Nanyang.

A touch on the shoulder can soften a heart.

I have been getting along very well with all of the teachers at Nongkhao, and naturally, in a matter of eight hour days spent with 250 students, rapid Thai, and broken English, I have grown attached to them. I love our conversation through translation and mispronunciation, and of course I appreciate a good game of Patong with Mr. Sirachuch Pandom -- a man who never ceases to make me laugh; his hobby is joking after all.

I do not always hear a connection through language, but I feel it through a hand on my knee as I sit, or a touch on my side as a teacher slips by with a beaming Nongkhao smile. Here I directly experience how an ear deaf to linguistic understanding creates a potent experience.

With the students, I have been just as much of a friend. In fact, now we even share the same style of shoes.

This past week, I decided that in order to better connect with students, I should appear as one of them. All Thai students wear uniforms to school. The girls wear black buckled shoes, high white socks with blue heels, and navy skirts topped with a sky blue button down shirt. The boys wear blue button down shirts as well; but with a pair of khaki shorts, high socks, and black or brownish-orange shoes called Nanyang's. After telling PDum and TDum (the husband and wife teacher team that I am staying with in Nongkhao), of my plan to reach out to the students even more, and after receiving their approval, we began a search for a propper fitting shoe.

Our first stop was the department store, but unfortunately my big American feet could not squeeze into their largest size; a 42. So the search continued. Second stop: a small one-room street shop that carried a pair of orange Nanyang's in size 43. I tried them on with my bare feet and after factoring in the thickness of a pair of socks through estimation, I paid 260 Baht and happily carried my new purchase back to Nongkhao.

Every morning at Nongkhao school, the students assemble facing the Thai flag in a seated, cross-legged fashion, until they are asked to rise for the Thai national song; and every morning, along with most of the teachers, I walk directly through this assembly. Now, as I walked into the courtyard, smiles and pointed fingers spread like a fire through their ranks. They pointed at my shoes and laughed, and of course, I laughed in return.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!", they tell me later, pointing aggressively at my new sneakers.

"Same!", I say while pointing at their's.

Everyday, I walk to their tables and sit listening to the tonal sounds of Thai. Patiently, through a smile, gestures, and a mixed bag of Thai words I now know, we spend time with each other. Without a doubt, patience is the most important and needed character trait for helping these students with English. I imagine it would be the same with any foreign language. For almost eight daily hours of time at Nongkhao school, I understand only a fraction of the students lightning fast language, but in the midst of these hours, I see the strong potential of students who want to talk and just like me sit, waiting for fragmented border crossings in the lie of the land between us.

This has been a lesson in patience with a smile.