Atticus Finch was born in 1960 with Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, To Kill A Mocking Bird. But, he was really conceived on December 25th, 1956. That morning, Michael and Joy Brown gifted Lee a Christmas miracle: a modest note that read, "You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas.” Stupefied, Lee thought it was a gag gift but the Browns insisted that they were feeling financially comfortable and assured here this investment, “was not a risk. It’s a sure thing.” She immediately left her job as an airline reservation receptionist and became absorbed in her passion: writing.
 
I feel like the time I have in Thailand is a gift from the Browns; I have space and time (four months down, six to go) to explore a research topic I care deeply about, experiment in the art world while curating a show in May, and invest in my personal growth by simply living in a new country/culture/language. 
 
I resonated with Haper Lee’s sheer disbelief in receiving this magical opportunity, but wonder if she too struggled with creating structure in a year where there is not much of a distinction between "personal life" and "professional life"-- when do you put your work away? At its core, my "job" is to build relationships with researchers, artists, and community members. My “methods” have included extending dinner to drink whiskey with villagers, biking along the Mun river with NGO liaisons, and pitching my art exhibit with potential artist collaborators in settings I least expect it (while at a cafe, at a music festival, ​on public transportation). 

​From grinning widely on the edge of a song tau to enjoying the breezy quietude in a treehouse lookout point, all of these moments invite two irreplaceable feelings: the wind dancing in my overgrown pixie cut and the gratifying calm that accompanies “stillness.” Pausing to observe, wonder, and marvel has evolved into a habit that also fuels my work. Ryan Holliday writes, "Stillness is that quiet moment when inspiration hits you. It’s what makes room for gratitude and happiness. It’s one of the most powerful forces on earth."

During this first month in Khon Kaen, I have been honing in on learning Thai and building relationships with researchers, artists, and community members. 

To ensure my work is rigorous and reflective of local needs, I am working under the guidance of Dr. Kanokwan Manorom (pictured below) who has focused on participatory impact assessment, Mekong river basin and wetlands environmental health, and indigenous knowledge on sustainable resource governance for over two decades. As the Director of the Mekong Sub-region Social Research Center at Ubon Ratchathani University, her broad network of researchers and activists will help me partner with organizations working to improve the health of rights-holders and their ecosystems. I met my "research mom" in person for the first time last week; I took three buses, two pick-up trucks, and a van to Rasi Salai and back. The fragmented journey was well worth the two days and nights I spent with a multidisciplinary team of five researchers and 70 community activists. 

The technical terms and long hours were, at times, grueling for me and my translator during the internal research meeting. Besides the few tired yawns and stamina challenge, I felt extremely lucky to witness the professors' decades of expertise in wetlands-related research (e.g., water resource management, social development, public health, economics, etc.). Furthermore, my study's timeline aligns well with theirs- a serendipitous discovery that will allow us to share data,  contextualize my research findings, and overall add to the depth and breadth of my project. After the internal research meeting, 70 villagers and representatives of 10 major activist groups from Sisaket, Surin, and Roi Et attended a three-hour community meeting. Given my limited social capital and resources, this meeting was invaluable; attendees heard from each lead researcher, asked excellent questions with useful feedback, and expressed their appreciation and buy-in for this applied research initiative. 

My last post was a Summer 2017 journal entry, an ode to my tote bag, written on the L train in Brooklyn--
 
While perusing through a funky art market in Khon Kaen, her piercing stare caught my eye and she hasn't left my side since. She's poignant and pungent, graceful and unassuming. I wonder why an accessory or article of cloth can feel so intimate - perhaps it’s because objects can scoff at the idea of a life span. Tote bags survive longer than relationships and outlive its buyer. Vintage items hold memories and moments cherished by strangers- a concept that an entire market of shoppers succumb to.
 
Since that summer, a lot has transpired both personally and professionally. I became a member of the “grief club” with the loss of my close aunt-mother-friend-mentor, graduated from Tulane, moved to Washington, D.C. to work in healthcare research and then an urban garden nonprofit, and ventured to find joy amongst significant changes in my relationships to people and places. This October morning, I found two August 2019 doodles and journal entries that took me back to the L train: the quiet trepidation that comes just before leaving a place you love, along with its people.

A Self Portrait During Transition
What drives you? Moves you? Scares you?

The Twin Crises of Inequality and Climate Change 
Creative Hands
My Relationship to People
Loss of a Loved One

For me, August is always heavy with reflection and preparing for change- new school year approaching, summer job and accompanying fling come to a close, lease ending, preparing for a move, a dozen goodbye parties. It was the last decent month I had with Lali. My journal fills up fastest in the summer time.

Tribulations of Transition
Three weeks and change left in DC, journaling on the left side of my bed. Camera in hand, I hesitate taking pictures of my room for the Craigslist listing; should I strip the personal items from my walls? My compact English basement room has accumulated a handful of new objects over the last 8 months.

​New doodles and photos splattered, sunscreen for the garden gig, and the seat of my broken orange boyfriend of a bike. Two sheets take up the most space on my walls— both old gifts from people who have shaped me through their presence and loss. 

Object-Based Storytelling
​Since that 2017 summer in Brooklyn, I’ve become obsessed with artifact storytelling. From Glenna Gordon’s lyrical approach to photographing objects that depict the “unphotographable” to the Museum of Broken Relationships’ collection of exta[ordinary] mementos, I can’t stop thinking about the power of object-based storytelling. In fact, this fascination led me back to Khon Kaen, the birthplace of my tote bag, where I write from now. In September 2019-July 2020 with the support of a Fulbright Research Grant, I am conducting community-based participatory research in dam-affected wetlands in Rasi Salai in Isaan (Northeast Thailand). While here, I hope to curate an object-based storytelling exhibit.
 
Since its construction in 1992, the Rasi Salai Dam has led to displacement, health and human rights violations, and the destruction of natural resources. I seek to illuminate villagers’ evolving relationship to the Mekong River and wetlands over the past quarter century through an object-based storytelling exhibit, featuring 20-30 meaningful yet ordinary objects paired with first-person accounts and photography. This collection will provide a fresh look at the political ebb and flow of the Mekong River, grassroots movements, and potential solutions to achieve a planet in balance. The exhibit will travel to two Isaan cities (Khon Kaen and Ubon Ratchathani) followed by select US cities with accompanying local speakers to nurture a dialogue around identity, climate change, and successful grassroots movements in the Global South. This storytelling project provides me with creative ways to engage a larger audience and stakeholder group, elevate community voices, foster indigenous leadership and autonomy, and generate a shared and nuanced understanding of environmental health issues that impact the human condition.
 
I clutch my bag, and ruminate on how circling back to a person, place, or thing will never be the same as when you left it; even if an artifact remains in tact, the intangible ecosystem around it is constantly evolving. And so am I. 

The soft-spoken man brushes the ground, and underneath disheveled brown forsaken leaves, lies the faint outline of a rectangle. He bends down solemnly and steadily lifts what now appears to be the entrance to a tunnel.

Other foreigners around me join me in this strange scene of tourism- families and couples are each accompanied by their own local guide. Everyone, as if in a synchronized act, fawns over this magic trick and whips out their camera. The guides demonstrate how to enter the tunnel and tells us to follow. 

Besides the claustrophobia accompanied by crawling through the tunnels, it was an awe-inspiring experience for my dad and me.