Dear friends,
Happy Songkran!
My impression of Songkran, or Thai New Year, has always been somewhat like Holi: an ancient Hindu festival where people throw coloured powder on each other. Crowds on the street splashing coloured water from buckets, celebrating something or the other, or maybe just togetherness. I was rid of this illusion about two weeks ago when a colleague told me that Songkran involves regular water, not coloured, and again today when I learned that it is basically Thai New Year. Think Chinese New Year, but for the Thais. There's a Chu Xi (New Year's Eve) where families gather, and then a widely commemorated Day 1 and 2 where visitations happen. The water-splashing and rowdy festivities have their roots in a much gentler, more subdued washing of each other to ring in the start of a new rice-growing season. For a country that has much of its historical, cultural and economic roots in rice planting and production, I found this apt and poetic. When the rains come in April and May, it's time to start planting rice so your family has food on the table this time next year. Before you start, you celebrate the months of sun, rain, and labour before you. But because fun holidays like this are easily commodified and made into tourist attractions, I had always imagined Songkran as another rowdy, rambunctious day of fun.
On the contrary, I had a quiet and tranquil day. I spent the morning at home with my dad and Ney. We had breakfast and spring-cleaned; later on I made lunch and a pot of jam with some overripe jackfruits from the fridge. Rice planting season also happens to be mangosteen, mango, and mulberry season; there are probably other fruits that come into great abundance during this time that I don't yet know about. It's the rain that does it, suddenly coming in droves after months of dryness. Having a basketful of mangosteens at home and nothing else to neutralize the stark sweetness of jackfruit in the jam, I thought a handful of them might do the trick and it did. After that, feeling the muggy heat of the afternoon, I drove out for ice cream and dinner with a friend. I thought I might catch some of the festivities, but it was surprisingly quiet around here.
Being further north from the equator, Thailand is much more seasonal than Singapore. Even though the seasons don't come in extremes like in Europe or the Americas, the changes - in heat, humidity, rainfall - are still palpable for someone who is used to the relative climactic monotony of Singapore. Especially in the North of Thailand, December and January are chilly while the summer months are sweltering. In some provinces, it's coming to above 40 degrees this weekend.
I spent the past ten days at Sahainan Organic Permaculture Farm in Nan province, all the way at the northern Laotian border. I attended a Practical Permaculture Course, which is pretty much exactly what the name suggests. We learned about the principles and practices of permaculture, but unlike in a usual Permaculture Design Certificate course which accredits and certifies you as a 'permaculturist', this was a lot more hands-on and integrated into the lives of the couple who own the farm and run this course monthly. As a functional permaculture farm, it was fascinating to observe how their lives fit into a highly self-sufficient system which they, as much as the plants and animals on their farm, had to work for. They grow most of their food themselves, from staples like rice to different fruits, vegetables and even nuts. Their electricity is entirely generated by solar power, which restricts their usage to lights and a phone charging station, especially at night. Their huts and shelters are built with teak from the neighboring farm, mud bricks formed with soil from their land, and bamboo harvested around or nearby the farm. Everyday items - from bowls, to washing 'detergent' and spoons, are made of things found in nature - coconut shells as bowls, ash from the stove to wash dishes, and spoons carved out of bamboo. It is rather labour-intensive, or constantly laborious to live this way, but incredibly circular. This was not only a system that produced minimal waste, but one that managed to start and end with soil, from which life emerges and to which death and decay may comfortably return. I learned a lot from the course and enjoyed it tremendously. I wrote it about it daily on Facebook and won't repeat for fear of boring you, but you can find my reflections there if you're interested :)
What inspired me the most was how they managed to live and sustain themselves, in diverse yet grounded ways, off the land. I don't know how to emphasize that or my fascination for land in a better way. In today's world where many of the ways we are not self-sufficient are hidden from us, this was a real eye-opener.
Take a moment to think about it, or look around you. No, really! Let's do it together. What's in front of you right now?
-- thinking break --
-- are you ready? --
-- let's go! --
So from where I am: I've an induction cooker outside and a fridge across the room; detergent by the sink and plastic bowls, spoons and cups in the dish rack. I'm typing this email on a modern, square table, and my computer is plugged in right where I am. The lights are on because it's night, and I'm sitting on a comfortable chair.
All I had to do to get here was sit down and turn on my computer. But over there, we lit fires from recycled cardboard and firewood to make tea or cook meals, and carved bowls out of coconut shells and cups from bamboo when we needed new ones. We charged all our devices at a small hut where the solar panels and battery were located. Chairs were either non-existent, or benches fashioned from hard wood. There was no fridge, so all our food was made to portion, 'recycled' for the next meal, or cooked in a way that could be stored easily. A lot more effort goes into living that way, and in some ways less comfort, but in other ways more security in knowing that your mind and body can contribute to their own re-enabling. I'm not sure if this makes sense; I'm still processing some of the experience, but needless to say it was quite a profound one for me.
Since returning home, my time at Sahainan has been the table topic of choice between my dad, Ney and I. Our lives are very comfortable both materially and mentally - we are financially secure but not extravagant in the way we spend money and use resources. It's safe to say that we want for little and are content with what we have. Yet compared to Sahainan, coming back home felt like a massive luxury. I had barely spent money in the past ten days because there was virtually no need to, so returning to a setting where things I need or want are acquired with money was jarring. This was especially so because we purportedly advocate for and promote sustainability, both in our own lives and the work that we do. Truth be told, I felt like a bit of a hypocrite for not moving off-grid and living circularly off the land.
Talking about it has been illuminating, though. We discussed various ideas of what it means to live low-impact - growing your own food and deriving your material needs from the earth is one of them. Not having kids is another big one, and so is the kind of work that you do and who it reaches out to. Living off the land works for some, but however many opinion pieces tout it as the path to ending climate change, the fact is that we're not all going to turn table and do it. For many, the road to an environmentally friendly existence is a lot less straightforward. In my dad's view, it starts from the self: one's own body and mind must be healthy in order for one to start caring about the environment. There are both of these views, and many more in between. Among the people I know, I can think of some who would drop everything and become a permaculture farmer in the countryside, but many more who would not, including myself. So it's neither that farming is unrealistic nor that not-farming is hypocritical; it's just that life and how to live works differently for everyone. Even in the face of something as real and daunting as climate change. Big surprise, huh?
I'm curious to know what you think about this. As always, there's no obligation to reply, but I'd love to hear your thoughts :)
It's been a joy to write to you, as always. Even though I'm doing it from the comfort of my dad's house, and not the alternative comfort of a wooden hut with a bamboo floor and mosquito netting
I hope you are enjoying your weekends, and I'm sending love from a very lush, green, and (soon to be) fruit-filled Khao Yai.
Hui Ran