Monday Morning in Paradise

As my alarm insistently pulls me awake in the predawn morning, I groan and think longingly of my Western hemisphere friends, still luxuriating in their Sunday evenings. I roll over gingerly, yes, still bruised where my hip bone pushes too sharply into the rock-hard Asian mattress.  The good news? I feel loads better than yesterday when I was still in the firm clutches of whatever virus conquered me so completely. The bad news? Giant cold sore on my upper lip.

As I make my way downstairs to cook breakfast, I gasp at the lightning fast tickle of a lizard scurrying out of my way, short-cutting across my bare toes. I actually welcome these critters into my home (better than bugs any day!) but still the surprise takes my breath away.  Soon I have bacon in the pan, eggs sitting out ready to scramble, and the whispering of little feet above my head telling me the kids are out of bed and getting dressed (a small miracle after only being awakened once! Must be finally nearing the end of jet lag). And then, before I know what hit me, I’m gagging. The bacon, only two days old, is wrong, so very wrong.  Still gagging, but grateful no one else is in the kitchen yet, I start over, reminding myself that meat is different here: Eat the day we buy it or freeze immediately.  My friend warned me, but I’d forgotten. I think this smell will make the message stick though. 

No worries, we still have time.  Eggs sizzling on the stove, fruit cut, I open a cupboard to finish preparing lunches for the kids. Quick dark movement, everywhere. It’s like the sealed packages are alive, fuzzy, vacillating frantically in the light. Ants. I wonder what they found? I try to be so careful—sweeping after every meal, every snack even, keeping everything sealed tight. Where is that lizard now?

Kids tumble down the stairs. Mom, where is my book? Mom, where are my glasses? No not those glasses, my other glasses? Mom, make sure you . . . As I move around the kitchen solving myriad problems, feeding the kids, finding lost treasures, I feel Zen. Look how awesome I am, greasing the squeaky cogs of routine on this Monday morning. Not even the ants can get me down today. I walk outside to the laundry room and swat the clouds of mosquitos away so I can get to the washer to start a load. They love this room. I wonder briefly if I can wrack up karma points by avoiding the impulse to go Rambo on the roving blood suckers with two cans of OFF!

Tropical birds start squawking outside as tendrils of light lick at the horizon. Back inside the kitchen, I’ve unearthed the ant problem—one of those cute Thai jello cones I bought for the kids’ lunches was a tiny bit sticky. Soap, water, elbow grease. Ants eradicated. For today. Or maybe just for this hour. Still, it is something. Kids have homework, water bottles, books, lunches packed away, shoes on, scampering away in the early dawn glow toward the school van. My Man hurries to gather his things, grab his motorcycle helmet, zoom off looking incongruous in his sharp suit and glossy black helmet on his motorcycle.

And then it is just me. There are piles of dirty dishes in the sink (no dishwasher here), chores to do, errands to run. More birds join boisterously into the morning conversation. A few more ants scurry into a new cupboard, just to see . . . A mosquito hums into a distant corner. The world is so beautiful. So strange. Is this really my life? My new normal? There is a part of me (is it wrong to admit that it’s a big part?) that just wishes this were all a dream, that I will wake up Monday morning back in Oregon or Utah or Virginia again, where things are normal and easy and American. Then the heady scent of Jasmine tickles my nose, I drink up the sight of palm trees and tropical flowers in my yard, and I take a deep breath, counting my blessings for marrying an adventurer to drag me out of my comfort zone and into paradise.

Disclaimer: I hesitate to post essays like this, worrying I seem ungrateful, negative, or spoiled. I know that we have it relatively easy. I know that we are lucky to be here. I know that it could be much worse (I have read The Poisonwood Bible afterall!). Still, I think a little salt goes a long way and acknowledging the hard things in life, even if they are relatively small or petty, helps us appreciate what we do have. And for me, this is hard. I am a quiet introvert who would be happy curling up with a book and a cup of steaming herbal tea every afternoon in the same little corner of my predictable world. For me, this wild and crazy expat life is a challenge. I wouldn't trade it for anything, but it is what it is. And this essay was only a little peak at the many uncomfortable annoyances I could have mentioned that are now part of my "normal." But I think it is enough. Maybe more than enough.