Eczema

Certain characteristics are bound to identify you as a foreigner living abroad. In a place like Turkey, you're going to stand out among the dark haired, olive skinned masses if you've got strawberry blond hair and pale, reddish white skin. Using language, too, is a dead giveaway. In Thailand the contrast is even more drastic because height and facial structure come into play as well. While it's possible to get specific with these differences, the specifics don't usually get articulated. Instead, they are usually lumped into the issue of skin color. He's a farang (a white foreigner). In other words, he's not one of us.

In a place like Chiang Rai, there are enough farang tourists, retirees, and workers that you don't surprise people with your presence the same way you do in a place like Kayseri. If you go to a 7-11, for instance, the your skin color isn't going to make anyone take a second glance. However, if you're in gas station in Kayseri (and if you know enough Turkish), you are almost guaranteed a conversation with the cashier about where you are from, why you are here, and where you currently work.

If you listen carefully, in both settings, however, you are going to be spoken of. You'll hear the word yabancı (foreigner in Turkish) or farang used to characterize you. I understand that these words don't always carry a negative connotation, but they do serve as a constant reminder that this place must not be your home. Not your real home anyway.


Poetically, it's my farang skin that's revolting now that I'm here in Thailand. I've had eczema for years, at least since I was a teenager. It usually sticks to certain locations on my hands, wrists, fingertips, and occasionally my neck. Over the summer in Turkey, it began to get worse on my neck and it didn't clear up during my short visit to the US. I tried to wear collared shirts to cover it or at least distract from it, and while that may or may not have worked, it didn't improve the situation.

In Thailand, my eczema has exploded with a vengeance. While I used to consider it a mild inconvenience, I've now seen it take the form of blotches over my shins, my back, and my face. Through some stroke of luck, it doesn't break out over these places at the same time; rather my skin acts like a hit-the-gopher arcade game in which the moment you've got things under control, another outbreak occurs elsewhere. And true to form, the sensation feels like something trying to jump out of you. It's like there is a being inside me that will only let up after I've scratched and torn off the outer coat.

I have spent the equivalent of days skimming and reading articles and forums about eczema online. I have nearly maxed-out the amount of tabs allowed by my web browser in my search for a treatment strategy that will work. I have experimented with diet, environmental triggers, use of lotions, and use of topical steroids. I have gone into pharmacies and shown pharmacists my skin with my fingers crossed that the pharmacist speaks English. I have begged for Benadryl or any new cream that will help. I have spent countless hours, lying in bed, my skin greasy with lotion, getting stuck in a thought loop about how stress triggers eczema and how if I can decrease my stress, then I can decrease my eczema, but my eczema and all my attempts at reducing it makes me stressed, so I'm never going to succeed.

I have had days when I am so fed up with trying things that I don't do anything to help at all. I just try to act like a normal person. And then I inevitably go into a bathroom and look into a mirror or see a picture of myself on Facebook see that this strategy isn't helping either.

Recently, I haven't even wanted to leave the apartment. It's embarrassing--to have red patches all over your face that you try to explain away as sunburn. Of course you can say what it really is, but if your friends are Thai, you might end up in a prolonged explanation, trying to find a Thai word equivalent.

What adds gravity to the situation is that every itching or burning sensation that travels across my skin like a group of fire-breathing ants reminds me that my skin may not be able to adapt to the environment here. I am a true farang, and this must not be my real home.

Today, after realizing that looking up Google images of eczema helps remind me that I'm not alone, I finally searched for eczema support groups. While I didn't sign up for any, I did read some personal stories that helped put my relatively mild case of eczema into perspective. The symptoms of eczema can be worse than the ones I experience. The social effects can be more deleterious: Children with eczema are likely to get bullied. Teens with eczema finally feel normal when they go to camps for kids with irregular appearances. Relatively, adults have it easy, especially those who are married.

As far as fitting in here in Thailand is concerned, there are enough positive aspects to the environment that outweigh the inconveniences caused by my skin condition and my farang-ness. Adapting to the environment may not mean integrating seamlessly, but having a treatment plan is likely to help. A coping plan. I knew a guy from Yemen during my Masters program who said he was able to get through culture shock in the US by learning to laugh at it. I rarely find much humor in culture shock, but I think I understand the underlying sentiment. Accept that differences are going to exist, and do what you can to minimize the negative effects.