I’ve made the acquaintance of a very distinguished woman tonight. Meh Tuu (great grandmother to Isaac and Joshua) is the latest addition to this very full house. Even as I begin to write about her just now, she comes and sits down beside me on my bed, flipping through my little photo album and commenting duly on my young looking mother and handsome boyfriend. When I put down my pen she takes the opportunity to have a (mostly one sided) conversation.
Being in the presence of Meh Tuu is refreshing. As an 80 year old woman in a country where 45% of the population is under the age of 15, Meh Tuu has far surpassed an age where she is expected to conform to the many rules and social niceties of Lao culture. While most Lao woman sit primly on the floor with their legs positioned modestly beneath and their traditional skirts ever so carefully tucked around them, Meh Tuu can sit however she like, wear whatever she finds comfortable, and is not afraid to speak her mind. Through it all she somehow maintains inexplicable dignity and poise. There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye which causes children to flock to her, climbing her like a tree and beckoning forth her gutsy, unbridled laughter. Despite the language barrier, Meh Tuu’s openness makes her a fascinating person to talk to.
As I began to reflect on the significance of age and more specifically on the freedoms and limitations which accompany various ages, I realized some interesting things about how my age impacts my life here and now. As most of you know, I am 19 years old. That, I know is very young, and for a long time I have seen my youth as only a limitation. I often feel that the world is full of things that I could or should be doing, if only I was older or more experienced. More over, whichever stage I happen to be at in life, I know I spend an excessive amount of time planning and anticipating (or more often worrying) about which ever stage I feel should come next. Since arriving in Laos, I am slowly beginning to see that these thought patterns are neither accurate nor healthy.
Firstly, although, unlike Meh Tuu, I am expected to comply with the many aspects of social etiquette common to all young women in Laos, I realize now that my youth also gives me some incredible advantages. My youth allows me to live as a part of a Lao family here and be seen as their daughter. My youth allows me to visit people in their homes without seeming intimidating or threatening. My youth allows me to work as one member of a larger team rather than always being expected to lead, teach and advise. I really believe that because I am young and lacking in power and status, I am allowed to experience many aspects of life in Laos, that would otherwise be kept hidden from me, and for that I am truly thankful.
Furthermore, living with a “what’s next?” mindset did not allow me to fully appreciate or experience moments as they unfolded. Living in the here and now is essential in Laos. Things are rarely planned in advance at all nor can I begin to predict what sort of unplanned events might occur, and so anticipation of the sort I dwell in at home is futile. It’s good to remind myself that I can’t measure time or productivity here in ways that are familiar to me. I am not all convinced that the time I take to complete the stack of paperwork on my desk is more "productive" than the time I spend sitting beside Meh Tuu, eating roasted yams as she stirs a bubbling pot of bamboo soup.
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