Originally this post was going to be a treatise on the recent developments in international air travel. But my latest "Savvy Lass" column in the Bangkok Post's Guru entertainment magazine prompted such an interesting response that, instead, I'll address the latter.
(For the record, as far as international air safety goes, you read it here first: By the turn of the next century, airlines and governments may very well require passengers and flight crews to travel completely in the buff and to submit to cavity searches before boarding airplanes. That would be the only absolutely sure-fire way to ensure that not even a crumb or drop of explosive material enters a plane. Perhaps, to preserve people's dignity, the airlines will let them don some sort of government-approved smock between the security checkpoint and the plane, but who knows? The mind boggles with the possibilities for weirdness.)
So my column in Guru was actually a recycled version of my very first post on this blog. I wrote that one while in a foul mood, fresh from a pleasant homeleave in the States. At the time I didn't care much about what people thought of it; rather, the blog just served as an outlet for my feelings, kind of like cyber therapy. This time, I decided to share the general views with Guru readers, but I tempered the original stance out of respect for my host country and to avoid making unfair generalizations or accusations. I made sure to say "seems to", "sometimes" and "some" instead of "is", "always", and "all" to acknowledge that exceptions exist to every observed generality.
The situation is what it is, and my feelings are what they are (though of course they fluctuate day by day -- sometimes, I'm like, "I love this crazy wonderful place!" and others, I'm like, "Beam me up, Scotty!"). Most published, English-language depictions of expat living in Thailand are penned by men. Perhaps that explains why, despite my efforts to write diplomatically and respectfully, this column took some readers by surprise and then angered them a bit. Maybe they're not used to considering how khon farang women might feel in a city that caters so much more obviously for men's (Thai and khon farang) enjoyment. Not that I believe my experiences represent those of all khon farang women. To that end, I described my own feelings and did not claim to speak for all of my western colleagues.
Here is the column as it appeared in Guru:
Sometimes I feel invisible in Bangkok -- especially back when I was still pushing my younger son around in a stroller. Were I mincing about on stiletto heels, wearing loads of makeup and belting out Shakira songs, I’d probably draw more attention of an unwanted sort -- but that’s not going to happen so let’s abandon that image, shall we?
Anyway. My point is: Even though Son #2 has outgrown his stroller, and despite an ability to clean up “real nice” when occasion warrants, I still belong in the shirt-decorated-with-spilled-grape-juice category. After five years here the situation is wearing on me. I hadn't realized until visiting the States this summer how much my ego always has been gently stroked by innocent everyday interactions with the opposite sex. Not my husband, but rather the people I enountered while going about my business in the outside world: the bagel guy; the UPS guy; a particularly solicitous waiter; an acquaintance from a long-ago workplace. These moments weren’t necessary to reassure me as to my self-worth, but they helped me feel recognized as an attractive person with ideas, dreams, plans...I mean unconsciously, subtly building up over time. The natural ying/yang of life. Of course, sometimes a bagel is just a bagel.
These “sparks” happen drastically less often for me in Bangkok. After discussing the phenomenon with far-flung girlfriends, however, I’ve learned that “invisibility” can strike women at certain stages of their lives, anywhere from New York to Vladivastok, whether or not they have a partner. It’s a universal phenomenon. I just happen to be navigating the “bringing up rugrats while trying to maintain my sassy, pre-baby identity” stage while living in the City of Angels. What circumstances here might reduce the incidence of ying/yang sparks for khon farang women?
Let’s start with my gracious Thai hosts. I’ve heard that many Thai guys apparently see khon farang women as too big, too sweaty, and too loud to find appealing or interesting. Such a view isn’t surprising. Many of us khon farang women do fit such a description. Language barrier also probably intimidates many Thai guys from chatting and joking naturally as they would with fellow Thais. (But according to my friends, an increasing number of happy hook-ups and relationships between Thai guys and khon farang women manage to flourish.)
Now what about the khon farang dudes? For starters, there are fewer of them than back at home. Aside from work, what draws the majority of male travelers? Despite the efforts of T.A.T., the top answer isn’t shopping, sightseeing, or excellent dining (although they could all draw for a close second). Many khon farang men who visit Bangkok seem to be some type of sex tourist, be they guys on a lark, stag party revelers, or long-term sexpats. These guys seem to look right through me. Or sometimes, downright away from me. Maybe I remind them of their partners back home, commuting to work or minding the kids while Steve and Johan troll the gogo bars. Perhaps my pale face and tall frame remind them of the harpies who drove them East to find ladies they expect naturally to serve as compliant sex kittens who won't talk back or nag them for money (wake up, dudes, the ladies are real human beings, not exotic Barbie dolls!).
Or possibly the fellows may simply be going about their business while I’m just extra-sensitive about my undefined role in a metropolis teeming with the flesh trade. Wait, not “possibly”; make that a “definitely”. I’ve definitely become extra-sensitive. The circumstances we’ve just examined seem to exacerbate my “invisibility” issues.
Many khon farang men clearly are here for work. But some “suits” by day -- single or already attached -- become sexpats by night. Honourable “suits”, however, aim to date or sustain healthy relationships with Thai, khon farang, and other women, bless 'em. But even though going out with the lads in Bangkok doesn't have to mean, “Bye, honey, I'm going out to pay a bar fine and then pay for sex!”, it frequently does mean, “I'm going to have some beers with Jim while naked vixens are writhing about on the glass ceiling above us.” There aren't too many bars with that feature back home in the States. Makes pole-dancing look downright quaint, doesn’t it?
There is a common language mistake that sums up my existential dilemma. It may seem like a trifling matter, but please bear with me: Many Thai people call khon farang women “Sir” in polite address. I can't tell you how many times someone has looked at me earnestly and asked, “May I help you, sir?” or said, “Here you go, sir.” I’m sure it’s because “Khun” is unisex; language instructors probably teach “Sir” as the sole English equivalent of “Khun”. How difficult would it be, though, to teach the female equivalent as well? Are khon farang women so inconsequential (i.e. invisible) that we’re not worth the extra few minutes to teach how to address us as the correct gender? “Miss.” “Ma’am.” There. Was that too much to handle?
Of course not. I know, I know, it’s nothing personal. The people who make the mistake are only trying to be polite and don't mean any harm (in fact, they probably speak better English than I do Thai) -- but considering the circumstances decribed above, some folks might empathize. “Sir” still startles me; I instictively look over my shoulder for a phantom man to be standing there. Call me unstable, call me melodramatic, but the word just makes me feel less like the me I thought the world saw before we moved to Bangkok.
(While trying to describe this gut reaction to my husband, I asked him to imagine how he’d feel if someone kindly inquired, “May I help you, Miss?” This strapping 6’4” man paused, and said, “I’d think they must be mad, because obviously I’m a guy...but then I’d chalk it up as a silly mistake and forget about it.” Interesting that he would project that the other person was mad, while I internalize the mistake. What would a psychologist say about that?)
One of my American friends finds being called “Sir” refreshing. Another one says she barely even registers it when it happens. I, however, shudder every time from the cognitive dissonance. It's kind of like, welcome to Bangkok, where many men expect Thai women to fit some fantasy ideal, and if you're not a Thai woman, well, then you're not a woman at all, sir! I’ve never relied on men’s attention to feel womanly or relevant. But keeping a healthy ying/yang balance in Bangkok poses a challenge. Perhaps I should consider the stilettoo heels and Shakira wig? Either that or march around in a sandwich board proclaiming: “I am a real human being with feelings, dammit! Even though I’m a khon farang chick and not allowed to vote in the October elections!”
So that's what ran in Guru yesterday. So far the email response has consisted of one hate mail (which the Thai lady concluded by telling me to return to my home country); two neutral mails, explaining why people use "sir" for women and for why Thai guys, according to the correspondent, might not interact much with khon farang women; and eight positive emails expressing either similar views or enjoyment of the piece. Naturally, my people-pleaser mentality leads me to agonize over the single hate mail instead of reflect rationally on the positive/neutral feedback.
I'd better toughen up, huh? No matter how diplomatic I'll try to sound, misunderstandings are bound to happen, as long as the Savvy Lass column continues to run in Guru. Oh, were that I had Oscar Wilde's quick wit to make some fatalistic, devastatingly clever comment right now!
