THAILAND 10 - Persistent Expectations

“Let go of the destinations and enjoy the journey.” – Jonathan “Coop” Cooper

Expectations are dangerous, and they kill.  You may not even know that you have any until they spring up.  You have expectations of your spouse.  You expect them to treat you a certain way, or behave in a specific manner; to love you always no matter what, to speak softly even when frustrated, to always respect you or simply to pick up their dirty socks off the floor.  You have expectations of the world.  You expect to stay on the ground because of gravity.  You expect the sun to rise and the moon to fall every night and day. 

Expectations are deep rooted, and not easy to pull out.  All of your life you observe your parent’s relationship, your friends and family, and the world around.  And unbeknownst to you, you build up your reserve of expectations, one blink at a time.  If only we could look at the world with brand new eyes and no expectations.  Life would be amazing; everything would be fresh and clean without the taint of expectancy.  How many times have I said, “Oh, I didn’t expect that to happen. Or I KNEW that would happen.”?  For some reason if you expected an event to happen, it’s easier to swallow, but if you didn’t than you get your panties in a bunch.  I told myself on this leg of the journey, ‘Don’t expect anything and it will be better than you thought.’  Remember the old saying, “Expect nothing, hope for everything.”

But here we are in Thailand, and already I have expectations that haven’t been meant.  We had built Thailand up to be our promised land, full of hope, endless possibilities, and a fresh start.  So many unspoken expectations and desires.  My dreams of teaching are null and void, the land is flooded, food and water are difficult to come by and internet is completely non-existent.  But amidst everything going wrong we still have our health and each other. 

At the end of every tragic story we tell our friends and family we hear the comforting, sometimes empty, words, “Well . . . at least you still have each other.”  This statement is simple, perhaps a bit cliché and played out, but entirely true none-the-less. 

What is the point of these hardships if not to try and divide us? What an amazing feat to be able to say, ‘At the end of the day we are not only still together, but closer for it!”  We’re stronger, because as they say, ‘What doesn’t kill you, can only make you stronger.”  We’re forged together deep within the fires of trial and tribulation.  We could allow the perils of the past few months to break us.  We could issue forth our unmeant expectations and demand retribution, or we can pull each other up from our bloodied knees and help wipe off the dust.

We don’t have the first clue what we are doing.  We stand solely on the romantic notion, and the Shakespearian folly that, ‘All you need is love.’  We stumble about this life, our relationships, and our marriages blindly hoping that the other person has more of a clue as to what they’re doing than we do, and that they won’t find out that we are clueless ourselves. 

Then, there is that moment when your eyes meet – scared, searching, aching, and entirely human. “I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m doing,” the eyes reveal.  You return the moment of flickering honesty with a small smile that tugs at one corner of your mouth, “Me either,” it seems to suggest.

After all we are only human.  How can you be mad, they had the same training that you did after all?  Our only School of Love, Marriage, and Family came from the example of our parents, and who was really paying any attention in that class anyhow? We don’t even know the entire story behind the scenes.  We didn’t realize that they didn’t have the first clue as to what they were doing either; that we were the lab rats in their unskilled hands.  Their practice taken from their parents and their vows of what they would and would not do when they were a parent, a husband or a wife. 

What school did they have to graduate from before they were cleared to begin populating the earth? Sure there are great books and classes on parenting, but they aren’t mandatory.  Most of us learn by doing, the words in class and in our books become real once we’ve applied them; on the job training completed by trial and error. 

Luckily my parents read countless books and went to extensive classes so that they could become fully equipped to raise their ‘special needs’ children; if they hadn’t done so I’m sure I would have fallen between the cracks of their hands and time.  Mine and my brothers’ past wasn’t the easiest beginning, and my mother was determined to change our future.  For this I am grateful, and I have more tools in my belt than the average young married individual because of it.  But whether I choose to remember them at the crucial moments, pick them up and use them . . . well, as Mr. Parker so aptly put, ‘With great power, comes great responsibility.’

Figuring out this life, each other, and what makes us click . . . that is the ultimate adventure.  So, when I make my bed of unrealistic expectations laced with my past full of hurt, unshakeable truths, and my knowledge of ‘having been there’ – I am gracefully reminded, ‘Who really has the first clue what life is ‘suppose’ to be like?’  We’re all just humans trying to find our way after all.

One of Justin’s expectations was to own a bike when we reached Thailand.  Despite that they drive on the opposite side of the road, the painted lines between the rows of traffic are the ‘motorcycle lanes’, and there aren’t a lot of rules of the road to be observed, I consented that it was the best mode of transportation for our situation.  We were gifted the money as a wedding present from his parents, and I highly believed that if his mother knew what he would be purchasing with it she would have bought us a toaster instead. 

Justin looked for weeks online for the ‘perfect’ bike.  It wasn’t to be a scooter like everyone else drove in Southeast Asia, no, it had to be at least a 150cc real motorcycle.  No mamsy-pamsy scooter for him, he was an Am-err-ican, and he wanted a motorcycle.  Thus, he found one online, and not too far away. 

Downtown Bangkok was about an hour and a half to a three hour bus ride away depending on traffic, and then of course you spent a half hour riding the skytrain and/or the mrt, and/or another half hour in a taxi depending on where in the city you needed to go.  Bangkok is huge, and daunting.  The roads were still flooded, making getting to any destination that much more difficult and time consuming. 

Wait for the bus = 30 minutes.  On the bus = 1.5 hours + 16 baht (.50 cents).  Walk north 1km (a little less than a mile) = 30 minutes.  Wait for the MRT (subway) = 15 minutes.  Ride MRT for 20 minutes + 40 baht ($1.50 USD).  Walk two blocks to catch taxi = 10 minutes.  Taxi = 10 minutes + 60 baht ($2.00).  Grand Total = 2.5 hours + 116 baht ($4.00 USD).  Conclusion = waste of time and money!

“We will be able to get to Bangkok in 45 minutes on our bike for only a dollar!” Justin announced excitedly as we walked from the bus stop to the MRT.  I glanced back at him as I swore I saw a partially toothless, old man hunched over in dirty rags licking his chops and rubbing his hands together, but as I quickly as he appeared he was gone and a stunning young man with a giant smile stood before me once again.

Finally we arrived at the house, and the look on Justin’s face told me we were going home on a bike today.  We had made this journey once before and the outcome was less than satisfactory.  The ad online had been misleading, and Justin had ended up test driving a tiny 50cc scooter complete with a full body painting of Tweedy bird.  He looked like a grown up trying to ride a three wheeler.

Justin’s eyes glimpsed sight of the motorcycle, “If it runs good, we’re riding it home today.”

I didn’t argue.  School was now only a week away from starting and I was tired of the long commutes on the bus.  It didn’t even cross my mind about how we would drive it home, or where home was.  I have grown so entirely confident in Justin’s navigational skills that those questions fail to surface any longer.

After a little haggling, declining the offers of a shot of tequila or a joint for the road, and a brief proposition to model, the bike was ours!  The strange little group of farang-Bangkok-ers hung over the railing of the deck.  The Hungarian model with stylish, brightly-colored ‘geek’ glasses – ‘You’ll see her work all over the city’ –  her smooth-talking agent/boyfriend/firearms coach for the movies/ex-army fitness junky from America, Denny, and his protégé/previous owner of the bike from the UK, Jason.  They were a fine group that posed the tagline, “Bangkok is the greatest city in the world! We’ll never leave!” 

We waved as we pulled out of the apartment complex and drove out onto the street.  Justin stopped at the red light and counted out the obstacles on his fingers, “So, now all we have to do is navigate through a city we aren’t familiar with, with signs in a different language, streets that are flooded, in a city whose claim to fame is The Worst Traffic in the World, on a bike that we just bought . . .  oh, and at night!”

I tilted my head to one side considering the newly enlightened predicament.  “Hmmm,” I chuckled, “but I have no doubts that you can do it!”

Not a single wrong turn later we made it safely to our apartment and within record time.  ‘I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of a b-e-a-u-tiful friendship!’ I thought gazing at the bike.  Justin sighed audibly, smiled gratefully at the bike and then looked happily over at me, visibly relieved that the first test of bike and its rider was passed, with more adventures sure to follow.