Some days abroad in Thailand felt completely normal, with new cafés, crowded streets, and the occasional traffic jam. Other days, I found myself in places I never expected: a sports club, a volleyball court, or a SEA Games arena. I didn’t plan on spending so much time around sports, but it just happened. Between tennis lessons at a local sports club, joining my university’s volleyball club, and attending a few SEA Games events, I realized these were places I felt most comfortable. The SEA Games, or Southeast Asian Games, are an Olympic-style competition held every two years, with countries across the region competing in dozens of sports over a couple of weeks.
The first SEA Games event I attended was a kabaddi match in Nakhon Pathom. I walked into the gym and realized almost immediately that I didn’t understand what I was watching. I couldn’t follow the rules, and I didn’t know which moments mattered. Still, I stayed longer than I’d expected. The gym smelled faintly of sweat and polish, the floor squeaked under the players’ rapid steps, and the occasional shout echoed off the walls. Watching the athletes move with confidence, even when the logic of the game escaped me, was grounding. Not understanding the sport didn’t make it frustrating; if anything, it made me pay closer attention. I noticed how quickly the game shifted, the way players communicated silently on the court, and how seriously everyone involved took it. Even without knowing the rules, I could see the skill. The focus alone made it interesting to watch.
SEA Games kabaddi match
Basketball and tennis were easier to follow. The games moved at their own pace, and the crowds weren’t as full as I expected, but that didn’t make them any less engaging. At one tennis match, the Philippines supporters started chanting, and for a few minutes the arena came alive. Even though I didn’t understand their cheers, the energy was contagious. I found myself clapping along instinctively, smiling at the pace of the match, and noticing how the players stayed focused amid the noise. Sports felt like a universal language in that moment, connecting players, fans, and me. The squeak of sneakers, the bounce of the ball, and the rhythm of the game all drew me in.
Being on the participating side gave a different perspective. I joined the volleyball club with some of my American friends, which made competing feel even more fun. The club was competitive but still lighthearted, with laughter after a messy serve, quick high-fives after a good play, and chatter between points. People took the games seriously without making it feel like a performance; it was just part of everyday life. I also signed up for a few tennis lessons at a local sports club. Most of the people there didn’t speak much English, which pushed me out of my comfort zone, but it was a different kind of learning. I remember missing a simple backhand and laughing at myself while the coach gestured emphatically. The lessons were more focused on technique and discipline than playing with friends, and they gave me another way to connect with sport in a new environment. Between watching and playing, I started noticing patterns in how sports fit into daily life here. Playing and practicing in these different settings made me realize that sports could be meaningful even without the spectacle or hype I was used to.
My volleyball team after competing in a Mahidol University volleyball tournament
Over time, I noticed that sports in Thailand often take up less space than they do in America. They don’t always demand attention in the same way, and coming from a culture where sports are unusually central, this difference stood out. What surprised me was how much I still enjoyed watching and playing, even without packed stands or constant noise. The competitiveness was still there. The focus and discipline of the athletes didn’t depend on how many people were watching. Letting go of my expectations allowed me to appreciate sports in a quieter way, noticing the details I might have missed if I had been focused on crowds or spectacle.
Looking back, it makes sense why these experiences stood out. Sports became a way to feel at home in a new place. Watching kabaddi, cheering at tennis, and playing volleyball weren’t about comparing cultures. They were just moments to pay attention and enjoy the competition. The stands weren’t always full, the crowds weren’t always loud, but the focus and intensity of the athletes never depended on that. Sports still felt meaningful, just in a quieter, more personal way.