Please don’t watch me while I eat this tom yum. Please don’t watch as beads of sweat form on my upper lip, my glasses fog up, and my nose starts to run. Look away, I say! The corners of my mouth are staining red. My lips are on fire and I’m sniffling in the spicy and hot.
Gosh, it’s hot out here. Why do they say eating hot soup is good for you when you’re outside in the Bangkok heat?
Oh please don’t watch me slurp it from my spoon.
Gotta do something about these ants.
The ants are everywhere in my apartment. I’ve been keeping all of my food-related garbage out on the balcony (and have yet to figure out where it should go next. Where does all the trash go in Bangkok??). But they still come in here and crawl around on the floor, presumably happening upon the tiniest of bread crumbs from my daily peanut butter sandwich breakfast.
They bother me, I guess, but then there are moments when I feel like they are actually helping me out by cleaning up the crumbs for me.
Is that irrational?
I should get some ant traps.
It happened again. I’m so sorry. I lost the rings you gave me last fall – all three of them – and it breaks my heart to break this news to you. It was a couple years ago when you gave me the turquoise and silver ring and told me you got it out west and not to lose it. But a hotel room in New Orleans swallowed it whole and I always promised you I would get you a new one.
Then you gave me the trio of beautiful silver rings that I always wore simultaneously: two on my left hand and the stunning silver one with the simple gold dip in it on my right hand. I left them in Koh Tao, lost again to a the depths of a temporary residence.
I’m so sorry, Mom. Maybe you’re not angry, but I imagine you are disappointed and to me and that’s almost worse. I’m disappointed in myself because I promised I wouldn’t lose them and I did.
Let this be my #1 gripe: There is no where to sing loudly in Bangkok.
Not even my shower, because it’s connected to my balcony and, therefore, the outside world. Everyone would be able to hear me, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but definitely changes the experience of singing loudly.
You see, the whole point of belting one out in the car is so you can practice being loud and obnoxious and ridiculous without anyone there to judge you. There is no equivalently human-less space that I can freely occupy here in Bangkok and for this, I am sad.
“Ode to My Chacos”
You!!! You are the best shoes for me here. You’ve been there for me in the dirty Bangkok acid rain; you always stay on my feet and even though things get slippery, you never slip off.
You were there for me in the sand and sea; you supported me as I trekked through the mud and waded in the streams of the rainforest. You didn’t protect me from the leeches, but that’s OK. They didn’t hurt too much.
I don’t even mind that I have a weird foot tan line.
A study in non-graceful Eating for the Camera:
So here’s my question: is it possible to become addicted to sticky rice?
It’s much harder to write when you’re feeling happy. When you’re happy, you want to go out and do things. When you’re sad, you want to look inwards and figure shit out.