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September 26, 2005
I Left Myself In Siam
Emptiness is something I would not have expected, but there it was anyway. I watched the mixed Bangkok skyline roll by beyond the runway markers. The world appeared liquid as reality was distorted by the imperfections in the small double paned window of the roaring seven-forty-seven. I heard the safety speech but I couldn't listen. I saw but didn't watch the stuardess enacting the safety procedure--how to unbuckle your seat-belt, how to breathe into the oxygen mask to make you high while the plane is falling low, how to pull the emergency door open and slide down the big fun yellow ramps--but as the plane crawled down the tarmac towards our runway to the sky, I could feel some part of me becoming more and more distant. Had I forgotten something? I think a part of me stayed behind the day I left Siam, and I'm going to have to go back and find it someday.
Did that part of me even come to the airport that day? Maybe he's still sitting at the Sompeht night market in Chiang Mai, eating Krapao Moo or Pad Prik Prao. He could be dancing under the strobes and tinted flood lights of Bubbles, Lava, or the Par Club; if he's there, he's jumping and spinning to the heavy bass beats that shake the very foundations of those discos. He might be cruising through town late in the afternoon on his 125-cc motorbike, grinning at life while the massive monsoon clouds grumble overhead. I long for the drenching rains, the flavored food, the warm people, and the phosphorescent ocean algae-- shining in near competition with the stars above. I wonder if he ever thinks of me? I say he stayed behind... Does he think I left him? Who is the deserter here? Not me.
Did somebody say dessert? How 'bout some Khao Nio Mamuang from my favorite stall on the corner by the eastern moat in Chiang Mai? Ohh yeah... I can't even begin to explain how tasty this is. There's something about sticky rice and mango marinated in coconut cream that makes my taste buds dance a tango as I slowly chew each bite. The rice is cooked just right, the mango picked perfectly ripe, and the coconut cream is applied for a smoothly delicate flavor. The smell is heavenly; the texture and consistency is that of nothing you've ever experienced; and the taste stays with you for weeks--mainly because you won't be able to stop eating it. Best dessert in the world and made in Thailand, of course. It's the perfect top-off to a full meal of stir-fried vegetables, basil, chilies, and chicken over rice, so full of spice and flavor you have to plan each bite to include a bit of each one.
Back at home, I try to explain to others how Thai people eat with a spoon and a fork-- shoveling and building the perfect mix with the latter into the former. I try to convey the feeling of eating there, truly taking your time with every bite and adding more flavor sometimes after every taste, but in the end no words can sit you down at a night market in Thailand and serve you some of the better-than-home-cooked meals you watch being prepared for you with love and care. Back home, the food I used to think was spicy tastes bland. The weather I used to think was hot feels so cold; the rain I used to think was heavy feels like just a mist. It's all what our bodies are used to, I guess, and I can get used to anything.
It's raining again. The monsoons are here. It's almost every night now, a dumping of water so thick and heavy it fills the streets to just below your knees. Taxis have to find higher ground to open their doors for fares; tuk-tuk engines stall out completely in clouds of blue smoke as the water fills up past their axles. Just as quickly as it came, it's gone. The sun sets and the world continues, if not a bit wetter. Shop keepers uncover their goods once again; the slowly draining pipes lead the water out of the streets and into the canals; the opening skies lead the smiling people back into their night lives; and I'm off to eat some dinner at the Sompeht Night Market. Nothing like a good rain to build the appetite.
I didn't eat lunch today. It's funny, I used to be able to eat two servings at every meal when I was in Thailand, but lately I feel as if my stomach has shrunk. Did I leave part of that as well? As I said before, I must go back someday and retrieve these things I left behind, because I feel incomplete.
"Check bin khap!" I motion to the water as I finish off the always amazing Pad Prik Prao and stand up to pay. Usually I'd have had a bowl of noodle soup or some pad thai to go with it, but lately I just haven't been hungry, even with the rain. Where are my friends to help me finish everything? Maybe they'll come back to visit me here someday. I hope so, because I'm never leaving.
How can you see the world and then close your eyes? I guess the answer is-- you can't...I can't. There was usually a feeling of wanting a stable home that nagged while traveling, but when at home, there's a feeling of being trapped; of wasting precious days to see and experience more of what this fantastical globe has to offer. I guess there is a balance to find, as with everything, between home and the road; what you know and what is unknown; being happy just relaxing and getting those itches in your boots to get out and do something! I will return to Thailand one day, but when that happens, I hope to make Thailand a home for me as long as I choose to stay. My heart is happy on any side of the planet. My heart is happy at home.
Posted by Tom Bodhi at September 26, 2005 08:01 PM
Comments
I really like the sensual way you portray the self you left behind. He's not ghostly at all. Think of your left-behind self as the guardian of your most vivid memories, the ones that you'll never forget as long as he's there.
Posted by: emma at September 30, 2005 09:28 AM
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