The Monklets

Afternoon in Cha-am is a sticky affair. I know there are a million other places in the world that are hotter and/or more humid, but right now it feels very warm here. Very warm. Maybe when I'm old I'll obsess over weather, but for now I'll move on. There are far more interesting things to think about than the warm weather.

A couple days ago, a few of us here in Cha-am headed out on scooters in search of story. We took a short ride back to the monastery we had visited a couple days previously, and the area was nearly empty, with the distant sounds of little monklets in school emanating from a nearby building. We began wandering the grounds, slowly and respectfully moving around buildings and statues rich with carvings and color. I wandered out of the filtered light of tree-cover to shoot a twenty-foot-tall statue of Buddah covering his eyes and ears, and quickly began sweating out every ounce of water I had ingested in the previous twelve hours. From a distance I heard the powerful strains of Eastern music played by a Thai brass band. I sought out the source of the music, finding the drummers and brass players under a covered area, bare-footed sitting next to a table heavy with typically gaudy Buddhist symbols and icons. These men were practicing for a later performance, but seemed to be playing as if there were no tomorrow, with all the gusto and and brassy harshness you would expect from a group five times its size. It was powerful.

We had spent the better part of an hour shooting and musing around the grounds of the monastery, and were slowly heading back to our scooters when our monk friend from our previous visit to the grounds approached us, a giant yellow umbrella protecting him from the harsh Thai sun. He was all smiles at the sight of Jason, and the two of them instantly began sharing Jason's camera, taking turns being photograph-er and photograph-ed. As Jason was engaged with our monk friend, some of the little monk kids began spilling out of their nearby building, on break for lunch. I started shooting the kids a little from a distance, unsure whether it was completely acceptable for me to shoot either monks or children, and especially unsure when they were sort of both. The kids didn't seem to mind, and I approached a couple of them, turning my camera's screen toward them so they could see what and who I was shooting. One of the nearby adults began gesturing to me, and I quickly realized he was encouraging me to interact with the kids. I jumped at the opportunity, and approached a dozen or so of the young monks, most around the age of ten. They were such boys! I guess I had never thought much about the humanity of monk-hood, about the fact that these holy men are really just men. These boys were shoving each other, smiling and laughing, teasing and joking with each other and the camera. I got a real glimpse past the orange robes and shaved heads, into the individual personalities and characters of the kids. I thought about the monk Jason had befriended, how he was very much fascinated by photography, and began piecing together a fictional story for how his life may have resulted in him being a monk. Maybe he had always been interested in photography. Maybe he had always enjoyed the capturing of images, telling stories. Maybe his family, in an effort to receive blessing, had given him over to becoming a holy man as a young boy, like the boys surrounding me. Maybe all he wanted was to be a photographer, but had no choice as a man of the cloth. A lot of maybes, but greater than that, in my heart I began to understand the humanity of the Thai people.

Cultural separation can create divides in my ability to see people as people, but I've come one step closer to understanding and loving my Thai brothers and sisters. And all through a group of orange-clad head-shaved children.

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