Rambling thoughts on this odd existence

I've chosen an odd existence for 2 years. Sometimes I forget this.

Usually my entries include a funny story or some random observation about Thailand. I can't seem to come up with any right now. Instead I feel like just rambling about life in the hopes of finding some comfort in this odd existence.

I knew going into the Peace Corps that it would be challenging and frustrating. That's part of the reason I signed up. I wanted to push myself to the limits and really put myself outside of my comfort zone. I think often times people learn the most about themselves when the comforts they usually rely on are not there and they are forced to find support internally. If nothing else, I have succeeded at that task. Now that I'm here, the challenges and frustrations I face are completely different than I anticipated. I was worried about spicy food and squat toilets and bugs. While those are certainly issues here, they aren't the ones that I struggle with.

Awhile ago, someone from the States asked me "Do you have friends in your village?" A simple enough question, but I had to think about my answer. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that no, I don't have any friends in the village. I know people and I talk to people, but I wouldn't call that friendship. My interactions with people include talking about what I ate for breakfast or where I'm going or why I'm walking and not riding my bike. I don't feel particularly lonely, but I must be, right?

I was gone traveling for the past 2 weeks to Khao Yai National Park, 2 weeks of Peace Corps training in Korat (a big city about 3 hours from me), and a weekend in Bangkok. I had a blast hanging out with other volunteers and realizing they share the same frustrations as I do. We all have ridiculous stories of life in the village; it's great to hear of other volunteer's stories of Thai knappings and language miscommunications. But when it came time to head back to my village, I had this odd sinking feeling in my stomach. I wasn't dreading going back, but I wasn't jumping for joy either. It was this odd sense of anxious indifference.

As I pulled into my village, it struck me how dull and faded and old the village is. I was used to hotels, tourist hot spots, and the modernity of Bangkok. I realized how starkly different my life is in the middle of Isan. I feel as though my life here is completely unbalanced. My weeks in the village are filled with buffalo slowly roaming the street, attempting to speak Thai/Laos with the neighbors, and spending lots of time alone in my house. My weeknds are packed with crazy bus rides to big cities, going out to bars with fellow volunteers, eating more American food than I can fit in my stomach, and staying in nice hotels. It's one extreme to the other, with no middle ground in sight. Going from these extremes is becoming exhausting. It's hard to make my mind make the mental switch from air conditioned hotels to planting rice in the heat.

I've decided to take a few days, maybe weeks, to ponder this existence. I ate lunch with my coworkers today; we sat outside and ate sticky rice and unidentifiable food with our hands and I felt oddly lucky. This experience is nothing like I thought it would be and I'm just trying to reconcile all of that in my mind. Some days I feel like I don't have a purpose and won't be able to accomplish anything here, part of the problem is that I don't even know what there is to be accomplished. I know a brilliant realization won't magically appear, as lovely as that would be, I need to figure this out for myself. I put myself outside of my comfort zone, so here I am and now it's time to do something with that.