would have money to travel around the country in the weekends getting drunk, eating shit food and watching bands play. And I loved it. My normal was wearing black jeans and hoodies. And I loved them. But I haven’t worn a pair of long pants or a long sleeved top in three months, let alone a pair of jeans or a hoodie. I also haven’t worn closed shoes in this time. Only jandals (and I have a pretty sweet jandal tan on the go). So which life is more normal? For the people that live here, my life at home would be incomprehensible. For some of you at home, my life here may be incomprehensible. “Normal” is a subjective term. Life is a subjective journey. I definitely miss my life at home, but for now, my weird life here has become very normal to me. I’m happy with that. 
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