Bangkok’s airport looks like a cyberspace glass inferno, and I am typing with a Malaysian woman using my lap as a pillow, while I try to use a laptop to be awake, and not sleep.
It’s 1 am and as always happens when I have to spend a night in any airport in the world, I wish I was somewhere else.
I wish we were in Yangon already, trying to wrap our heads around the enigma that so far Myanmar has been to me, seriously wishing I won’t have to come back home for the umpteenth time with a sour smile on my face, for whatever reasons.
I decided not to expect too much, but being here at night sleepless and unable to do that even if I wanted just because I decided to be the best man I can for this girl, it’s hard not to at least WISH it will be great.Bangkok is Bangkok, as always. This time I came in flying, and I was surprised to see a thick cloud of fog surrounding it, I never noticed that before, every time I was there. This said, Bangkok is a big city and I found myself to be more of a kampung monkey, and besides this, Khao San is always Khao San. Steamy, hot, funny for an evening, boring the next day, cheap and appropriate as a shelter to this hectic mega city that has lost itself, completely. I don’t hate this place, at all, it just gets harder and harder to understand each coming time. We bought some fake student cards in Khao San, and this time a few people thinking Kit Yeng was my Thai prostitute, started addressing to her in Thai, and she’s always too polite to refuse a smile. I felt weird. It was particularly amazing when, although walking and holding her hand, a tuk tuk driver asked me if I wanted a prostitute, and a ping pong show. Classic, amazing, brilliant. I decided I want to go back to Bangkok with a set of ping pong balls and rackets, and when the first Thai asks me for a ping pong show, get the things out and start playing with her in the middle of the street. Then, ask the bastard for money. I swear, I want to do this.
While sitting in a café sipping a shake, one guy came up asking me to buy a suit, same story. Turns out he’s Nepalese, and we start talking about his country, until his friend comes up and we figure out he’s from Myanmar. A lot of Burmese people live in Bangkok and all over Thailand. Once I gave guitar lessons to one in Koh Tao, and I thought he was Thai almost until the end of our conversation. Amazing, exquisite people, friendly and well spoken, although with a shade of disgrace in their eyes.
I’ve read a lot about Burma, whether to go or not to go, who to support, who to listen to, and I decided yes, I want to go, because my presence can’t make a lot of harm, overall. If these people need someone to talk to, here I am, if they instead just need someone to get some cash from, I’ll do it as long as it’s convenient for me. I’ve just heard good things about this beautiful people, and it’s time to go and test, witness and experience firsthand.
I’ll try to tell it as I see it, nothing more, nothing less. Now, time to close this screen and try to rest bending over the backpacks… yeah we travel in style, Suvarnabhumi airport bench and white and blue lights, caught the 9 pm bus from Khao San because we better stay here and rot for 9 hours than keep on enjoying the theme park for backpackers and sexpatriates downtown. I’m definitely getting older, and wiser, thank god.