Finding oneself in a foreign country

I peek inside the gates of the local wat, or temple, and watch monks violently ramming chainsaws down tree trunks. I see them, in their simple orange robes and beat-up flip-flops, on cell phones, strolling into McDonald's or driving cars, the sights bizarre displays of cultural fusion.

I am astonished at the gorgeous penmanship of my students, the elegant curves of their "S"s and the neat and crisp papers they hand to me with utmost care at the end of class. But then I review the stack of dictations and can't make out any of the words, realizing that their presentation and copying skills are impeccable, while their critical thinking is not.

Christopher, a fellow teacher from Boston, marvelously equates the Thai bus system to a pirate society. I have learned most of what I now know of this culture from being crammed onto a bus to Bangkok, the bus attendant and driver a duo of autonomous bandits, looting passengers - and tourists especially - for as much Baht as possible.

I prepare for anything on a bus: being charged the ridiculously high "farang" or foreigner rate, standing in a dangerously crowded aisle with my head locked in some man's armpit, enduring four-hour traffic because a storm has transformed the motorway into a canal, or the worst: enduring the ride with no air-conditioning.

The most fascinating facet of the culture revolves around common courtesy, or oftentimes, a lack of. The Thais are undoubtedly one of the most polite and generous people in professional or formal situations, their greeting, or "wai," a simple yet refined movement. I've come to admire their allegiance to the monarchy. Every morning the anthem is blasted through the school speakers, bringing every person in sight to a halt, and during a photo montage of the king before a movie starts at the cinema, the audience rises to honor him.

On a bus, however, I'm quite amused by the etiquette involved to snag a seat. I recently kicked and dented a bus after it almost sideswiped me, and curse regularly when cars honk at me - a pedestrian - to move out of the way. This frustration is felt even more so on a bus, when my patience for a seat is knocked out of me by a sidling, stick-thin college girl, in a typical black and white school uniform and tie, who's been on the bus for five seconds. Waiting is nonexistent here.

I came here with the intentions of a Samaritan, but after just four months, my Mother Theresa-like venture has dissipated into an arrogant-filled irritation, where I continually wonder why Thailand has to be so "reversed." I realize what cultural differences to which I can adjust, and the others to which my Western-conditioned body and mind cannot.

Myriad other elements reveal Thailand as a paradise of paradoxes. Despite the harsh drug use and possession penalties, I can walk into a pharmacy without a prescription, point to my head and say "ouch," and receive a year's supply of Codeine or the new painkiller of the month.

I constantly find places - on my school campus, in Don Muang Airport, in hotels - that illustrate the common Thai belief that more is better, such as our school library, where a dusty collection of broken stereos, computers and printers from the Ice Age remain on display.

In Siem Reap, the Cambodian city near Angkor Wat - and the moss-covered ruins of Ta Prohm, my favorite temple - Ravy, my host, and other locals spoke of hotel room count as a reflection of a Cambodian's success and caliber. While there are many surprising distinctions between Cambodians and Thais - I found the Cambodians, in Siem Reap at least, to be a less aggressive, better English-speaking population - "quantity over quality" manifests the motto of both.

Not all regions assume such characteristics. Nong Khai, similar to the other mellow towns along the Mekong River, is void of outside influence, its inhabitants failing, fortunately, to absorb the ways of the tourists who wander through.

Nong Khai, although providing little tourist attraction, has a quaint riverside atmosphere and a unique, chilled-out guesthouse, Mut Mee, which has the coolest outdoor bungalow "shower" ever. Nong Khai's park at Sala Kaew Ku has some of the most freakish Buddhist and Hindu sculptures in the country.

Likewise, the coastline of Ko Samui is absent of a paradox of culture, as the resorts and restaurants, on Chaweng Beach in particular, cater primarily to Westerners. Its ambience, particularly at the Ark Bar, is fueled by all kinds of House music: deep, ambient, tech, funky and progressive. And when you and your friends start to chat, over delicious Vanilla Bailey milkshakes, just what kind of House is blaring over the sound system, you realize how hip this part of Thailand is compared to the rest of the country.

Perhaps the extremes I witness are simply manifestations of globalization in action. The Thais, while preserving tradition, are tempted by the ways of the West, uncertain of which way to go. This struggle I see in my surroundings mirrors my own inner battle to find some stability.

Many people travel the world with hopes of finding themselves. I realize that the more I immerse myself in foreign environments, the less I actually know - about the world and myself - but the more willing I am to accept that and continue my journey. It's become a harsh enlightenment, my stint in Thailand, and a realization that turning 25 is like turning 1, but starting at an adult level. There is so much to see in the world. My life has barely begun.