joi to the world

It seems appropriate at this time of year-- when talk of holiday cheer and joy is abundant--to talk about the Joi in my life: my housemate. Though I’ve mentioned her previously, she really does deserve an entry of her own. Her personality and life are worthy of a reality TV show: she had a baby 7 months ago who lives with her parents in her hometown, an ex-husband who is trying to get her back, a boyfriend who is a musician, but only plays music in Hong Kong, and an obsession with Thai soap operas, belt making and all that is Isaan. Despite these, uhh, differences, Joi has managed, somehow, in her hilarious, easy-going and kind way, to make my life here in Warinchamrap feel exponentially safer, happier and more comfortable.

On my first night in Warinchamrap, after an exhausting day of 3-am wake-ups, moving-in, and trying not to cry about the place I was moving into, I came back to my new room to find a lovely, lovely surprise-- a foot longtokay had crawled through the gap above my door and sat its blue behind and beady eyes on my wall.

As most would probably do, I freaked the hell out and screamed for the roommate I had met just minutes prior. "JOOII!! JOOOII!!!!! JOOIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!" rattled our paper-thin walls as I frantically ran into her room, dragged her out of bed, and into my room to show her the freakish monster on my wall.

She took one look at it and then at me, her new, crazed, jumping, screaming, English-squawking housemate and stared for a good minute. "Huh?" her face read, "what the hell are you so worked up about?" Turns out that tokays are all over the place here-- a sight that I have gotten very used to-- and for Joi, who grew up in a small fisherman's town on the border of Laos, this little guy was barely of note, let alone something worth trying to chase out of a room. But after that solid minute of taking me in, she realized that my unadulterated fear could only mean that I had never seen one of those run-of-the-mill geckos before. She stammered, wide-eyed,"No.. tokay...(waved hand backwards to signal before)?"

I turned red, laughed, shook my head, and continued to jump up and down. And Joi, oh lovely Joi, promptly responded to my head shake by first laughing, and then picking up a broom and to shoo it-- and me-- away.

The tokay took off running through my room, first dashing into my closet, and then finding asylum in my newly unpacked clothes. We finally did get it out, though, and we managed to have our first big laugh together, too.

There have been countless moments like this with Joi—as I write this I am reminded of more and more--when her efforts and kindness have diffused a situation that would have felt otherwise unmanageable and overwhelming. She is patient with my Thai and is making huge improvements in her English (our conversations now consist of 3 or 4 word sentences!); I help her make these awesome, beaded belts that she sells at Big C (Thai equivalent of Walmart), and try to help her through her boy troubles (which she has a lot of); she invites me out with the other young staffers, takes me to dinner and even takes me shopping. She’s a wild one by Thai standards, but a kind, generous one by mine. Who knew you could glean so much by talking through a dictionary?

And so, reader, to end this sappy blog post I say: Joi to the world for awesome Thai roommates and friendships in unexpected places.

Happy holidays!

Love

Anna