It’s been a few days since I posted in here, 5 total… but it feels like an eternity since then, and since I landed. I was in the midst of writing out a big post about what I’d been up to over the first few days, trying to smash out an account of what I had been doing and the events of my time here, instead of my usual outpouring of the experience of being here. And then the days started stack up, I started meeting people, going places, doing things, getting swept up in everything except posting here.
I’m getting weighed down by a huge sense of writer’s block and general mental fuzziness over how quickly the days have gone, the weight of the realisation that I’m almost coming up to halfway on my trip and that I need to get my ass in gear to make the most of what’s left and process what’s came. So, my dear imaginary reader, please indulge me as I go back in time and go over what’s been happening so I can hopefully settle into where I am, and where I’ll be going after today.
I remember coming to Thailand 10 years ago with a small backpack, and barely any clothes except for some expensive stuff that all the cool travel bloggers were peddling as something incredibly functional and sexy. Not only will you meet your future husband/wife wearing that £80 merino t-shirt, you will also have worn it 40 days in a row without needing to wash it, and your future husband/wife will never know how disgusting it is that you never do laundry.
I was obsessed with this idea of minimalism and onebag travel that I had spent years fantasising about as I went about my miserable life, reading all the blogs, watching all the videos, buying all the travel items and basically doing anything except actually going travelling.
And then, I was out there, in my black travel travel trousers, my black merino wool t-shirt, my black barefoot shoes (which were 2 sizes too big) and generally not happy about how I looked like a waiter on most days in baggy clothes that hung off my skeletal frame. I was surrounded by all these people in their colourful elephant pants, branded tanktops and looking like they’re travelling in Thailand, whilst I looked like I was attending a casual funeral.
I suppose I was in a way, mourning the death of my fashion sense.
And I was totally obsessed with the idea of not owning anything. I refused to buy clothes, even when my (merino wool) hoodie was frayed and ripped, when my (merino wool) socks were starting to grow holes, like mouths screaming for me to just put them out of their misery, or when my barefoot shoes started to look like beat up, leather spatulas. I was absolutely committed to my religion of anti-consumerism… as I knocked back 20 beers each night.
I refused to listen to all these people who told me how cheap clothes are in Thailand. Until 10 years later, when I was packing to leave and thought, “I’m just going to buy clothes when I’m out there.”
I’m finally free of the curse of minimalism! No longer brainwashed by all the flashy travel bloggers!
But I’ve realised how indoctrinated I’ve become by Primark. For the first few days of being in Bangkok, I had the expectation that I was just going to turn up to malls and markets, find t-shirts cheaper than the £2.50 I find them for in Primark, go home laughing to myself at my expansive new Asian wardrobe and find God each morning as I get dressed up to splatter myself with soup noodles.
But nope.
I rush over to one mall, only to find t-shirts for 200 baht. Dude, that’s like, £5! I could get two t-shirts for that in Primark! Hell no, I’m not being a sucker. So, I get a £5 taxi to the next mall, only to be struck with the dreaded 200 baht price tag again. And again, as I stalk through market stalls as the thunder and rain mock me.
10 years ago, I found it hard to accept that although I was wearing some of the most expensive clothes in the world, I looked like I had done my clothes shopping in Chernobyl. But I did accept it, and never stopped feeling insecure about it. 10 years later, I absolutely, vehemently refused to look like shit as I saw all the Thai people looking so fashionable.
So, that was me for about 3 – 4 days: rushing from one place to the next, absolutely exhausted and miserable at the overwhelming need to find stuff that would make me aesthetically pleasing to the devil on my shoulder telling me how out of place I look (the fucker has even started to speak in Thai before I have) and wanting it to be over so I can do anything else.
What does anything else look like? God, I don’t even know. Thank God I have this blog to try and figure that out.
I do look back fondly at those simpler starting days, when I’d just have the one-minded mission to go here, there and somewhere else before going back to the first place because the prices were better there… and then walking down a local road to find the same things for way cheaper, and grinding my teeth a bit. I’d get home early, maybe watch something, wake up and type something out in here. Wow, who knew that stressing about shopping is a kind of meditation? The Buddha had it all wrong.
No longer bearing the burden of shopping, I proudly put on my fake Crocs and made my way to get my first, luxurious treat: a four-hand massage. That should be luxurious, right? I don’t often get the experience of having one woman touching me, let alone two. Then, about halfway there, I notice I’m starting to limp a bit. Oh, good. My fake Crocs are chafing and on every step are flying the skin on one of my big toes.
Okay, maybe the Buddha did have it right.
I get to the beautiful massage place and walk in pretending I’m cool and confident, and not like my want to scream and throw my fake Crocs into a fire. In London, I’m constantly hunched over a keyboard and desk, asking ChatGPT how to get rid of the chronic shoulder and back pain that feels like I’m being assaulted by 10 jackhammers. “Stop spending so much time hunched over your keyboard and desk,” ChatGPT tells me.
I cancel my ChatGPT Plus subscription and hunch over my desk to do something else.
But now, these old Thai women are going to do for my pain what ChatGPT never could. And I won’t have to lift a finger! They ask me what kind of strength I want, and I tell them firm. This is going to be amazing. Relaxing. Transcendent! Fuck you, shopping bags! Now the real holiday begins!
About 5 minutes into this massage, it dawns on me that I’ve paid these older Thai women to beat the shit out of me. My God, these are the strongest women I’ve ever met. Their forearms could bend steel. Their elbow bones should be registered weapons. They are absolutely fucking me up. I must have done something very bad in a previous life, their ancestors are so pissed off by me, and they are channelling the strength and fury of a titan to make sure I know about it.
I feel like I should beg them to stop, this is not a massage, it’s a fucking exorcism. My bones and muscles have turned into Rice Krispies, I didn’t know a human being could snap, crackle and pop like this. I have not been bent like this apart from that one dream where a truck hit me and turned me into a bloody pretzel.
2 hours sounded like an amazing way to be pampered and forget all my troubles. I don’t know how many hours in we were when one of the women put her knee into my spine and yanked my arms backwards, but I just want it to stop. To be fair, I did forget about all my troubles in that moment.
When it was over, I went to check if I had a black eye. I didn’t, but maybe I had to pay extra for that.
After that, I mostly felt a bit lost and listless. Wondering what the hell I should be doing. Settling in at my Airbnb? But then I’m just wasting my time, surely? So, I go out and look around, end up in air conditioned malls, eating some pretty nice food, then sinking into the quicksand of loneliness, seeing all the people hanging out with friends and lovers. I should be going out and meeting people, but I’m so exhausted and tired all of the time, I feel like I need to rest. And so, the cycle continues.
But like the shopping, I look back fondly at those simple starting days, when I was completely alone ad quite lonely, but feeling a sense of vast space and openness within that. That’s pretty fucking scary at first, like being in a city where all life has evacuated, or being in a huge house all to yourself, where every footstep echoes through the hallways at night, reminding you that despite having it all… all you have is yourself.
And the FOMO can be crippling. There’s so much potential, here. There’s so much I know I can do… if I dare to go where I’m avoiding and pick up the bottle.
Instead, I choose to meet up with someone I bumped into after the assault four-hand massage I endured. We get lunch and the person seems like a nice enough person; he’s 58, has been in Thailand for years, considers it home, has a Thai boyfriend, knows lots of people, wants to hook me up with one of his girl friends, knows cool places, goes to AA meetings and seems switched on.
Then, I feel my intuition screaming quite loudly that’s something’s not right, as he whips out his phone and hits me like a machine gun with 30 years of photos of his life in the entertainment industry, with an endless string of celebrities I don’t really care about. After what feels like hours of being shown proof that this guy used to be the man (and still is, his overt positivity about his life in Thailand promises), he insists that he shows me the more Thai area he lives in and we go for a massage.
It sounds fucked up, I know. But I agree to go and push back my dinner reservations to follow along. It is eye-opening to see how much nicer his place is, for far cheaper: a beautiful rooftop pool, barely anything around but normal Thai places instead of the endless parade of western eateries. It’s exactly what I had envisioned when I was booking this trip… and I’m struggling with envy as I think of how I am living in an area that seems to have been built by Colonel Sanders.
We get an incredible foot massage at a local place, which is supremely relaxing… until the guy whips out his phone and starts hitting me non-stop with his (un)interesting videos documenting his life in Thailand and America. On the bright side, he shows me that from his area, rather than the air-conditioned BTS (which I do like), the locals get on a small boat to get to central Bangkok. Choking under the exhaust fumes, seeing the lights, the humid air whipping through my hair… this feels like real Bangkok. The one I came to be immersed in, again. I love it.
The next day I go to meet the same guy to attend an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Fuck, that escalated quickly, huh?
I figured that in all the loneliness, the lack of connection, the limited conversations I have with local Thai vendors in pigeon-Thai, this could be the medicine I’m looking for! And the meeting is great, hearing all these people’s incredible stories of overcoming unsurmountable odds and finding purpose in life in a greater power and new way of living. Until we go for lunch and the conversation turns towards having an 18-year-old Chinese girlfriend, taking her virginity, having Thai sugarmommies, girls on rotation, blah, blah.
And then, when we’re alone, the American guy whips out his phone and starts hitting me like a an assault rifle with an endless stream of drone videos from the Thai islands, as I feign interest and start thinking about how much I want a bucket of vodka after the AA meeting to get through this. He’s telling me that after recently coming back from a year in America (which he said he has no place in and Thailand is his home), he went straight to the Thai islands and has an Airbnb booked for another few weeks (instead of going straight back to his partner and their shared home) and is trying to convince me to go with him for a few days because he’ll feel lonely (despite saying how happy and well-connected he is in Thailand).
The ick is strong with this one. He wants to go to a park now (and will want to go to a mall the next day) and I refuse, saying I have to go and do some errands. He tells me he’s going to be really pissy when I eventually leave… and none of it adds up.
Fuck, this is not making me confident that the people who move to Thailand end up living full lives, but instead end up putting a mask on and fooling themselves and others that they’re in paradise, when it’s just an escape from something else, and then latching on to something (or someone) else to escape from the reality of their escape.
That was an exhausting experience that rattled me considerably, and diffused a lot of my desire to go out and meet others, although the FOMO was still locked around my legs like a ball and chain. I did manage to get out to a Thai reading class which was tons of fun (especially meeting expats who were putting in the work to integrate and seemed a bit healthier than the run of the mill farang).
And I’ve still been having fun wandering around my local area, chatting to the street vendors, having these small moments of connection, laughs and warmth. I absolutely adore the old woman who does the laundry in my building, who also sells meals, does babysitting for other residents. We barely know what the other person is saying, but I adore her nonetheless. We laugh a lot, we talk quite a bit, I give her little gifts. I would move to a different Airbnb if I could, but I don’t want to be too far from her at this point. I’m just astounded by how much can be said and understood between people without knowing the language.
I’m loving getting to know people a bit better in the area, and bumping into my toothless friend again with the chicken sitting on his bike’s handlebars. I have all my teeth and have never smiled as much as that man. What is the secret to happiness? Is it less in eating as much chicken as I can as I have done a few times here, at high-class, all you can eat buffets, which are wondrous and exciting for the first 30 minutes, and then sickening and terrible after an hour?
Or is it to having a friendly chicken by your side and on your bike, and just being willing to smile as you sit by the street for hours?
So, that’s all been a mixed bag.
I finally passed a bit of a threshold on Sunday, when I decided, you know what? I’m done trying to fit in. I’m done wishing the pretty Thai women will want to hang out with me. I’m done thinking the foreigner nearby will want to talk with me and become my best friend whilst I’m here. I’m just done being in this for anyone else but myself.
So, I head to Benjakitti Park feeling a sense of clarity, that sense of vast openness in my mind… letting the thoughts of FOMO, loneliness, expectation and pressure pass by like clouds in the sky of my mind. I walk through this beautiful park, listening to the sounds of invisible frogs, seeing the sunset in between skyscrapers.
Before I got into the park, I passed by a place that accepted donations for clothes and other things people don’t need, and thought it would be a great place to hand over all the clothes I sweat and bled to get in my early days of this trip. Then an American woman turns up who works there and explains to me that I can volunteer if I’d like, helping to cook and distribute meals to the homeless in Bangkok.
Fuck. Yes.
This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.
I’m drifting along the sky walk, smiling to myself, feeling at one with all the other walkers, the runners, the visitors and locals. I’m not wanting for anything, or anyone. I don’t need to force anything anymore. I don’t need to be in control. I can let go and just let things happen. I’m back in the driver’s seat of my life and this trip, with the one person I wanted to do this all for, the most important person: myself.
As the sun sinks low and my peace starts to reach its zenith…
I of course, meet a girl.
