Once again, I am fucking terrified.
In one hour, I’ll be leaving my home of the last 2 weeks. The Airbnb in On Nut, and moving on to somewhere else.
10 years ago, it was beautiful retreat into my very own apartment after suffering through small talk and crippling Chang induced despair that made me ever so happy. 10 years later, it was checking out all the nice apartments that led me back to Thailand, after suffering through isolation and crippling sober induced despair in my studio flat in London.
When I was looking at places to stay in Bangkok, my frugality kicked in, of course: maybe if I go somewhere cheaper, I’ll have more money for the buffets, or the taxis, or the massages and pampering. If I go for the place with the desk, I’ll be more inclined to write. That was one of the highlights of my trip a decade before; barely leaving the flat (except for my trips to the Thai version of Disneyworld, 7-Eleven) and journalling. Not entirely healthy in hindsight, but I liked the idea of that option if I needed it.
I’m reluctant to type it out now, so I must have been reluctant to believe it when I arrived, but I think I was disappointed when I got to this condo I’m writing in, now. I was used to high-rise apartments with big, sliding doors and windows bathing the entire place in light. Where I was now, a wall covered most of the room, the balcony was converted into a small little conservatory, and something just didn’t feel right. It seemed to be having an identity crisis between being a modern Thai condo and something more western and chic, and not doing very well at either.
I warded away any of those feelings because I wanted to be toxically positive for this trip. I was finally back abroad! In Thailand! A land of adventure! I can’t depreciate this condo I had booked for a month! But every time I woke up at 1am and couldn’t get back to sleep, when I got out of bed with a backache (does the mattress suck?), when I felt lost in this room and feeling trapped by the fact I have to have the lights on during the day or else it would be too dark… something felt off.
This really didn’t help the feelings of isolation, of FOMO, and like I need to be out, constantly. And after being out constantly, I felt myself wandering aimlessly, because I didn’t want to come back ‘home.’ Because it didn’t look like home, it didn’t feel like home. It felt just like being back in London again, where there’s no place like home. I’m here in Bangkok, clicking the heels together on my fake Crocs, looking down at the scab they’re giving me, wishing on the stars hidden behind rainclouds for an explanation or answer to this dilemma…
And I hear silence. Until the girl next door starts playing her music SO LOUDLY. Constantly. During the day, when I’m trying to write out a blog post about how great everything has been. At 11pm, when I’m trying to sleep. At 1am, when I hear her doing her best Elsa impression, and I’m trying to invoke all the wisdom and superpowers I’ve developed at meditation retreats to Let It Go, but I’m failing. Badly. My expensive earplugs are starting to hurt, because they’re a constant necessity. After several massages and visiting an onsen, I come home a bit astounded at how in nearly 12 years, I haven’t gone this long without constant back and shoulder pain.
And then I wake up, and it’s back. The mattress MUST suck, right?
Whenever the girl next door uses the sink, goes to the toilet, flushes the toilet, the wall by my head hollers white noise in bursts. But I can take it. I have to take it. What else am I going to do? Ruin my trip?
But I’m waking up feeling worse each morning. Feeling like I have to recover from some mysterious illness, to rest and take it easy so I can go out and do the things I want. But I can’t rest in this place, because it’s starting to feel like a prison. The sterile white lights staring down on me from the ceiling feel shameful when the sun outside is blazing through the small openings of the balcony windows.
So, I go out, constantly. Not too far, but to the same places in On Nut, so I’m not expending too much energy, so I can be fresh for the next day. But I’m feeling worse, then. So, I go out, constantly. I go to the Lotus supermarket, I find myself walking into the Century Plaza and having conversations with some of the friendlier staff. I go get a shave, I get a manicure and pedicure, I go to the cinema, I go to the Big C, I wander the night markets and street food stalls, I get a massage. I look at the time and it’s probably time to head home, I’ve walked over 21,000 steps around On Nut.
But there’s no place like home.
I try to settle in by watching some TV, by getting to bed early… but I’m waking up to the pain in my ears from the earplugs, taking them out, and then bracing for the sound of water slithering and hissing through the walls, which is absolutely coming.
I guess I wanted to leave here quite early on. And I told my hosts that I wanted to leave earlier this week after the Disney sing-along at 1am. I tried to put up with it, but is that why I am here?
Why am I here?
To not live my London life of inconsiderate, noisy neighbours. To not feel trapped at home. To not feel like I have to constantly escape somewhere else, as I’ve been doing for so long. I want to be able to get into bed and not need earplugs. I want to remember what it’s like to fall asleep to silence. To wake up refreshed. To get out of bed and be excited to be where I stand, to feel comfortable where I sit. I want to leave the place feeling excited to come back to. To walk through the doors at the end of the day (or any time) and breathe a sigh of relief.
Because there’s no place like home.
It’s another morning of me struggling to get out of bed, forcing another microwaved meal down and asking ChatGPT what to do with these heavy waves of lethargy and listlessness. Once again, it tells me to take it easy around On Nut. I’m not sure it’s because of how I feel, or if the novelty has all worn off, but I feel more like a ghost haunting the same places, now. Eating the same things, looking for something to distract me from whatever I’m going through, to fill up my cup, to keep me away from the Airbnb. I’m reminded of the lonely older man whose messages appearing daily on my phone to meet up were like summoning mosquitoes to suck up my time and energy. And here I am, stalking the same streets, sleepwalking from one air conditioned shopping centre to the next, refusing to do anything but ‘rest’ and becoming more stressed from burning myself out over escaping from my escape.
2 nights ago, after a day of taking it ‘easy,’ I’m pulled out of my slumber by the girl next door putting on the waterworks at 4am. And then again at 7am.
There’s no place like home. Not here.
When I get up that morning, instead of turning to ChatGPT, I login to Airbnb and message my hosts that I can’t do this anymore. I look at other places and a sense of excitement flickers inside me as I see how nice the building is, how much light comes through, how it’s something I could never experience in London, but I can here.
But it’s so expensive, especially compared to where I am, now. I can’t just waste money like that just to pamper myself.
But… that’s the whole point, dimwit!
I pull the trigger. It’s now or never. I spend way too much time putting up with things, forcing myself into musts and shoulds, instead of what I want to do. I didn’t come here to put up with an undesirable living situation. I came here to remind myself that life is worth living.
And I am fucking terrified.
Suddenly, my life in On Nut flashes before my eyes; all the people I’ve met, all the things I’ve got used to. All that it’s given me back, that I felt I had lost.
I’m looking back fondly on my first day, when I made my way through the rain to the Lotus Supermarket and met all the people that were so helpful in getting my daily essentials together. The array of eateries that I would sit down at and just switch off, because for the next 20 minutes, I didn’t need to be anywhere else. The affordable clothes which I kept coming back to when all the “cheap” markets were charging so much more. Mai at the vitamin stall downstairs, who helped me decide what to eat, helped me order it, and before leaving, gave me a light touch on my arm and a smile.
I’m already missing pacing back and forth in the air-conditioned Century Plaza for something to do, talking to Anne at the smoothie place downstairs, or laughing with the girl at the toy stand about all strange trinkets I need, including the deformed looking hippo plush. I’m nostalgic about the manicure stands outside of the plaza, and how novel and electric it all felt when I first arrived at its front steps. And I’m sad how that’s gone and it just feels… normal, now?
Yesterday, after a lot of deliberation about moving and feeling a deep sadness about how it’s now happening, I went walking around On Nut again. And it almost felt new, again.
Walking into the Lotus almost felt like I was there for the first time, again. I met the pharmacist in the Watsons who helped me on my first day and spent ages helping me. Now, I know her name is Kitty. I get some ice cream from a stand and joke around with the girl there, and neither of us understand much, but we’re laughing a lot. I go back towards the Big C, eating some meat skewers and take possibly one last fond look at the lovely lady I bought some Fila trainers from, and after feeling out of place, told me I’m handsome.
I’m looking for the toothless man with the chicken on his bike. I’m looking for the frail, sweet old woman I saw a few days ago sitting by the side of the street, holding up one finger to signify she’s selling a piece of candy for 1 baht. Who I walked past on autopilot, before stopping, going back, and giving her all the change I had for 1 sweet. The woman who is old enough to be my grandmother. I’m searching for these people to smile with and give to, but I can’t find them.
I take a different turn down a street and find a bar that has been playing live music everyday, and a nice, cheap looking Japanese restaurant. This is the kind of lost I wanted to be, here, but I got entwined with a different kind.
I walk through the On Nut night food market, and eat even more meat skewers, trying to ask what the foreign looking thing on a stick is, and having locals coming over to help me. I no longer feel like I’m some kind of phantom floating through the place looking for an affirmation of my existence. Once again… finally… I’m at home here. With these people. Floating through without a care in the world, but to appreciate the person in front of me, and the place I stand.
On the way back home, I walk into the local Thai place called ‘Flavorful’ and hold up the cat treat I come in often with to give to their pet. One of the girls helps me find the little guy in a corner who comes over and starts sidling up to my legs. I sit with him for a few last moments as he laps up the contents and give him a few pets. “Aroy!” I say to the girl holding the empty packet up and she laughs with me.
I pass by the massage place, where the women would shout at me to come in for the first few nights, and now wave and just make normal conversation. The one woman I spoke to most and bought a massage just to chat with her has a laugh with me about how I seem to learn just one Thai phrase a week and we say goodnight.
I get back to the condo and… yeah, it definitely doesn’t feel like home.
The what’s outside of it? All those people? Those places? Maybe so.
It’s the 14th day of my trip now, a little past 12pm. I’m free to leave and check in to my new, expensive and luxurious place. But I’m here typing out this post, instead. Microwaving my last meal here. It almost felt like I was in mourning at some points, spending so much time in this area, doing the same things, constantly landing, constantly trying to settle in and feeling like I’m failing at that… and failing at doing everything else I should be doing. Every notification on my phone on meetup apps a reminder of how I’m wasting my life by not getting wasted with all these people doing all these cool things.
But now, in hindsight, I see how much of a gift this place has been.
After so long being in company of me, myself and the noises in my mind, after so many years of being stuck in my own space (where there’s no place called home) and putting off engaging with the world until I’m good, ready and ‘fixed’ finally… this Airbnb which basically forced me out to get involved with local people, to be sociable, to be kind and… what was that word, again? Fun? It has been the best medicine.
It’s made that question, “who am I?” less difficult to answer.
The warmth of the people, the endless stream of things to eat, the slightly expensive indulgences and the smiles of people that come for free, the comfortable, air-conditioned interiors, the laughs that lit up my gloomy days, the routine, the familiarity of it all.
Looking back now, I didn’t know if I could ever be this person ever again.
Look back now, walking the same paths, remembering the same names, hearing the same laughter and 2 weeks of not actually being lost at all, but constantly landing… I realise…
There’s no place like home.
