Thailand 2025 Cohort
Six and a half weeks ago, as our van wound its way through the country roads away from Chiang Mai and towards the homestay village for the first time, students chattered amongst themselves. Filled with anticipation, nerves, and excitement, they posed question after question: What would the village look like? Who were the families? How would they communicate? When would they feel like the village has become their home?
Now, a month and a half later, our time in the village has become a core part not just of this civic semester but of students’ understanding of community, family, and cultural exchange as a whole. Thank you, dear homestay families in Baan Pong Huai Lan, for making the experience so memorable! Here is another batch of student reflections. -Hannah
Prompt: How I want to remember Huai Lan…
Flora:
Huai Lan was everything I envisioned in a village life and so much more. I remember it for the way it smells. Fresh air without trails of car exhaust or city dust, wild grass inhabiting flies and insects, wet mud breathing in the morning moistness with snails and earthworms hiding under. I remember the rains–sometimes drizzling, sometimes down pouring–most of the time it feels like a pat on my head, a light embrace, a cup of warm water. I remember the faces and houses, their smiles and chimney smoke indicating types of tasty food ready to be served. I remember the dogs, their dirty fur and the warmth of their lick, them leaving paw marks on my jeans. I remember so much yet still too little.
Avery:
The sun glistening off the water’s surface. The sun’s sherbet gaze peaking over the mountain’s crest and illuminating the rippling fields of rice. The cheerful greeting of the mothers in the morning, the overwhelming portions of rice every meal. The four wet snouts getting in my way every time I walk to my bike. Huai Lan is less a place to me and more a living and breathing entity that exists only in my mind. The warmth of the people, the beauty of the land, the atmosphere which makes you relax your shoulders and makes you drag out the krap/ka at the end of every sentence, all of it is Huai Lan. And yet, Haui Lan is still more than that.
I think capturing the entirety of my experience of Huai Lan in words is an impossible if not crass thing to do. All I can truly say on the matter is that I had fun, too much fun even, and I recommend that anyone who is interested at all: go and see for yourselves what Huai Lan is about. My memory only exists in my mind after all.
Kaliyah:
How I will remember my village, Huai Lan.
Mali. A jasmine flower in Thai.
Flower.
Like a stem the way the puuhao — the mountains — stand tall and strong over the village, supporting its visitors with a stable peace.
Flower.
Like petals, the way the stress of the day falls off my face when I’m asked if I’ve gin leaao ru-yang — if I’ve eaten dinner yet.
Flower.
Like the center, how the face of my Mae blossoms into a yim — smile — whenever I remind her that she is suay tuk wan — beautiful every single day.
It’s not true that the thought of here won’t be met with tears. But it will also be embraced with gratitude, showered with laughter, and cared for with longing.
But I hope to meet it again with people, those from home.
To bring them from one home to another. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a family reunion.
No matter where I go, though, I know love will rush into all places. To and from me. Showered upon us.
Like rain. On a Mali.
Brandy:
I want to think about the mountains and rice paddy fields we would pass on our way to Mae Wanna’s Baan (house). Riding our bikes from house to house.
I want to think of my home: the beautiful elephant backdrop, the beautiful Huai Lan sign adorned with pieces of tile.
I want to think of the dinner table, and most importantly, the people who sit right by my side: the beautiful people who tell me to eat more and laugh when I don’t really have to respond in Thai because my face says it all. Between my widened eyes and wide smile, they can read I’ve never had food that’s been better.
I want to remember biking to the reservoir with my host dad, and meeting my host mom there, assuring me she’ll catch up soon.
I want to remember the cool mountain view dissipating into a warm field of bright light and glistening water.
I want to remember walking side by side with Mae Wanna, our arms linked, asking if she’s slept well. Lap sabai mai kha? Or another question: wannii khun tam arai kha — what are you doing today?
I want to remember her smiling face when she sees her friends with their hands full of mushrooms. I want to remember wondering how he walks so fast?! I want to remember Mae Wanna and Por Suphot leading me into the forest, where the insects would make me jump. Where I needed to hold onto Mae Wanna to get a mushroom. When I succeeded in picking it. Walking back to the bike and eating kanom (snacks)–so yummy, before gliding down the hill home on my bike.
I want to remember helping to pick cilantro and banana leaves in the garden.
I want to remember late at night, getting my hair dried and styled happily by Mae Wanna.
I want to remember teaching her Uno and having a heated game. I want to remember Por Suphot rejecting Uno as a farang (foreigner) game after losing. Him showing Lucy and me a Thai game, but us forgetting it.
I want to remember asking if she’s tired, and her saying yes.
I want to remember her just knowing it’s cold, so she gives me extra blankets…
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Thank you for reading! My hope is that weeks or months or years from now, our students may find their memory slipping…and they can revisit these posts to remember. <3