“You are not alone and you are not crazy.” was something I was told over and over again when I complained about being here in Bangkok. At first, I was ashamed of talking about my problems with other people. They were personal issues like ‘interviewing maids”, ‘marriage’, ‘rising children’.
My ex-husband who graduated from Kellogg, Northwestern (one of the best business schools in America), once a head of the first American company in Vietnam, got recruited by Wall Street Journal despite lack of formal journalistic training, Far Eastern Economic Review’s favorite, ‘lured’ by Time magazine, after two months of a new born baby, and after I quit my beloved job the second time for moving to join him for his new job assignment, called me and told me that he QUIT his job. WHAT?? Idiot, was my reaction. However, trying to be a loving and supportive and cool wife, I swallowed my fear, wiped my tears, and told him, “oh, honey, I will support you no matter what and I can get a job there and everything is going to be all right.” But everything was not all right. For one, I was the one who cried over my prestigious job, agonizing leaving family’s support for my new born baby, fearing of challenging upcoming life, and now a future with uncertainties. Scream, in fact, was the only thing I had in mind. But no, I had to be cool so my parents wouldn’t think I was out of my mind and my ex-husband wouldn’t think I was not supportive.
It is easy for people to comment “oh, isn't it great to move to Hong Kong where you can go shopping everyday.” Dear, first of all, you cannot go shopping everyday even you have unlimited money to spend. Second of all, you don’t want to go shopping everyday when you only have a tiny apartment just big enough to put a bed with size between double and single for two people, a couch, a TV set, and a tiny kitchen big enough for one person. Or “Why are you moving to Thailand? It is under-developed, hot, polluted, and sex crazy? And you’d better be careful with Thai women.” Thanks a lot for comforting. Now you have to pretend you are an expert on Thailand. “Oh, Thailand is not what you think. The food is great. Everyone has air-cons. We will just stay home to avoid traffic and pollution. And my husband won’t cheat on me.”
Posting in Bangkok was indeed the first time I considered myself as expatriate. When we lived in Hong Kong, we didn’t have children, we had money, and I could always fly back to Taiwan to see my Mommy and Daddy. I was so spoiled. Too spoiled that I naively thought everything was going to be fine when I decided to move to Bangkok. And doesn’t it sound romantic? I support my writer husband while he works on his book. What will I get? Name mentioned on the preface of his possibly book. “Thank you for my be-loved wife….” Be the great woman behind the great man. Yeah, right, my ass.
Financial strains kill a relationship. I have become resentful. Why am I doing everything? Aside from the house chores, kids, and re-building myself (honey, you should go find something you like to do to keep you busy), now I have to support the whole family?
The issue of getting a job can make you feel inferior. Get a job or we cannot go on vacation. Get a job or we have to move out of this house to a cheaper apartment. Get a job or we can’t send our son to school. Get a job or we can’t have a LIFE. Excuse me. Who was the one telling me, “Honey, everything is going to be fine. You don’t have to work if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you unhappy”. The fact is I cannot get a job. Being an Asian simply means I cannot get a job as an English teacher. I am not qualified. Period. No matter I have a Master degree in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages). I am not “Native Born Speaker’. No matter I lived in the States for 8 years and speak fluent English. I am mad. Why am I doing here instead of having a high-paying job that I love and my family to support me? Even though I did get a job, it was 240 bhat per hour just enough to buy two cups of Starbucks coffee. How am I going to support this mansion and three people?
I cannot let go. My anger.
Here I have nothing. NO family, NO job, an unemployed husband who complains and whims all the time.
Writing is my therapy. Writing group is my shelter. They are the means to keep me sane.
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