An Open Letter to Congress on Planned Parenthood

To All Members of Congress that Voted to Defund Planned Parenthood:

I want to share with you one story about Planned Parenthood: my own story.  I would like to show you that your decision to defund this organization has an impact beyond the scope of your current thought.  I will be polite, logical, and honest, and I hope that you hear me.  It is something of a long letter, but there's some back story, so I beg your patience.

I would consider myself a very average American.  I am from a small town, grew up as an only child of a single mother, and checked the lowest income box when I applied for my FAFSA before college.  I was valedictorian of my high school class and went to a modest liberal arts school in Iowa where I could be near my grandmother.  When I graduated with my BA, I joined the Peace Corps to travel the world and serve others.

The Peace Corps gave me some of the best medical care I've ever received.  I was rarely ill as a child and didn't like the extra expenses in college, but in Peace Corps, this government program, I was treated to rounds of shots and nicely staffed offices.  I learned about my body and how to treat it well.  I exercised, lost weight, and ate healthy.  I stayed in Cambodia for two more years following Peace Corps, working as a librarian and paying down my student debt to zero.  I took advantage of the cheap system of health care in SE Asia and made sure that all my dental visits and doctor concerns were managed.

There was one thing I couldn't find in Cambodia: a gynecologist.  But, since I was young and healthy, with no problems, and a relatively recent screen through Peace Corps, I didn't worry about it.

I decided that I wanted to return to America for graduate school in my new field of choice: librarianship.  I had done some traveling, ruminated about my future career path, and knew that I needed more credentials to follow that path.  I moved to Pittsburgh.

Let me summarize the main points so far.  I am an average American edging into lucky and privileged territory.  I was able to go from a tiny town in Nebraska to a college education to working overseas to save and pay off my student loans.  I was extremely healthy, financially secure, and exceedingly independent.

I moved to Pittsburgh, got an apartment with the help of a friend's parents, and started school.  Let me add that I am lucky just once more, to have a friend I could stay with, a car (that I purchased from my mother) to drive across the States in, and the opportunities of school that were before me.

The time I spent in graduate school was difficult, because living in America is difficult.  I didn't have health insurance (the premiums were almost as much as rent per month and I was beyond my mother's insurance).  I didn't have a full-time job like I had the two years previously (and, arguably two years before that).  I didn't have a Peace Corps medical office to call (the school med center was there, though they had to refer me out).

I had saved (what I thought was) a lot of money, about $6,000, and paid off all previous debt, but it went fast.  Between rent, car expenses, setting up an empty apartment with used goods, and the variety of other expenses of America, I was struggling.  I was working a minimum wage internship, taking every opportunity to earn more elsewhere, while still working as a student.  I moved in with friends to save money, shared my commute with co-workers, and rarely bought anything new.  This is, unfortunately, not an unusual story for millennials, at least in my circles of friends.

Now, here may be a TMI moment.  While I was sexually active, I was not sexually irresponsible.  You may not be interested in my sex life (and I sincerely hope you aren't), but you need to know that I was not having unprotected sex, or having one-night flings, or being unsafe.  I don't think that this matters in this discourse, but I see it brought up in many conservative discussions, so perhaps it is important for you.  I take responsibility for myself and my health, and I wanted to be respectful of my partners.  I learned in Peace Corps that getting screened and tested was a proactive way to demonstrate that respect.

I also wanted to take my own action to prevent pregnancy, just in case.  It was easy in Cambodia, because the monthly dose of the pill only cost about a dollar.  I was at the end of my bulk supply.  I looked into other options, did my research, and decided on an IUD.

The student med center didn't do IUDS, but Planned Parenthood would.  Pennsylvania has a woman's health program (Thanks, PA!) that allowed low-income women (like myself) access to health care.  That meant that I could go into Planned Parenthood and get an IUD for free.  For me, the IUD was a way to be constantly and consistently safe, for five years, for a minimal price (for the state and for me).  It managed some menstrual symptoms, prevented pregnancy, and didn't require daily attention.

It was perfect.  I set up the appointment for the preliminary exam.  By this time, it had been about 3-4 years since I had seen a gynecologist.  For a mid-20s woman, that's not abnormal.  We should have a check-up every two years, to check for cervical cancer.  In order to get an IUD, they gave me a pelvic exam.  During that pelvic exam, they found something that required a procedure.  I won't explain the graphic details of this, but it required me to go to the hospital.

Here is my luck again... that procedure was quick and easy, outpatient, and paid for with my PA women's health insurance.  That procedure took place in a local hospital, that I could get to on public transport, and that took only a few hours of recovery time.  There were no complications.  It wasn't as serious as some.

Planned Parenthood took care of me, both with their response to my pelvic exam and subsequent referral to a hospital, and their ability to provide me with the lowest cost (both for the state and for me) birth prevention method available.  The cost, even if I hadn't had the women's insurance, would have been far less than the cost otherwise.

I didn't have an abortion.  I was able to prevent pregnancy.  Not everyone is as fortunate... to be able to have control over their birth control, and to not suffer an abusive situation.  I was lucky... again... to not have to make that choice.  I know that many of you disagree with the idea of abortion, but that choice is not easy... nor is it yours to make.

Planned Parenthood was there when I was working to improve myself.  Many conservative values radiate around the idea that a person can pull themselves up and make a better life.  I have done that.  I am still doing that.  When I was working towards my goal, the price of school and the cost of living were a difficult cross to bear, but I'm back to enriching, full-time work and paying into the economy with purchases and taxes.  I am not reliant on state money, and I'm paying back my student loans, almost free from debt.  I am an educator as well, a confident shaper of young minds.

But, I was lucky:

• I had friends who supported me. People who could pick me up from the doctor or take me out for dessert after a difficult appointment.  Not all women do.
  
• I had a vehicle, ample (thought unreliable at times) public transport, and easy access.  Not all women do.
  
• I had a state that supported women's health through their insurance program.  Pennsylvania, thank you.  Not all women do.
  
• I had the education to request, and sometimes demand, contraception.  Both for myself and with my male partners.  Not all women do.
  
• I had the confidence and the control and the willpower to demand contraception from my (wonderful) male partners.  Unfortunately, not all women do.
  
• I had a safety net in my wallet, in my family, in my friends.  I had money in savings.  Not all women do.
  
• I had access to another medical center and hospital.  Not all women do.
  
• I had zero student debt, and could afford the education I was receiving.  Not all women do.
  
• I had a job that understood and accepted my need for recovery time, even though I didn't use it.  Not all women do.
  
• I had a finite date for my minimum wage internship, which was a stepping stone to a salary job.  Not all women do.
  
• I had a Planned Parenthood location that wasn't picketed (that often) and that was private.  Not all women do.

I was very lucky.  Not all women are.  I needed Planned Parenthood, and many, many other women need it more.

My story is not unusual.  In fact, I heard my story in many of my friends.  Planned Parenthood is easy, inexpensive, helpful, positive, non-judmental, and sensitive.  For young women and men across the country, support for their health is available.  Whether it be for contraception, responsible testing, or abuse support, women and men are using these clinics to benefit themselves, and to benefit America.  They are responsible citizens working for their better life.

By defunding Planned Parenthood, you are preventing people like me, a responsible, hard-working adult woman, from accessing birth control that saves tax-dollar money.  You're also preventing it for the millions of women who are in similar need of a place that cares about them.  I had it easy here, but in that one heartbeat of time in my life when I truly needed them, they were there.

Please, I beg you, do not defund Planned Parenthood.  Doing so does not solve your mission to end all abortion, but puts that many more lives in danger.  Planned Parenthood is not the enemy here, and their efforts have mediated the numbers of abortions through providing safe and easy access to contraception.  Defunding them makes that contraception more difficult and restricts health care for those that desperately need it.  Please do not take this away from the women who need it.

All the best,
Kelsey

On the train today...

I observed something today that I would like to share.

I'm on the skytrain, heading back from the cat cafe to my home, reading my book and listening to my music on shuffle from the iPod.

I look over and scan the train and the people, and see a typical sight... mostly Thai people, a few white folk scattered about, and a fairly full car.  No seats, many standing, but not as packed as I've seen before.

Seated together, there is a group of three people.  One is a man, probably about 35, with a tattoo on his hand, speaking with a woman, younger perhaps, with short hair and a round, expressive face.  Sandwiched between them, another woman, with a sharp, angular face looks out the window, pensive and unengaged with the conversation.

I noticed them only because they were speaking in sign language.  I developed a passing interest in sign about a year ago, signing up for a 10 hour course through my school.  It helped that one of my closest friends at the time was nearly fluent and we could talk about the art together.  I tried to pay attention to the flow and see if I could pick up the jist of the conversation, but I was barely able to recognize a single word.

What I could recognize was a piece of the language that I was never fully able to attempt: the pure expressions on the face of the speaker as a means to communicate more fully.  The young woman stuck out her tongue, grimaced, smiled, raised her eyebrows, and communicated with her face as much as with her hands.  It was fascinating.

The other woman, with her eyes watching out the window and not the conversation, eventually joined in when the others tapped her thigh to get her attention.  They were engrossed in what she was writing down after searching one another for a pen and something to write on.  When we got closer to the end of the line, I noticed that there were a few comments about which stop they were on, from looking at the video screen and out the window to the signs.

There is no other part to this story, just faces that stood out from the crowd and lived their normal lives.

On Banning Books (Banned Books Week Manifesto)

Starting tomorrow, libraries across America (and my library in Thailand) will celebrate Banned Books Week.  It's a celebration of the American freedom of reading, a celebration of the right of people to read what is available.  This year's focus? YA books, a commonly banned or challenged genre, mainly because the content includes violence, or sex, or drugs, or some combination of the above factors.

As an avid reader of YA lit, I can appreciate that there would be challenges to these texts.  I know that challenging books comes from a good intention, from the desire to protect a child from something sensitive.  I understand that reading about sex (or whatever) may be difficult for an adult to condone.  In my role as a youth librarian, though, I can't imagine anything more important than stepping into another's shoes and practicing the empathy that books create in us.

I'm keeping books very vague on purpose, because I think that even silly content can teach empathy and understanding.  Even books with seemingly no value can help us understand something new about our world and the humans within it.  I am the perfect example of this.

When I was a kid, I liked books.  I still like books.  After I read the Lemony Snicket series, Goosebumps, and Dear America, I moved on to romance novels.  First, I read romances for teens, and then I moved on to romance novels for adults.  As a teenager in high school, I read through the entire library's romance section (in two towns).  I remember that the librarian in one of the towns was not remarkably supportive of my reading choices, but that my stubbornness overcame that challenge.  I collected romance novels.  My bookshelves were right next to my bed, and included titles stacked two deep, two tall, and on three shelves.

I have read thousands of romance novels, many that I can't remember, some with vague memories.  Johanna Lindsey, Diana Palmer, Nora Roberts, more and more.  I can stand in a store and read through a romance novel in a remarkably short amount of time.  I can read through a Harlequin Presents novel in an hour.  I'm only slightly embarrassed to mention my addiction to this genre.

I know that my choice of genre is not the most accepted in general populations.  I know that it is not a respected type of book.  But, they are not without value.  They transport me to different places, to other countries, to different times, to the minds of different people.  There are opportunities to learn new words, because even romance writers are trying to use their vocabularies.

Other things that I like are similarly disregarded as valid art forms.

Rap music and hip hop music, my favorite genre because of the beats and the rhymes and the rhythm in the music, is not a respected art form.  They are wordsmiths, but it isn't seen that way.

Graphic novels are not respected either, and in fact, are banned more often than traditional YA literature.  The genre isn't understood or respected.  I didn't like the books until recently, when I read American Born Chinese in graduate school.  We also read Maus I and II, in the break before the spring course begun.  I took several books home with me to Iowa for Christmas, with even more on CD.  After finishing Maus, I explained the premise to my mom, and she picked it up and read both texts cover to cover.  This is outstanding to me because I've rarely seen her read fiction.  The newspaper, sure, especially on the way to the crossword puzzle.  But a fiction book?  It wasn't the thing she wanted to do with her time.

She read both that day, and it opened up a conversation.  I also read books during that vacation about lesbians, high school secret societies, gossip, and vampires.  The reading brought questions that I wanted to ask my mother about, and I did.  I doubt I would have breached the subject of homosexuality without having a great book (Annie on My Mind) to spur me.

I think about this when it comes to books, particularly YA books.  There are many things that I learned from books... how to communicate when I generally preferred to observe, how to observe more deeply when I was only seeing one side, and how to read the emotions that I saw on faces.  My family didn't always want to talk about issues, as atypical things are rarely spoken about in small towns.  I explored in books issues that I didn't know existed and it brought me to where I am today.

It doesn't matter what a kid reads, as long as they are reading something.  They can read manga, or romance, or fan fiction, or John Green, or anything.  Whatever they are reading helps them to get into a story, helps them see a perspective that they may not have known existed.  If they read about drugs, maybe they see that they're not that interested, or that they should exercise caution.  They may read a book that features a normal boy who happens to be attracted to another boy, and realize that they are also attracted to boys.  They may read Harry Potter, where the main character has some serious issues with authority (seriously, did he ever follow the rules?).  Despite this, they may see that some things are worth fighting for, and that protagonists are rarely perfect.  Characters have flaws, but books help you realize that you can make those mistakes and find ways to have integrity and acceptance.

Most importantly, I think books help you think of questions that you hadn't considered.  These questions could be innocuous, or serious, but often new.  Anything from "how can I deal with a broken heart?" to "how far is too far when it comes to sex?"  That uncertainty unnerves adults sometimes, especially if they're part of the equation, with questions being asked of them.

Recently, some adults have said the same things to me.
"Well, how do we know a book isn't too advanced for a kid?"
"What if a kid checks out something that they won't understand?"
"What happens if there's violence in a book and they take it the wrong way?"

Kids get things.  Kids are sensitive little humans who instinctively know that the violence in this book is not the success in the story.  They know when they should ask something and when to keep their knowledge quiet.  Their online lives are full of things that we don't understand, things that they know to keep quiet because the adults will disapprove.  Trying to keep them in the dark does nothing for them, because they can find whatever inappropriate content they want with a simple Google search when their parents are asleep.  Banning the nuance that a text gives brings them just their simple search results with YouTube comments (which are generally harsh) or Tumblr posts (which are often un-researched, or researched quite well, but you're never sure what you're seeing) or whatever else they can find.

If it doesn't make sense, the kid will likely abandon it.  If they can't handle it, they'll put it down, or endure practicing the perseverance of getting through a challenge.  If it is sensitive, they'll talk about it with whoever will understand, or ruminate over it on their own.  Have a little faith in them, and let them surprise you.

I read romance novels, and I am still a functional member of society.  Other read manga, or comics, or ghost stories, or fanfiction.  Any book in a student's hand brings them that much closer to being the empathetic and sensitive adult you're hoping for.  Give them a little credit and let the kids read.

September Update: Now back for more stories!

It’s been some time since I’ve blogged, so here are a few updates from the road.  My plan today is to upload a few blogs, centered on recent events in my life and abroad.

The new spot. Living Room.

First off, some changes have occurred since last time I wrote.  I went to the States for the summer, then came back to Bangkok with a few plans for a life update.  Previously, I was living in Sammakorn Village, which I loved.  It was a delightful suburb, with all the amenities I ever needed.  The problem?  It took me at least an hour to get into the city and see my other young friends.  I made the decision to move into the city, to a place where the commute to school and the commute into the city would be minimal and painless. 

Thus, here I am in Udom Suk.  It is towards the end of the line on the BTS, where the school bus comes and goes, and full of local city life.  I’ve got a neat little condo which my cat is attempting to slowly destroy… probably because she knows she’s not allowed in there.  Already my couch and my wallpapered walls show the signs of my deposit vanishing.

Kitchen. Still missing some key ingredients, but surviving.

However, I love the atmosphere there.  The condo is nice, the security guards are helpful, and the place is cozy.  It’s been beneficial to down-size my things and my space.  The security guards have already helped me acquire take out from at least three different restaurants. 

Plus, it now takes me just a few minutes to get into the city and see whatever my friends are up to.  I can meet up with them with a moment’s notice and not worry about the long taxi journey home.  This is freeing for me, an opportunity to get to know the city and live in a large place.

Bedroom. Mosquito net because no screens.

As a country girl, my first few weeks in the city were quite overwhelming, and I’m just now starting to get accustomed to the different energy of city life.  I would leave my house and be overwhelmed by the noise and the smells and the heat, barely able to function.  Yesterday, though, I cleaned the house before heading off to see a film at another BTS stop.  Today, I found myself a cat café to relax in while I wrote the blogs.

Sometimes I need to convince myself to travel in my own neighborhood, particularly when I am working as hard as I have been.  So, I’ve made it a plan to try to visit every cat café in Bangkok as a way to see some of the city and enjoy one of my favorite bits of Asia.

Today was Cataholic Cat Café.

My cat, not a cataholic cat.

I left the house in the morning to get coffee at the shop near the BTS, with the most delightful latte I’ve had in recent memory.  I walked a bit further to where I typically get noodle soup for breakfast, though they were closed, so I found another joint.  I ordered my noodles, poorly, because my Thai is still remedial, and found myself with a bowl of bean sprouts instead of noodles.

A little bit more travel and walking, and here I am, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of this little café with all the cats inside.  I’m learning to love this city, and every quiet place helps me love it a little bit more.

It Wasn't Dengue!

It's a beautiful day.

Let me set the soundtrack for this day, the first song that came on my shuffle this morning when I walked out of the house in search of coffee and noodles.

Allow me also to set the tone for this post... It is Saturday today, and I am finally feeling myself.  On Tuesday, however, I thought I had dengue fever.  A coworker had told me that I was looking quite tired on Tuesday, and sure enough, I was.  After work, I went into my strange borrowed apartment and settled in to watch Mr Holland's Opus, an old favorite that happened to be on cable.

About half way through the movie (when he starts teaching driving school and the big parade reveals that his son is deaf), I started getting the chills that felt like a big fever was coming round.  It was not pleasant.  It reminded me of when I realized I had dengue back in Cambodia.  Shivering, teary-eyed, I went and had the doorman call me a taxi so I could get a blood test at the hospital.  I'm not prone to believing I have illnesses, but it is rainy season, and I had seen a tiger mosquito in my house the week prior, so I was mighty nervous.

The taxi man didn't quite know how to handle my unkempt appearance, or the fact that I didn't have the comfort clothes that I may usually have had.  In fact, I was wearing my school dress still, a brown frock, with my bright sarong pants beneath it, and a blanket on top to handle my feverishness.  However, we made it to the hospital, and the staff anxiously tried to understand my limited Thai amidst my chattering lips.

The blood test told me that I didn't have dengue (thank the Lord), and they prescribed me some medicine to take that would ease the pain and kill any other flu symptoms that I may have had.  I managed to make it through the week, thanks in great part to my coworkers who kept me in Reese's cups and distracting chatter, and even made it to a staff BBQ at a friend's house on Friday.

I had never really believed in the 24 hour flu, until this week, when I had it.

Fast forward to this morning.

Sheaf of mail, all bills and important things.

I had a ton of errands to run this morning, because when I got back to my apartment, I found a stack of mail from bill time.  There's things to do to get ready for summer, for my month back in the US.  I've got to get to packing up, and doing laundry, and setting up my home for my absence.

One piece of mail that I got, I couldn't read.  At all.  However, a little detective work, and I realized that there was a package at the post office for my house.  My detective work consisted of me looking at the little logo, and realizing that the map on the back was for this far off errand.

Detective work required. I do see that I owe 120 baht.

In order for me to go to the post office, where all the packages arrive, I typically take the songtaew down Ramkanghaeng, this big long road in the city, then take a moto to my destination.  It's usually an adventure, because it feels like it is in the middle of nowhere.  You drive down all these mixed up roads, and all of a sudden, this post office appears as if by magic.  Since the place is actually two buildings, you can't even go in the main entrance.  You have to go back around the corner, and enter this secreted away building with a sliding door to retrieve your package.

Post office logo. Importante.

I was enjoying my new musical playlists though, as I took this journey today.  I ate my noodles with my favorite noodle ladies, and a local even mentioned as I was paying that she sees me here every week.  "You must really like these noodles," she said.  I do.  They are the most garlicky noodles in the city.

I walked up to the bank on the way towards the bus stop where I catch the songtaew, determined to take in the collection of .25 baht and .50 baht coins that I had collected, things that I get as change from 7/11 when I pay my bills but cannot actually spend anywhere.  No one will take them, and I had a years' worth collected from various forays into the city.  The clerk, who recognized me, of course, asked me how much I had, picked out the Hong Kong cent and the Singapore cent from the mix, and gave me a 20 baht bill for my trouble, after she counted the whole mess.

I caught the songtaew, and even attempted to grab a taxi, wanting a brief respite from the heat.  He told me to grab a moto because the mess of roads wasn't something he wanted to deal with.  It wasn't a big deal, because he only took 20 baht instead of the 40 that the meter said I owed.

I walked across the bridge to the moto stand by the pagoda, and was lucky enough to land a female moto driver.  The moto stands here are amazingly well-organized, and they take turns for fares.  Whenever I am lucky enough to have a female driver, I always tip.  I try to support them in this male-dominated business whenever possible.  Khun Ann, the school staff's favorite taxi driver, is the same woman who brought me home from the eye surgery, and I trust her with my safety.

So, this very petite woman and I go flying through the city, all the way to the post office.  I step in, put my paper on the counter, and wait for my turn.  The woman behind the counter calls my house number, and I step up.  However, she keeps asking for another person.  I begin to fear that I have come to collect something that isn't mine.  Luckily, the man next to me can speak both languages far better than myself, and I let him know that I'm a renter, and that this is the owner of the home.  There's some conversation that I don't really understand, and he thinks about a translation for me.  I say, "She has to come get it herself." And he says, "Yes!"  No problem.  I grab the paper, get back on my moto, and get back to my village.  As I leave, another customer gives me a paper I dropped, very nice of them, and exit with several "Ka pun kas" on the way.

On the way home in the songtaew, I was standing on the back (where I quite like to be, since I can see everything), and yet another nice person tries to stand up and give me his seat.  It is a beautiful day in Bangkok today.  I politely decline, trying to explain with my remedial Thai and a bright smile that I like this place on the transit, and he sat back down with another smile.

Just then, this song came on, and I was unable to help myself from bobbing back and forth to the rhythm while riding through the city.  Fair warning: the video is a bit more risque than the song itself.

I was really feeling that burst of post-illness energy, and was able to make it to the other post office, where I mailed some letters, and the market, for some Rizza foods for summer, before I came on back home.  I even tried to pick up a dress at the tailor's, but she told me she had to go get some extra fabric to fix the momentous tear in the back.  So, another week before that is ready!

The rainy season has begun, bringing a more pleasant temperature to Thailand.  I don't have dengue and I finally feel myself again, and this day was too beautiful to not share.  I think I may need to see my favorite massage ladies today to celebrate the loveliness of the day, and the fact that I'll be setting food in my homeland in less than two weeks.

Goal Update: Money

One of the first blogs I wrote when I moved here was about money, and my current lack of it.

This blog, and the couple that are similar to it, inspired several comments from a variety of people.  Some people offered to front me some cash, some respected that there were words out there similar to their thoughts, some understood the place it was coming from.  Moving is hard.  Moving abroad is also hard.  I came over here with the expectation that I would be saving money, hence my goals, and those first months were quite the opposite.

But here we are, in June, and I'm reevaluating the goals that I had set, and seeing where I am now.

I've acquired a few extra jobs these last few weeks.  I'm tutoring for a neighbor kid, and also captioning videos online, a job which doesn't make much money, but gives me something to do besides sitting at home and watching television.  It's also entertaining; I've captioned for feminist MTV webcasts, alternative energy science videos, and a documentary about the Beach Boys.

These past two weekends, I've been spending only the money in my change cup.  I would go convert it to cash, but I would just be that a**hole who brings in a bunch of change to the bank and makes the ladies count it for me.  So, I've been using my coins to purchase my moto ride to the market, my coffee and water, and my rice noodle breakfast, making sure to use up all the coins that I've kept for the year.  The money stuck in there has bought two weeks' worth of breakfast routines, which is pretty nice.

All the other money I've used this week has been from my weekend tutoring gig.  My neighbor, who I rarely see, asked me a few weeks ago if I'd be willing to tutor her nephew, studying for the IELTS to get over to Australia.  We've worked on English pronunciation, and test taking skills, and reading comprehension.  Then, she buys me lunch, which is pretty neat.  I believe that people my age have an above-average appreciation for free foods.

I've been proud of myself this year.  I've saved some good money.

I saved enough to pay for eye surgery, and I couldn't be happier with the results.  I still have some astigmatism in my left eye, but they say that it may correct itself with more time.

I have saved enough to get myself home for summer, which is very exciting.

I have saved enough to pay down some of my student loans, which do nothing but stress me out.

Given the good news I had this week, I also indulged in a massage and a haircut, two desperately needed times at the spa that turned out to be well worth the money.  My hair and my neck were unhealthy in their own ways, and I've taken steps to make them better.  I also saw a movie, Spy, even though I accidentally purchased a ticket for the Thai dubbed version instead of the English one.

I've been thinking, though, that I don't usually try that hard to save money.  My colleagues seem to spend considerably more than myself, and I am often wondering why.  Granted, I live in a village far from the city center, which means my opportunities for certain activities are limited.  That will change in the fall; I'm moving into the city to be more able to acquire transportation and independence.  Hopefully, I can find an apartment that mimics the joy that I feel in my current place, and still provides me a community.

Speaking of that, I took a step to save money during Summer School (June) by moving into a friend's apartment.  She lives in an apartment complex basically across the street from school.  This saves me having to take taxis to and from school everyday, which would cost something like $15-$20 a day, along with the added stress of finding one in the morning.  The closest shopping center to school, and these apartments, is Mega Bangna.  It is mega, in every way.  There is an Ikea, a grocery, a department store, and wings full of the same types of stores.  I hate it there.

As I've been staying here, I have really wondered if I could have moved here.  The answer, undeniably, is no.  This helps me to realize what I'm looking for in my next apartment in the city.  I couldn't put my finger on what I really disliked about the place, not immediately.  It's great to be able to leave for school with 10 minutes to spare and be 5 minutes early.  It's great to have a movie theatre a cycle away from your house, with every possible type of food.  It's not great that I must brave the wall of noise in order to eat all the food.  It's not great that a ton of kids and coworkers live in the same building.  It's really not great that there's no sense of community.  I need community.  It's the small town girl in me.

I've gotten off topic.  Living in this apartment is saving me money, even if I am close to a mall with tons of things I want to eat in it.  There's very little I'm inclined to buy otherwise.  I did buy a hose and some canvases, but other than that I've been able to restrain myself.

I'm in a good place financially right now.  The extra work, despite not always working out fantastic hourly rates, makes me feel productive.  I did say I wanted to save every extra baht, and I have.

My goals for this summer with some additional cash:
1. Pay off at least one loan, and all the interest for all four loans.
2. Keep at least $2K in both Thai and US accounts.
3. Allot money to emergency saving fund.

Slowly, but surely, I'm getting on my feet and looking to pay off the momentous debt that the American education system has left me with.

A Clean Sweep

This week, the library is working on inventory and weeding.  It’s fairly tedious library work, scanning every single book and double checking its place in the collection, but also somewhat rewarding.  The library that I’m working in hasn’t had a book removed from it for years, since 2008 I believe.  Librarians know that things get accumulated during those times.  Librarians may also know that without any oversight on purchasing or selection, the library ends up as a repository for all the things that will never be checked out.

I find the process immensely satisfying.  To remove the dusty, underused books from the collection to be able to see the fresher, newer, better books provides me with such mental clarity and peace.  Perhaps that’s nerdy.  I don’t mind.  I need a bit of nerdy since my librarian glasses are permanently removed.

It’s amazing to me what the people around us begin to care about when it may not be available anymore.  A book, left unused and unloved for years, suddenly becomes the best, most special book in all the land.  I doubted Mary Kay Biagini when she talked about this in library school, but I’m beginning to see just how crushing it is to lose these sentimental things called books.

I’m sitting here, thinking about the week, and the discussions I’ve had.  I’m ruminating about the massive amount of time my colleagues and I have spent pouring over texts and deciding their fate.  The dusty, the unused, the graphic (lots of boobs), all will need to find a new home.

There was this show that used to be on TLC before that channel became reality show nonsense, and I loved it.  It was called Clean Sweep.  Their goal was to take one of those spare rooms that houses had, ones that were full of… whatever… and turn it into a usable space.  In order to accomplish this gorgeous new room, the staff took all the belongings in the room, put it on a big tarp in the front yard, and gave them an equally large tarp for “garage sale” as well as a tiny tarp for “keep”. The counselors, or hosts, or whatever, would talk them through this, and I remember some of the phrases at play…

What have you used this for in the past couple of years?

Does this really add value to your life?

Why are you keeping this thing in this room if it really is so important to you?

I found myself thinking about this show because it’s what we’re doing with the library… giving it a clean sweep.  I also find myself thinking about it in terms of my own personal belongings and possessions.  I came to Thailand with a couple suitcases.  Before that, I destroyed my mom’s basement getting rid of stuff that I hadn’t touched for years.  With my photos, my music, I’ve done the same. 

In this age of overload,  I want to clean up my spaces and make sure that the only things in there are things that I can pick up and enjoy and love with a moment’s notice.  I don’t want to sift through 15 albums I feel neutral about before I find one song I love.  I don’t want to have to pick through 30 versions of the same photo before I find one that I like.  I want all the best, right now.

This is my goal at the moment, finding the simple life and enjoying what I have.  And the library is my current show of that goal.