Intersecting Worlds

“Steve, is ahh-ticle almoss finish?”
I snap out of my heat-induced trance as a bead of sweat rolls off of my nose. Nodding to reassure my co-worker that the article I’m toiling over about rapes committed by Burmese government troops is completed; I glance around the cavernous room. Part of a Northern Thai house converted to a media headquarters, the room is filled with young Shan writers displaced by civil war.
On this day, my last of a month as a volunteer reporter writing about Burma, my mind scrambles to etch fleeting memories into stone. My sentiment is sharply cut off by another co-worker beckoning me outside for lunch. Making my way past orphaned children gathered around an old TV, I slip on flip-flops and take my place at the chipped stone table.
As usual, today’s meal finds me as curious about the table’s dishes as I am hungry. Watching chicken feet float lazily in a murky soup, I spoon mysterious vegetables and dangerously hot glistening chilies into my rice bowl.
Few foods taste quite as delicate and savory as ones you’re unlikely to taste again. Happy conversation and hearty laughter belie both my dread towards leaving and the reality of life for my displaced friends.
A few hours later, after difficult goodbyes, I turn my back on the now familiar setting for a final time.
Drinking in slowly the menagerie of details that my daily commute has brought, I fight back tears and an overwhelming feeling of fulfillment. Dirt from the road mixes in with my tears as chickens and stray dogs dart past my feet. Familiar toothless Thai women call out greetings as I walk, forcing me to smile despite my complicated mood.
Reaching the exit of this traditional community, I stride north wistfully, towards the backpacker hub of Chiang Mai’s old city. Though these two worlds are so close in proximity and different in complexion, their intersection has been made possible by the life altering experience of volunteering while traveling.