Chapter 104: Crying over Khao soi
Khao soi, pronounced somewhat like “cow soy” is a delectable, rich dish originating from Northern Thailand and surrounding areas like Burma/Myanmar. This dish, made up of noodles, yellow curry, spiced meat, and toppings in a thick, rich coconut milk broth is hands down my favorite Thai dish. It is spicy, creamy, savory, acidic, and, in my opinion, an “elevated” bowl of noodles as my favorite chef Gordon Ramsey might say. If you’ve never tried this dish, stop reading this blog and immediately Google where to find it. If you don’t have any nearby, imagine a delicious bowl of ramen filled with Thai curry flavors and heaven. That’s khao soi.
For those of you who have read my blog from the beginning, you may remember a previous chapter about khao soi. I wrote about this dish frequently when I was still in Thailand and shortly after traveling home. Unlike my brain tumor, which was removed as quickly as possible, my memories of khao soi are precious and I refuse to give them up.
Why am I writing this now, you might wonder? I haven’t been back to Thailand since that fateful February of 2020, but I do still travel often. Traveling is, in fact, one of my very favorite things to do. I’ve always loved to travel, but after cancer entered my life, traveling has become even more important to me. Planning a trip is a way for me to subtly say, “F you, brain cancer. I’ll still be alive and kicking in 3 months when this trip happens.” It’s also a very lovely, rewarding alternative to some of the things I can no longer do: pack up and join the Peace Corps or a remote ashram, have children, make plans for fifteen years from now, etc.
A few weeks ago, my fiancé (now husband, whoa!) and I were lucky enough to stay in a friend’s home in Sausalito, a magical seaside town across the bay from San Francisco. (Shoutout to W!) This amazing opportunity presented itself through the brain tumor community. A lovely woman read my blog and we became pen pals of sorts, sharing emails, stories, and our love for travel despite our experiences with brain tumors. She invited us to stay in one of her homes while she was away and we had a fantastic, relaxing week before the craziness of wedding week shortly after. I share these details:
1) to give a huge shoutout to the generosity of my new friend
2) to exemplify another of many “difficult gifts,” gifts which start from a difficult situation, and
3) to mention the amazing impact we can have when we share vulnerability, support, and hope within our community.
To all the readers new to the brain tumor/cancer community, welcome to the club you never wanted to be in, but eventually won’t be able to imagine your life without!
While visiting Sausalito, we ventured down a neighborhood street filled with the most incredible smells. Within one block, we passed a Greek, Indian, Italian, and Thai restaurant. Heaven! We chose Thai and had the most incredible meal. After mentioning to the waiter than I spent some time in Chiang Mai, he told me they make Khao Soi. So, naturally, we returned the following night (this time with fantastic new friends we met on a day trip to Napa- shoutout to J and A!) for Khao soi. It was delightful. Not just good, but literally a full body and mind experience, transporting me back to Chiang Mai with every bite.
After saying goodbye to our new friends, we made the long, uphill walk back to our gifted home and shortly after walking in the door, I burst into unexpected tears. I sat on a patio overlooking the Bay absolutely sobbing while poor Brock wondered what the hell was wrong. Eventually, I composed myself and tried to put these unexpected feelings into words.
Crying over khao soi. Why was I crying over khao soi? At first, I wasn’t sure. Khao soi, were you just that delicious? Maybe. Khao soi , were you drugged? Unlikely. Khao soi, what relevance do you have to my life that triggers me in this way? Aha! Ding ding. This was the winner. The last time I ate khao soi, I was a healthy, “normal” 29 year-old woman living my best life in Thailand. I had not yet had any symptoms of a brain tumor, which would start about two days later, and I was blissfully unaware of the invader in my frontal lobe. Khao soi represents the very sudden end to one life I was living and the start of the life I’m living now.
I describe this as a transition from one life into a new life because that’s the only way I can put it. Pre-cancer and post-cancer. Pre-COVID and post-COVID. Pre-loss of someone we love and post-loss.
After a life-changing experience, some things can never be the same. Like how a fresh caramel roll brings me bittersweet joy (love to grandma), driving past a grain silo makes me cry (love to Andy), listening to Les Misérables makes me smile and then ache (love to Katy), driving past my old biochemistry lab brings tears (love to Ryan), stable brain scans make me both happy and guilty (love to every person I’ve met in the brain cancer community who left us too soon), and as of this weekend a floatplane will break my heart (love to Becca, Luke, and the other lives lost in Seattle).
These life-shifting experiences change everything. I’m no expert on coping with change or loss. But I will share what helps me in case it helps you too.
Don’t plan for anything, except change. This current moment is the only moment we can guarantee. Expect transformation. Embrace today as you may not get tomorrow. Enjoy that khao soi as if it’s the last healthy meal you’ll ever have.
As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “It is not impermanence that makes us suffer. What makes us suffer is wanting things to be permanent when they are not.”
I will change. You will change. Our friends will change. Our careers will change. Our likes and dislikes will change. We were born and we will die. For me, it helps to think of those we have lost as already living their next lives (in any way you view this), blissfully unaware of the tragedies or illnesses that took them too soon. Granted, this viewpoint does not make unexpected change any less heartbreaking for those it impacts.
I will be bold and say something not everyone in the cancer or chronic illness community will agree with: I am pissed, but I am lucky. I know my transformation is happening. I have time to accept this transformation, enjoy my remaining moments, and say prolonged goodbyes to those I love. Cancer sucks. Pain, fatigue, treatment does too. But, I have a gift of knowledge and time that not everyone is given. I choose to embrace the journey of change and use my remaining time to help others feel empowered to as well.
We will find joy in khao soi, and we will find sadness. This is what impermanence is to me: joy and sadness. Mud and lotus. We want only one, but we cannot have one without the other. We cannot have birth without death. We cannot know joy until we know suffering. We cannot grow a lotus without mud and we absolutely cannot take our current moment for granted, as it is the very last moment which will be exactly as it is.
Khao soi, I’ll always love you, but I think I’ll also hate you just a little bit too.
Love to all of you experiencing a difficult change, a transformation you weren’t ready for. Your khao soi will taste good again, but it will also make you cry. Of this, I am sure.
Fondly,
Courtney
©CB2022