Cheers to The Passenger

Dear Passenger,

It’s been nearly six months since you drunkenly slouched next to me in my black 2006 Accord and told me how unhappy you were sure I’d be and, despite telling myself I should, I still haven’t forgotten you.

I remember clearly the way you spoke with such cynical authority, so sure the world was as lost as I think you think you are. I played hired ear as I drove you from the bar to your destination while you articulately slurred your recollection of the road that had led your path to intersect with mine.

I remember feeling my pulse incrementally quickening as you described more and more of the same forks and mile markers that I too had trekked past on my way to now. It would seem that the almighty cartographer in the sky had drawn our maps with parallel strokes, but yours in an embittered crimson ink.

As my car cut through that muggy North Carolina night, you regaled me with tales of your own time in the East, of all the unpleasantries you were convinced would quickly drive me back to the open arms of comfort and convenience at home.

Well.

I’m still here and I can’t remember a time I’ve been happier. I’m tired, and I’m stressed, and I’m always sweaty, but I’m happy. In fact, in the face of your assured sardonicism, I feel more fulfilled than I think I’ve ever felt.

It’s been just about three months since I arrived in Thailand with Peace Corps and I’ve felt nothing but welcomed by the country you told me you “couldn’t fucking stand” and the organization you called “an equal waste of taxpayer money and your time.” I’ve been with two host families now, both equally accommodating, kind, and excited to share their lives with me. I’ve taught English at a school with teachers and students who were as eager to learn and teach as I am to do the same. I’m learning the language, though slowly admittedly, and I helped facilitate a small leadership camp. I’m trying all of the delicious, spicy foods I can get my hands on, and I’m absorbing as much of this wonderful and unique culture as I can. I’ve even lost thirty pounds in the time I’ve been here.

Although I told myself I would, I haven’t forgotten you. How can I when you represent everything I hope never to be? The day we met I was very much still afraid I could become you; that I would become you.

But now I’m sure I can’t.

Your bleak disenchantment with the world disgusted me then and it continues to disgust me now. The sense of purpose I’ve found in my work here in only a brief three months has assured me so. My experience thus far has been anything but perfect, but for every mistake I've made or slight I've felt, there is a kind word and a personal victory. It all comes down to the lens through which we choose to view the world, on what we choose to assign our focus. I know that like anything else, my service and my life will have peaks and valleys, but now when I find myself at a valley in which the path of least resistance, the lowest point at which the water flows, leads to pessimism and disillusionment I’ll think of you. I’ll remember on what you chose to focus your lens, how you are everything I was afraid I would be.

An abstract fear now has a face; yours.

It’s been nearly six months since we met, and I haven’t forgotten you. I’m excited to continue my service here in Thailand and let it help shape me into the man I want to be, and as I do I’ll record here all the things that make me proud to be a PCV with the hope that one day you might read this and see just how wrong you were about me, about Peace Corps, and about Thailand.

In the meantime, cheers. You, or at least the idea of you, has helped me strive to be stronger, to remain optimistic in the face of hardship, to keep openminded when I don’t understand, to encourage others to always look for the good that is surely there, and to pursue my ambitions in the face of defeatism.

I choose to remember you, so I never become you.

Sincerely,

Ian Tramm

PCV 131