I'm a bogus Asian on vacation in Asia and as it turns out, it's not that easy to just blend in with the crowd. Before I arrived in Thailand, I thought it would be great to finally be in a place where I'd just be another Asian face in a sea of Asian faces. After growing up in the U.S. and then living in Germany these past 20 years, I was looking forward to finally not standing out in the crowd. But somehow it just isn't working out as I'd planned.
The Thais can see right away that I'm not Thai. So they spend some time giving me the old up-and-down. The tourists, mostly from Europe, see me with my tall, good-looking German husband and assume I'm a local girl out on a "date." That grants me either long chilly stares from the wives, or a once-over from the men, who probably wonder why my guy didn't take someone much younger.
My husband is also getting a bit irritated about the stares. Last night he said, "Sometimes I just want to scream and say - 'she's Japanese American'!" We were hoping to finally get away from those nosy looks we get in Germany, but maybe it's even worse here in Thailand.
Anyway, our hotel is located on a sparkling, white-sand beach called Choeng Mon. It's been amazing to discover that this small stretch of land is it's own little universe to so many.
Yesterday I had a soothing massage and interesting talk with the Blind Massage Man. I'd seen him every day, massaging clients under a shady tree, his matt spread out, radio on, and the sign: "Blind Massage - can see a little".
At first I thought maybe it was a gimmick, you know, like the guys who used to come up to you in the airport claiming to be deaf and asking for a donation so they could continue their lip-reading courses. But a few days later I saw him walking along with his white cane and realized that he could only read his watch by bringing it right up to his eye.
So I took him up on his offer and found out several things. First of all, the sign should actually read: 'Singing Blind Massage' - because Mr. Massage has a wonderful singing voice which he prefaces with a short, "Oh, good music, very good music," and then accompanies in perfect harmony the music coming from his little wind-up radio.
Secondly, Mr. Massage wasn't always blind. He said that until 25 years ago there was nothing on the island of Ko Samui. No hotels, no tourists, no doctors. So in those bygone days, when he was 18, he was hit by a bad case of malaria. Without a doctor, he lingered in a coma for one month. When he woke up, he couldn't see. After telling the story, he laughed and said, "Bad thing, very bad - but good thing is, I live - I live!"
Yes, he lived to marry a local girl and father two children. His wife has a little shop on the other side of the island, and so they etch out a living, him massaging on the beach and her running the shop. He's been massaging at that same spot under the tree for over 25 years and he's had many offers from hotels to come and work for them, but he said, "I like better be free." Very smart man.
Also smart in his choice of location under the shady tree on Choeng Mon beach. I asked why he doesn't massage on the beach where his wife has a store, and his wise answer was so descriptive I could literally see what he was saying. "No, no, not good. My family, they come to me all day - 'I hurt here, I hurt there - please look to my back, fix here, fix there.' I no can make money, family coming to me all day!" And then it was my turn to laugh because I could imagine his five brothers and sisters and their families crowding around him all day long.
The Massage Man's treatment helped more than just my aching back. After it was over, I realized that his stories and his singing had made me happy. Happy to be alive, happy to be able to see, happy to hear his songs, happy to feel laughter in the midst of what could be seen as tragedy. He gave me hope for all of us.
Published February 2, 2007
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