The Yes That Changed Everything: My time in Thailand
When the opportunity came up through uni, it felt almost unreal. Two months’ notice. Pack your bags. We’re going to Thailand.
Thailand? Say less.
I did not know what to expect. I just knew something in me said yes before fear could catch up. Culture. Community. Challenge. I was in.
To this day, I still think about it. If life allowed, I would be signing up for every challenge abroad hub I could find. There was something about being thrown into a completely different world that rearranged parts of me in the best way.
We were based near the heart of Chiang Mai, not the polished tourist version but the real, breathing, everyday version. The hub sat right in the middle of it all, in Mae Sariang. Markets humming. Motorbikes weaving. Incense floating through the temple air. It was confronting and beautiful all at once. Yes, the no-flushing-tissue rule shocked me. Yes, bunk beds and shared bathrooms tested us. But somewhere between the culture shock and the chaos, we built friendships that felt like road trip bonds. The kind where you are sleep deprived, sunburnt, laughing too hard, and somehow becoming softer at the same time.
The on-ground team was unforgettable. I still miss Pimork. She carried light in the most effortless way. The kind of person who smiles with her whole face and makes you feel like you belong, even when you are thousands of kilometres from home.
We explored. We did the fun weekend things. We painted Chiang Mai red in our own wholesome way. But for me, the real shift happened in Mae Sariang.
That is where I found peace. Not in the sightseeing. Not in the photos. In the work.
Working with the kids. Sitting on the floor. Hearing their laughter echo off simple classroom walls. Watching elders move and smile when we facilitated activities. It was deeply grounding. There is something humbling about realising;
'You do not share a language fluently, yet you can still connect"
One of my favourite activities was an art task. I asked them to draw their current self, their future self, and their future job. The room went quiet in that focused way children get when they are imagining. When they finished, they held up drawings of doctors, farmers, teachers, business owners. No dream felt too small. No dream felt too big.
That activity changed me.
It forced me to confront my own privilege. The resources I grew up with. The access to education. The ease of dreaming when your basic needs are secure. And it reminded me of responsibility.
If you are given knowledge, skills, opportunity, what are you doing with it?
As someone who once sat in the seat of a clinical psychologist and now sits in the seat of a counsellor, that trip clarified what I stand for. Emotional literacy early in life. Helping children understand feelings before they become something unmanageable. Teaching communication as prevention, not just intervention. Building skills that allow young people to grow into who they actually are, not who survival forced them to be.
Stepping away from textbooks and into lived community shifted something in me. Mental health does not belong only in clinics. It does not live solely in assessment rooms or neatly structured sessions. It lives in classrooms. In community halls. In art activities. In shared laughter. In the way a child dares to say, “I want to be a doctor,” and believes it might be possible.
And honestly, some of my favourite memories are the simplest ones. Seven Eleven cheese toasties in Mae Sariang after long days. Papaya salad that made my eyes water. Karaoke nights that were louder than they needed to be. Card games that became slightly too competitive. Sitting in temples, feeling an unfamiliar stillness settle into my chest. Learning Thai words slowly. Mispronouncing them. Trying again. Watching barriers soften when effort was made.
Because dreams do not have a language. They do not need one.
That trip reminded me why I chose this field in the first place. Not for titles. Not for prestige. But for impact. For the quiet moments where someone feels seen. For the preventative work that rarely gets spotlighted but changes trajectories.
Everyone I meet hears this story eventually. Not because it was a holiday. It was not. It was uncomfortable and stretching and sometimes exhausting. But it was expansive. It reminded me that growth does not only happen in structured placements or clinical hours. Sometimes it happens on the floor of a classroom in northern Thailand, surrounded by children drawing futures bigger than their circumstances.
I am endlessly grateful I said yes.
And I hope I get to say yes again
By Khushali Varsani, Thailand Health Promotion Challenge, November 2025