AoNikki

Third day in Bangkok, and it’s raining. Out of Siam Center, I realize that it has gotten dark. People gather on the doorstep, hiding from the rain, looking out. In this area, the heart of the city, on every road vehicles follow each other non-stop. The streets seem to be too small, now even narrower because of the overpasses and the skyscrapers on both sides. Like a tiny, stuffy flat in Tokyo. A tidy mess, with objects systematically bump into each other. The overpasses steal away the last piece of the gray sky which almost disappears behind the tallness of the buildings – making it an overground subway station where sunlight cannot reach.

I count the passers-by. Roxy. Diesel. Converse (my favorite). Puma. Levi’s. An armless man with soulless eyes lying on the pavement, listening to the jingle of the coins mindlessly thrown into his tin by safa or noble (or both) pedestrians. He smells of rain and sunlight, of winds and sand, of days and nights, of salt and peppers. He resembles an Indian I know, but no one would like to buy his hair, should he want to sell it. “We” is not in his vocabulary. Maybe neither is “I” (“me” sometimes is, though). A silent acerbity hovers in the earthy air, akin to the deadly, timeless space I found in Costa Rican Consulate in Bangkok( Well-designed and people-less, with a swimming pool and a terrace carefully cared. Abstract paintings. Incomprehensible bonsai poses. Unknown porcelains.)

My thoughts go from the officer, the guards, and the gardener working there to a Thai gentleman at Gem Gallery, who spoke Vietnamese with such good accent and grammar that I even doubted his origin. When it came to gems, his vocabulary was even better than mine. And I wondered if he studied my language out of his interest for my country or for the sake of his business. Everything was business. Brand names were business, tastes were business, interests were business, and culture was business. Maki borrowed from South Korea, tempura with Thai taste, Sushi eaten with a pair of hashi, they became business.

The taste of sushi remains on the tip of my tongue long after.

Spend over 300 bahts, and you’ll get a stamp. Get 5 stamps, and you have one Japanese dish for free. A teenage couple sitting beside me (whom I gave my one stamp card to) dressed in school uniform, dyed haired, heavily made up. They had 2 cards with four stamps each.

The colorful images of dishes printed on the cards titillated me with memories. Invariably, my eyes set on every Japanese restaurant I encounter. Invariably, someone I know would ask “Are you never fed up with these?” But invariably, he would take me in and, with affection, look at me enjoying the food. Proud of his own culture. Embrace it in his arms the way he would embrace me. What he didn't know was the corners of my eyes, stuffed with shadows of cultures and the golden flickers accompanying the tiny jingles.

One day I’ll have my own house with a room full of souvenirs from places I’ve been and an open, garden workspace. One day all I have will be my laptop and an air ticket. One day I’ll have nothing at all but myself and a world to travel. People to see and remember. Lives to watch and contemplate. Conversation to carry out and learn. A world to which I’ll definitely pay back. One day I’ll have nothing but everything.

One day I’ll walk on pavements and be able to stay away from Siam Centers and Gem Galleries.