Retirement Part 2: Fish or Pig?

The sword bridge and red carpet.

So after learning that the Thai police force does NOT speak Russian on Fridays, the pre-ceremony mingling session is over. We go upstairs and sneak through a door to get into the main room. It’s large (about the size of half a soccer field), dimly lit, wonderfully decorated, and full of people. We get a prime spot just as the action is about to begin. Around 20-25 police are included in the retirement ceremony. They’re escorted in in procession under a bridge of swords, announcements booming. After a brief stop in front of over a dozen flashing cameras and one video camera showing their image on two giant screens along the walls, they turn and continue along the red carpet towards the stage. And no retirement ceremony is complete without fog machines. So, of course, there were two situated with fog tumbling down the staircase (and by the looks of the room, they had been running long before everything began). After a speech with all the retirees on stage, they were let to mingle again and we snacked on more food on small plates.

The Family!

A slide show came on of all the retiring officers. When it came time for my family, they showed a family photo I’ve seen many times hanging on the wall at home, taken maybe 10-12 years ago. Then comes up the family photo we took when I first arrived! There I am, on two big screens, in the middle of a classy ceremony. I’d heard that our host families would consider us a part of the family and not just a temporary guest, but I wasn’t quite expecting this. One a very important day for my pa, they showcased to the entire Police Region 5 community that they had a host daughter. And I noticed every time I’ve been talked about/introduced (at least, every time since I’ve learned the vocabulary, and introductions aren’t really a thing in Thailand…) they’ve called me their “luke sow” (daughter). They say they have three luke sow. Sometimes I’m given surprised looks, the new person stairs at me a little longer and says asks something along the lines of ‘ if they truly said luke sow. Really? she’s a farang… ?’ and my parents just smile and say “yes, a farang. She’s our daughter.” They’ve also told me to come back to Thailand when I’m married and have a child, because they want to see it. I explained that I worked three jobs all summer long to pay for this trip and severely depleted my bank account. It was unlikely that I’ll have the funds to come back, but if available I’d definitely love to. If nothing else, I think I’ll at least send them some pictures. We might not understand one another all the time both in language and customs, which can be incredibly frustrating,  but they care for me dearly and I love and appreciate them and all they’ve done to welcome me into Thailand and into their family.

Back to the story… This seems to be a common theme when I’m writing blogs. There is so much happening that I don’t write about but is useful backstory or side notes so I include it. Sometimes it makes the posts quite a bit longer, but I figure if you’re reading through these in their entirety, you probably care about me the most and are most interested in what I have to say. You’ll probably love living vicariously through my stories, so the longer the better, right? Maybe not, but I always write more than I intend (one story was three pages in Word, single spaced… whoops) and that’s just how it is. I really did intend to get back to my story at the start of this paragraph, I don’t know what happened. I think I’m turning into Christine Kasprisin. Her stories are famously long. A complete package includes a map being drawn. Once she used object to explain the orientation of eight desks. In a rectangle. Two by four. It was a difficult concept to grasp… maybe…? (Not, and I called her out on it). But it’s a Christine story and I love her all the same.

BACK TO THE STORY! So more mingling which for me included eating, talking to Fern, standing, and sitting. It was a lively time in the life of Sara Green. Lanna dancers came on stage and danced a beautiful performance in Lanna costume. Later on some men came out and performed drum music for us, complete with mini-gong, symbols, and tumbling across the floor. This was the drumming we learned while visiting the Lanna village during lecture. I’m not sure if I ever wrote about that day, but I have pictures that I will one day hopefully make into a scrap book. (I have lots of paper I’ve bought, piles of pictures, and a scrapbook. Somehow gluing the pictures in is too strenuous work for me. They’ve been accumulating more pictures and more papers since high school graduation. I swear I’m going to get to it someday!) Even later the women performed with a larger-than-necessary amount of flower petals and sparkly confetti, and eventually the men came back for a partner dance (I see an awesome Lanna/K-pop fusion dance coming together in my head for the spring showcase. Mixing old culture with new, it’s gonna be great.)

Pa receiving his award.

The retirees were sent back on stage again to receive awards and drink to a toast. My pa doesn’t drink, but everyone else partook. This time on stage was so long, my host sisters and I had time to go to the bathroom, fix our hair, and meander around before anything exciting happened. I didn’t understand any of the Thai speeches, so it was just as well that I missed most of it.

It was a great night. I’d never been to such an affair before in Thailand and probably won’t get to again. The vibe of the venue and decorations seemed like a lot of money was spent on this night. The food was delicious, all hors d'oeuvres (spell check didn’t even recognize that when I tried to spell it. Thanks Google search, for pulling me out of that one). There was a red carpet that didn’t actually seem out of place, a grand stage, tons of flowers and many were real. Everything was just pretty to look at and well thought out. The whole night took us about two and a half ours. We left after the band started playing (for more mingling time after all the ceremonies were complete).

By now you’re wondering why has she gone through so many words and none of them have been “fish” or “pig”? Well, to be honest, I forgot about that. I named the blog first, as I usually do, then write my story to share my experience and highlight a usually funny experience that is the title. And now you’re thinking so why didn’t you just work that back in somewhere? I’m a no-edits kind of writer. If I can’t think of what to say right then, it just get written right then. I’ll edit a sentence as I write, usually in my head, and once it’s on the page it usually stays as is. That involves the least amount of time spent working on a piece. No pre-planning and no editing afterwards (maybe a read through). I swear I get good grades in school! A little more thought and time is put into graded assignments. But this is a blog, and it’s mine. I’m the only grader, and if I say it’s good enough, hoorah! It’s published. A for making time to write this (aka not singing karaoke with my host family tonight and staying up a little later than preferred) and A+ if it’s got a little bit of funny somewhere it in. See? Now everyone wants me as a prof, foolproof grading scale.

So about the fish, or pig… In the dimly lit room it was a little hard to tell what we were eating all the time. The lights went extra low as well when something was happening on stage. Fern and I were eyeing the new food that the kitchen crew set out. It looked kind of good so I was to be the one to try it. It’s a breadish substance, with a pink meat on top, and some mayonnaise/tartar sauce-esque topping and maybe a little scallion garnish. I chew and taste, taste and chew. After a long moment of tasting, thinking, and a bewildered look on my face, I turn to Fern and announce “ni aroi” (this is tasty, one of the only ways I remember how to describe food). She just stares at me for a second.

“Fish or pig?” she asks.

“I can’t really tell… I think… maybe… I don’t know. It could have been either. It fell apart like fish, but it could have been pig. What do you think?” Really, I couldn’t tell if it was fish or pig. An odd thing to be unsure of, I’m sure. We both go for them and try to figure it out. Long pause after chewing. “I still don’t know, but I’m leaning towards fish”.

“It’s… fish? Maybe.”

“It falls apart easily like fish. I think its fish.”

“I think… fish.”

I guess we’ll never know for sure. But I think it was fish… I think.