“Congratulations, Mr. Chris Marin”

Essentially, that is what the teaching award had emblazoned in striking gold ink across its formal heading (for those of you who are not aware of this, my last name is actually Martin). Last Friday, which happens to be Teacher’s Day in Thailand, saw me attending a 4 1/2 hr awards ceremony that started 8:00 in the am. This would not have been so bad if it weren’t for the fact that Teacher’s Day is a national holiday here in Thailand (especially for the teachers one would assume), so the rest of my fellow teachers took off for a beach resort island while myself and another teacher attended the awards ceremony

And I really shouldn’t complain about the misspelled name- the other teacher’s name had been peppered with additional vowels and syllables, morphing it into something that closer resembled a title allotted for a shrub through the binomial nomenclature naming system- so everything in perspective, I suppose.

Just one of the perks of being a teacher in Thailand, I suppose- having your name pronounced, spelled, and interpreted in ways you would never have imagined on your own creativity.

Not all was dreery, however. On Saturday night, I finally made a long-overdue appearance at the Saxophone, a premiere jazz club that has distinguished a name for itself as being one of the hottest spots for live music in Bangkok’s scene. A creme-colored Les Paul wailed out fabulously complex blues riffs, sometimes with an aggressive, lightning tempo and other times a soft and soulful cry, artistically pumping the wah pedal to create that resonant moan that perfectly embodies the wrenching soul of good blues.

As my fingers swayed and tapped in steady synchrony with the 12-bar tunes, my wandering thoughts began to stitch together the striking similarities between the life I have presently chosen and the music reverberating within my ear vessels. The lack of resolution.Wandering solos that never seem to ground themselves back to earth. The infinitely complex strains of sorrow intermixed with the simplicity of beauty. Aimless yet purposeful. Intricate, albeit effortless.

Blues is like that for me- in its base form, it is a monotonous amalgam of three basic seventh chords combined in one repetitive pattern upon which to layer exquisite melodies of sound. At times, my life feels both aimless and well, simplistic. And yet maybe- like the music coarsing through my hot blood last Saturday night at the late hours of the Saxophone- maybe all of my past experiences and journeys are being woven together for something far more sophisticated and satisfying than I could ever have possibly conceived through my own intellect.

However, until the time comes, I suppose I will simply continue to tap my fingers in sync with the fine music.

Heck, I’d even whistle along if I blasted knew how.