Looking Across the Cross-generational-international Gap

By Mikael Frey ‘22, Taigu Fellow 2022-2024

Throughout my childhood and young adulthood, my parents have participated in a program at our local university. For a few months, they would host an international student in our home, helping them navigate the move to America. I was always fascinated as a child by these worldly people with interesting stories, accents, and futures. I remember an outgoing Dutch man who taught me simple words in his language and a quiet Japanese women who stayed in touch with my mom for years after.

But the student who I remember - rather, who I know - best came most recently, a few years ago, around the time I was finishing high school. She was initially quiet and nervous around us, but as time passed we stayed close. She stayed in our city, found work, got married, and had a beautiful baby girl. Throughout this time, we stayed in contact. My sister and I often babysat for her, and we would meet for dinners and holidays.

A small Budda statue at Ayutthaya

So, when Shansi Agricultural University had its first winter break, I decided to use my open invitation to visit her parents in Thailand. I had spent the semester longing to leave my currently cold and dreary corner of the United States. I took the plunge, and ordered plane tickets to a country I’d never been to, to stay with people I had met only once. My exhilaration faded some after over 20 hours of travel, but my energy perked up when I was standing, suddenly, in the warm air of Bangkok.

The road outside of my host's home

My hosts were incredibly warm people, showering me with so much generosity I was made uncomfortable by it. This is the thing it took me the longest to accept: that though I was an American adult, here I was their host child and there was no world in which they were going to let me pay for a meal, or even purchase something in front of them. I was horrified to find that they had taken off work to show me around; that they had bought me a phone to use while I was there; that they insisted on giving me money to spend when I was traveling alone in Bangkok.

Me (right) and my house mom at a floating market

I took everything in. I was delighted by my time traveling alone in Bangkok, navigating on foot, by taxi, and most frequently by the incredibly convenient train system that I remain envious of. Equally, I loved my time with my hosts, whether it was relaxing at their rural home, surrounded on three sides by rice paddies, or being pulled through crowds by a firm grip on my arm by my host - as though she were afraid I would get lost. It was so much of what I had longed for all semester, but I was also aware that I was here not merely as foreigner, but as a tourist.

The cycling path I nearly fell off of in Bangkok

The next leg of my travels was brief, but stays strong in my memory. I made my way to Banda Aceh, and stayed for a few nights with Jack and Lucy, the fellows there. Seeing their lives, their home, and the way that living there had given them new insight and perspective struck me deeply.

I had been thinking of Taigu, of what it would be like to live and teach there, but I’d been dreaming blind. Seeing Jack and Lucy gave me a visual on what Shansi meant, what it did, and the impact it had. I left Aceh more determined than ever to set foot in Taigu, but also more acutely aware of what I - we - were missing. I’m proud of the work myself and the China fellows do, and I’ve loved getting to know my students. But I’ve stepped in the greener grass, and am more ready than ever to go frolic in it.

Me (left), Jack (right), and Lucy on Sabang, an island near Banda Aceh