I got head lice from my first teaching gig in 2020. It was during Covid-19, when all non-essential businesses were closed and shut down. This meant that I could not seek professional help to eradicate the lice, and I could not get a hair cut either. I purchased every different lice treatment possible, and although I felt the population decline, they never died to completion. It was four months before I finally rid myself of that infestation.

Once back in the US, I wore a shower cap continuously for four days. Those parasites suffocated and died in my scalp. On the fifth day, I went to a lice specialist in southern CA. She declared me lice-free. I was shocked. I had been ready to plunk down the $250-$300 for her to spend hours painstakingly combing out eat louse, each egg. Instead, four-days-of-nonstop-shower cap did the trick.

It also caused massive scalp peeling due to months of harsh chemicals I had doused my head with beforehand. I nearly went bald. The story here is that during the four months in which I could not get a haircut, I started to cut my own hair. After all, I reasoned, I had paid for uneven, crooked, and plain bad haircuts in Thailand, India, and Supercuts USA. Surely, I could do that to myself for free. Thusly armed with office scissors and a blurry mirror, I hacked away at my infested hair.

To note: During this time, I was still working and teaching at my first school in Thailand. I didn’t tell anyone about the lice, but maybe I should have warned my colleagues not to touch hair ribbons left inside the desks. I am certain that is how I got infested. No one said a word about my crooked haircut.

This tradition carries on to this day: I continue to cut my own hair, although I have moved on from office scissors to “blending shears” purchased for $2 at Daiso. I am not sure they are any better than office scissors, as my hair is still crooked. But it’s free dammit. On that note, time to cut my hair, Mowgli style.

That aloha feeling

I was required to teach a lesson called “Culture, Tradition, and Way of Life of Native English Speakers.” Initially, I balked at the topic, thinking, how boring it must be for students to learn again about American/British/Australian holidays (nationalities of the foreign English teachers.)

“Students, today we will learn about Thanksgiving,” cut to the class in a collective yawn.

Then, I had an inspiration to present a lesson on Hawaii. I included the history of Hawaii, two videos on the significance of hula, a video of a surf competition, and a video of Iz (showing the scattering of his ashes into the Pacific Ocean)—among other aspects of Hawaiian culture.

I was completely taken by surprise by how receptive my students were to the lesson, and how much they voluntarily participated! In the beginning, as I named all of the islands, spontaneously, my students started shouting the names after me! They never voluntarily spoke in English, but they loved saying anything in Hawaiian!

When I showed the hula video, the students spontaneously started clapping along with the hula chanter, and two boys stood in the back of the room shaking their hips!

Explaining the Hawaiian hand gesture, I had the entire class shout “shaka bruh!“—wish I had that on video.

I also noticed that during the Iz video, the students were both engaged but calm, as if Iz’s voice and vibe provided a soothing balm. I saw one boy swaying side to side, in sync with the music.

It was amazing, as if the strength of Hawaiian spirituality exuded through the lesson and genuinely touched my students. I wished I could’ve take them to a Hawaiian luau or hula lesson, but alas, it doesn’t exist in Chiang Mai.

Dorms or projects?

When I initially interviewed with this school, the hiring manager promoted the perk of free teacher dorms located on campus. Free wifi, free water, free electricity—what wasn’t to love? It turns out, the wifi, the water, the electricity. The wifi was so terrible, constantly dropping and cutting out while I taught online. I had to purchase my own hotspot.

Furthermore, power and water cuts made regular appearances à la India, except it wasn’t cheap like India and there wasn’t a chana dahl shop down the road. No one warned us to stock up on plastic buckets and fill them up with water for such occasions. The first time left me scarred and remembering when I had to “shower” with wet wipes in India, or take bucket baths by by the light of a small flashlight.

I only had a small bucket in my teacher-dorm-bathroom, enough for one shower, but not enough to flush the toilet. After 12+ hours, my room reeked…

Thus, I went to the market and bought a larger plastic bucket for showering. The smaller bucket would serve as flushing-water. I filled up multiple jars for brushing teeth. I stored jugs in the closet, in the bathroom cupboard, in the shower. Sheesh… teacher dorms be like teacher projects…

No power, no water, ironically pouring outside due to the monsoon. It was lovely to sit in a darkened room listening to the rain, with windows wide open, smelling fresh air.

Straight from the market where I had purchased the large plastic bucket, I hoofed it to a café near school to charge my phone. Hilariously, I ran into one of my colleagues and fellow teacher-projects-resident—also there to charge his phone and laptop!