Why Am I Here?

When I got to this apartment and stood looking out the windows at the view, I questioned how anyone could get used to or bored of this.

But there I was, standing in the same place and looking out at the same sights, just a mere 3 days later and fretting over how the complacency was settling in. The novelty and excitement seemed to be trying to check out early, and I couldn’t allow that. ChatGPT said my nervous system just needed to settle down a bit (as it had been doing daily since I got here), especially after a day of pushing myself to walk the plank of boredom.

It felt like I was staring down the barrel of a gun, and with each fleeting day here, with each passing moment before I board the plane and go back to the cold of my old-normal, another little piece of potential was at risk of being put down by a bullet I should have seen coming.

I kept thinking back to On Nut, and how homely, humble and familiar the place felt, as if were a far off dream. How nice it was to walk around and feel something, whilst the area I was in now was just roads and streets. I wanted a nice place I wouldn’t have to leave when I was in On Nut. Now that I was in basically a palace, I suddenly wanted to be out and free… and no longer holding myself hostage in the company of the walking dead.

I had thought ahead a few days ago and how that private onsen was one of those moments of, “oh, wow, this is amazing!” and I could go back to capture that feeling, at a time when all those good, warm, fuzzy feelings seemed to be escaping so often.

I was going to walk into that place, have it all to myself, sweat buckets and have a good soak and massage and feel like a new man, ready to make the most out of the last part of my trip.

The universe seems to have other plans for me, and is trying to shake me awake, I think.

When I got to the place, the bath had bits of stuff in it, the toilet had not been cleaned and the cold plunge smelt weird. The tug of war in my head started again: you should complain, you didn’t pay all this money for this. But no, you didn’t come here to complain and be negative like in London! Well, you didn’t come here to get ripped off, either. Don’t be a diva. Don’t be a pussy!

When I gave way to one of the voices to get the staff to come and look, they didn’t seem to be all that bothered. So, for the next 2 hours I tried to make the most of what I had. That’s why I was there, right? I laid down in the sauna, wondering if there’s a time limit to my golden retriever-like energy. 2 weeks, perhaps? When things become more normal, the novelty passes on like a favourite season, and old habits that weren’t on my packing list somehow made it across the border anyway.

Is that really true? It seems to not entirely be the case when I’m laughing with the women upstairs who give the massages. After putting a mask all over my body, one woman starts to wrap me in cling film, and I’m laughing myself to tears as I tell her I’m now food. Man, there’s something extraordinarily peaceful about being wrapped up like a mummy (or sandwich) in the dark.

As I’m getting ready to leave a bit later, I notice the staff are draining the cold plunge. Huh, so there was something wrong and they didn’t do anything about it or tell me. I speak to the manager about how the area wasn’t cleaned up for me, the smell from the cold plunge, and she seems more interested in me going away, assuring me that they’ll do things differently next time (as if I’d come back and spend nearly £100 again). Then, I see the owner turn up with a new pump.

And the tug of war begins again, as I contemplate whether to take this further and transform into my Karen-Mode that shows up constantly in London: Just let it go, who cares? You should care, you spent so much money on that and they didn’t give you what you paid for! But you’re not here to complain about things, you’re here to take it easy. Well, you paid to relax and take it easy here and they decided to fix it AFTER taking your money!

I’m standing on the BTS and it’s like I’m not even there, anymore. I’m now back in London.

Staring at my phone. Thinking about my problems. Making more problems in my head. Feeling frustrated with how things are. Feel upset that things are not the way they should be. It’s even raining like in London, now! And I get to the condo, passing by all these people with no faces, desperate to get to sink into my personal space so I can buy my happiness back in the form of a lasagne and cheesecake. I’ll be joyous once I get to draw the blinds down on Bangkok and turn on the TV and see something interesting through that window.

Except the wifi isn’t working.

Oh, fuck.

No lasagne or cheesecake? No movie? Oh, fuck!

I stare out the window at all the dark sky and the stars down below all across the city. What am I supposed to do without wifi? I can’t stay in and… meditate, or read a book, or write anything, can I? I can’t explore the local area. I have to stay in! I have to have my distractions!

I’ve changed apartments, but once again, I’m dying to get out of here.

And I come full circle with all those thoughts I kept having about On Nut since I left. That good old and reliable place I can always turn to when I’m feeling lost and needy.

So, I head on back to the BTS, drop by two stops and instantly feel relief wash over me. Seeing the multicoloured lights hanging over the streets, the tent-tops of the market stalls, the Century Plaza and Lotus logos shining brightly like a north star. I get my favourite street skewers, and let my body take over as it does its thing of marching back and forth, trying to decide what to eat, pacing back and forth as I have done so many times before.

I stand at the corner of the market, looking wistfully along the way back to my former home. How different my mood was, thinking about the 7-Eleven workers I had fun with, the ladies sitting outside the massage places along the way, the cat at the local Thai restaraunt I would feed every night. I feel like my batteries are being recharged just by being under the electricity of this place and floating along the familiar.

And once again, it seems, not wanting to go back ‘home.’ Because there’s no place like home. No place like On Nut.

I go to Sushiro, the conveyor belt sushi place I would stare up at frequently when I was in the area, and a bit more of my dog-vibe coming back to me as I sit completely wowed by the tablet to order food on and how custom orders show up at my table on a different conveyor belt to the one for everyone else. I giggle to myself as the sushi rice falls to pieces (instead of complaining) and smile brightly as the ones with cheese end up being way better than I thought they’d be.

I can’t help but feel thankful and grateful for the place on the way… ‘home.’ When I get off the BTS near my place, I’m surprised by how I stop and make conversation with the two women outside of a local massage place, and promising I’ll be back. Like I would do in On Nut. I go into the local convenience store and ask the cashier if she wants an ice cream. We’re lost in translation a bit as she shows me where they are and I use Google Translate to let her know I want to buy her one, and she smiles, thanks me and picks a chocolate Cornetto.

When I’m back in my apartment, which feels so normal, now, I stare out over the balcony again, at all those twinkling lights. For a moment, I wish I had wifi to distract me. Then I think about the laughter and smiles of the women on the walk back. The little moments of light and fun. The doing something nice for someone else, instead of thinking all about…

Whether I have wifi to whittle away the hours in my day, how high my ceilings are, the service I was entitled to for the price I was paying, or what I can take, instead of what I can give.

I sit down and recline on the suede sofa, looking at the TV I can’t use, at the ceilings that somehow, don’t feel so high, anymore. I play back the tapes in my mind of the residents going from A to B, avoiding eye-contact, and see myself besides them after dealing with my own disappointments, unmet desires and desperation for distraction from the devil in my head pulling strings.

Do people really get used to all this? Do people get bored of this?

I finally find the answer to a question I didn’t want answered.

I switch out the tapes back to the one featuring the people who spoke with me, laughed with me, helped me feel at home. Who despite everything, had an unwavering willingness to smile, be warm and good to others. Who had me excited to leave my room to go out and practice being more like them.

I’m looking out over that balcony right now, and thinking of all those little stars twinkling under the sky and knowing I have a place with them.