TRANG, Thailand - I am Miss Universe. Not really, of course, but to several of my Thai students I am.
While I was teaching a class of seventh-graders Tuesday, all of the little boys kept screeching, "NATALEE! NATALEE!" each time I spoke. The shriek was usually followed by "be-a-oo-ti-ful" and a requisite giggle.
Confused, I assumed that "natalee" was a word in Thai. As I panted in the midday heat, feverishly attempting to teach the English names of body parts, I guessed that the constant cry was an insult against my subpar teaching.
Fed up with the noise, however, I eventually threw my hands up and asked what the word meant. Anika, a young girl who speaks exceptional English, explained that "Natalie" is the name of Miss Universe.
Dumbfounded, I turned to the rest of the class with a sheepish grin, pressed my palms together in a gesture of gratitude and offered thanks in Thai. The boys nodded and again shouted, "NATALEE!"
After a quick Google check that evening, I learned that, indeed, the name of Miss Universe 2005 is Natalie Glebova. She is famous in Thailand at the moment because she will be coming here to act as one of the chief ambassadors for Singha beer-the drink of choice among the Thai people. And apparently, because I am a white woman from the Western world, I am "Natalie."
My students' complimentary generalization is only one of many examples of attention based on appearance I've received over the past two weeks in Thailand.
I am living in a town where I am among a handful of white residents. Thus, I stick out like an awkward beacon of paleness.
When I jog down the dewy streets in the mornings, young people on motorcycles shout, "HAH-LO AMERICAN!" Some even stop and offer me rides (don't worry, Mom, I always politely decline).
The children at my school smooth their small hands over my arm hair when I pass by their desks. I can't tell whether they are disgusted or amused, but their giggles make me assume the latter.
On the island of Koh Samui, where I spent the past weekend, several women early one morning on the beach began touching and running their fingers through my curly hair, fascinated by its texture. They oohed and aahed, jabbering in Thai, while I sat wide-eyed, unsure of how to respond. One of the women then touched my bare stomach with her dark hand and said, "Ah, sexy!" If I hadn't already been sunburned, my blushing would have turned my cheeks bright red.
It's odd to be a visual uniquity-a being that stands out merely because of appearance. It's odd because being categorized, stared at, pointed at and laughed at because of the way I look is something I have never experienced. In the United States, I'm Plain Jane.
In Thailand, I'm Miss Universe.
I love the Thai culture and the nation's people. I have loved both from the start of my trip. Thailand isn't called "the land of smiles" for nothing; the populace really is that friendly and generous. What I'm learning to love more and more each day is my place in the culture and among its people, even if only in a small city or country school.
At moments, the stares and pointed fingers are off-putting, making me feel like an alien. But at other times, they feel like extraordinary compliments.
They are gestures offered as expressions of wonder and gratitude that I have come to live in this corner of the world.
I'll keep sticking out over the next month and a half-a reality that is, day by day, becoming fine by me. I won't ever be or even look anything close to Miss Universe, but I will keep establishing, and learning to appreciate, my place and role as a pale-faced, curly-haired, stubbly-armed visitor and teacher.
Seyward Darby is a Trinity senior and editorial page managing editor of The Chronicle. Her column runs weekly during the summer.
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