Last Night in Bangkok
I sit at the airport of Bangkok, the behemoth of the city weighing on me, sweat ladended shirt, sunburnt nose, a spice from last night still simmering in my stomach. The airport is massive and matches the sprawl of the city that skirts up all around it. However here there is A/C. Which is an amazing commodity for the weak willed tourists such as myself.
I think about yesterday, my last night here. In Bangkok and in the country. Sitting outside our hostel, many empty beers on the table along with playing cards. We are betting popcorn and laughing at Confucius meditations from a duck that is printed on the cards. The one and only pack we could scrounge up of course. We talk about our time here, the people we were with. We have to talk loudly though. Cars are screaming by on the city street that is cramped against the sidewalk and a trainline is smashed above us. A three-man-band plays into the night giving us accented renditions of Nirvana and Wonderwall. I grab fried chicken from a vendor outside the lounge, I keep going back, it’s a perfect drunken snack and everyone else laughs at me. We are red faced and sweating and I think in this moment that this is why I have come here. For memories like these. This is one last moment to relish.
Now, I look back on pictures from a dwindling battery and hope I am not sick myself. I need to get home, back to the life I have meticulously planned and worked for these past two years, and two more years of school lay in wait. So I quickly collect myself to write up my thoughts that I know will be tarnished with time and air travel and miles and miles that fall behind me. I had twenty nights in this country. Far too little to even scratch its surface. Enough however to dive deep into the people I have met and found myself caring for. How long would that take I wonder? How long to form a connection so deep I cannot believe they have not been in my life before this journey? I might have said years once. Now I know. You only need one conversation, long and under the stars with a placid lake tickling your feet. The mountains in the lightless distance are your only audience. They hold no judgment, just poise. Or a curt talk around a fire in the midst of a jungle. Or asking if they are alright in a quiet moment between plane, train, and automobile.
Now they are gone. The people just like the views, but I know another fact. Connections like that are rare. And that I am a lucky man.
I am surprised I made so many connections. As a person that is independent and cares most about a quick laugh, I found myself having the hardest time saying goodbye. These people that traveled the world. Alone. To meet and explore with strangers and open their hearts to all of it. In bravery and bravado I found souls akin to my own. So why wouldn’t I bare who I really am to them? It would be disrespectful not to. Besides, they already know. I just put words to ears and voice to a soul. They know me as soon as they saw me, and I them, so they nod along and do the same in turn. Expressing everything. We are all travelers and have a yearning that words do little to explain.
It’s sometimes easier to be honest with strangers and with strangers so alike it’s like river over stone. We focus in our picture of one another even more, discovering details that make them unique with each word they utter, or story about friends, and heartbreaks, and times when they were afraid.
We learn from one another, from the surroundings. From the stories of locals and the language and the culture. We blunder through greetings and customs and are thankful the people forgive and smile and laugh with us. Which is a language we all recognize. From dance floors and temples. To praying in front of Buddha's visage then praying on the bows of boats to not be ill. To trekking through villages and washing in waterfalls. Learning from elephants and men and women alike. The experiences seem outside of time. Days and conversations bleed together. Only sorted and categorized by pictures and stories from another's point of view. We were whisked away. Trapped in amber. In recollection it’s like something you can hold, feel, to put to your lips and breathe it in. I am so thankful for that. It is better to hold it dear than watch it slither away just a string of memories. How poor memories are at trapping a moment. How small they seem in recollection.
I sometimes feel, in quiet nights, in solitude, in laughter, a certain type of melancholy. As if I am a man trapped in an hourglass. I feel it now. With reality cracking this amber stained dream. In an hourglass the sand always trickles down and might torrent or slow. But it always falls, getting in between your toes. Mucking up your days, weeks, months, years. I feel as if I am so busy cleaning out the minutiae, the chores always needing done. Expenses and irritations that take up time and always fall again, relentlessly so. Stuck to do due diligence and sweep away and away and still find yourself with a good pile that has amassed around you. You cannot put the sand back. Try as you might. You can only shovel it away. Make yourself comfortable, for a little. While being careful not to slip or to fall into neglect. Apathy. Only then does it win.
Win. A silly word. Time will always win of course. It always does. But you shovel and sweep and make yourself as proud as you can be of the place you find yourself in. You move it in loads, you move it with a brush from your shoulder. Small ways and big. You hope you have a good long while before it covers you completely. But you never know. You only hope.
I forget about that tumbling sand when I am on the road. I think that is what traveling does for me. It halts it. Stops it. I get to wipe away the glass and look at something else. My life, my home, our world and our place in it. To ponder it for just a bit. What a treat.
I cannot stay here sadly. The levey will break. The sand always wins. I wish I had more time here to see every bit of this country. But I know years would not be enough. I know it would take living in it for a decade, an upbringing, to fully grasp it. I can appreciate it, I can love it. But I have to leave. That’s okay. I love the life I have fashioned for myself. I have my own promises to keep. It reminds me of one of my favorite lyrical line: “I am not the only traveler. Who has not repaid his debt.” It is a familiar feeling when you step out your door on an adventure. You always know what waits for you back home. All travelers cannot run forever.
So I wish I had more time and know it will never be enough. I am so happy because that is such a beautiful thing. Having something so special you wish it will never end. Even more beautiful however, is that we never get our wish. The ending of it is what makes it so important. You can’t hold something forever, you have to let it go.
Now for the friends I have made I know they will head home one day too. They will fall back into their lives, different in small ways, I hope they are reflective. I wish they always choose what makes them happy. Perhaps their change is just a new phrase they use or a new story they share. I wish I had more time with them as well. Unlike a country, I feel… not even years would be enough. A lifetime is what they deserve. Now maybe I'm sentimental. Maybe I have tears welling up in my eyes because I know, that’s exactly what we have. To whom it matters most. A lifetime. Foundations only crumple with foul fate or neglect. I promise to work that extra bit even back in my hourglass. To keep you all close. And if it does not work that way, so be it. We will always have our tiny time together in the sea of things. As long as you know how much I treasured it, that’s enough for me.
To all my friends,
Katie,
Z. Bear,
Jack,
Ellie,
Lauren C,
Dan(ny),
And Em.
and everyone else as well,
Cheers and rest easy.