bangkok

They call it the City of Angels.

This colorful metropolis of bustling streets, smiling faces, spicy street food on every corner, and night lights sputtering like dying embers against the black evening sky. The eternal jewel of the Land of the Free.

It is the start of April and the air is a festival of scents from tangy tom yam noodles, dried tea leaves, and the lingering smell of burnt pavement scorched from an entire day under the summer sun. Night has just fallen and the dust that has silently covered the streets of Khao San throughout the day diffuse under the shuffle of a hundred pairs of shoes from peoples of all colors as they make their way through the small street. This nocturnal street stretches its limbs after a day’s slumber and one by one, the shops start to open. Loud music blares from invisible stereos and monobloc chairs are taken out by enthusiastic folks, a sign that drinking pubs are now open. Sounds of cheer and gaiety blanket the lively city street as bars, restaurants, ambulant stalls, food carts, and everything that keeps the spirit of “the short street with the longest dream” come alive.

Between the shops selling shawls and the make-shift accessory stall stands a man. He looks like he is about twenty-three; tanned skin, chiseled features, doe eyes - quite tall compared to the typical Asian. He holds on his left hand an empty plate of Pad Thai, chopsticks sticking out into the mid-air. He dumps the dregs on a nearby bin, sticks his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, and inspects the rest of the stalls around him.

“Kangkeng khay! Khun, kangkeng khay!”

A beaming middle-aged Thai woman walks up to him carrying a pair of pants. He gives a thrifty smile and bows his head politely in refusal. An escape comes in a form of a 7/11 store he spots from across the street. He drags his feet quickly beneath the neon signboard and walks through the glass doors; the girl behind the counter barely sparing him a glance as she busies herself with the customer in line.

A few seconds right after the young man left the stall, the Thai vendor finds her best costumer in the form of a cheerful girl who eagerly scoured the stall for interesting finds. An exchange of broken but comprehensible English, gleeful faces, and happy laughter.

“This shirt, how much?”
“Two for 100 baht. But for you, I give three.”
“Thank you. Is this all design you have?”
“Here. Same, same but different.”

The girl leaves the stall with her hands laden with a dozen paper bags of statement shirts, souvenirs, and summer dresses. The handy camera she wears on her neck like a necklace is still on, showing a portrait of a very satisfied peddler. She hums a happy tune and walks with a spring in her step; the guard of the relatively cheap inn she checked in during the day gives her an amused smile as she passes by.

She reaches the elevator and waits. The scrubby hoist opens to reveal three Europeans; she blithely skips on one side to let them pass. One of the teenage westerners gives her a wide smile, to which she gladly returned with a toothy grin. She strides towards the lift and places the paper bags on the elevator floor, silently chuckling to herself as she wonders how the three rather large individuals fitted in the cramped elevator.

She feels her jeans for her room keys before punching the button of her room floor. She looks at the things she has bought and smiles.

Who says you can’t shop on your first day?

Her eyebrows rise subconsciously when a hand stops the door from closing. She raises her head and comes face-to-face with an attractive young man. He looks at her for half a second, presses the button of the floor beneath hers, and faces the door with his back turned from her. The doors close and the elevator starts to move.

It is silent.

The shiny silver door casts a clouded reflection of the two of them. She tilts her head and checks herself in the surrogate mirror. She takes off the camera from her neck and takes a pose with her right hand sporting the famous peace sign.

One, two, three different poses.

She puts the camera down when the young man looks her way. She gives him a sheepish grin; an attempt to hide her flushed face. The elevator opens in time, suggesting the man’s stop. She holds her smile for a few more seconds until the doors close. 

A resolute smirk crosses the man’s face when he hears the sigh of relief from the girl. He turns around, to return the smile and to tell her she made him pleasantly occupied the least – even for a few seconds, only to find the cold steel wall in front of him.

Oh. Okay.

He shrugs his shoulders and treads towards the direction of his room. His mind occupied with the interesting scenario from the elevator. The image of the smiling girl still on his thoughts: huge cheeks, bright eyes, glowing smile. A small section of her hair, tied with a rubber band, sticks out of her head like that of an apple stem. Pretty, he concludes. And quite tall too.

It wasn't until he reached the end of the hall when he realizes that he'd walked past his own room. He scratches his head in amusement as he inserts the key into the knob. The door opens, revealing a tidy space. He switches on the light and walks towards the bed. The air-con whirs in time as his body lands with a flop on the mattress. He raises an arm to his forehead, thoughts running amok in his mind.

A week has passed since he first got here. Not once did she enter his mind through all those times. That person who is the reason why he got here in the first place. His girlfriend.

Former girlfriend.

His super-ego corrects him. He doesn’t mind. She toyed with him. After two long years, she broke up with him as if everything were just for play.

I’m in love with someone, she broke it to him one sunny day. Since when? She didn’t answer directly, but she said that they were about to be married. Soon. So, goodbye now. Ta-ta. Someday, you’ll find the person for you. I’m sorry if it’s not me.

He has been wandering ever since. One country to the next. Immersing himself with the world; a world of new sights and sounds, hoping that it would drown the sorrow. It did, somehow.  It has been ten months or so and there hasn't been much of a problem. Until this morning when he saw a scarf on a stall that reminded him of the one she gave him on their 100th day together. He tries to locate the painful feeling in his chest but there was none. None of the usual agonizing emotion but rather that of a sense of clamminess on his gut; as if a plug has been pulled out, draining all palpable emotions.

He isn't sure what it might be. Is it the well-known uneasy feeling accompanying the fingers of indifference as it begins to shroud itself on long-deserted memories?

Echoes of his sigh ring against the walls of the room. He rolls on the bed, grabs the remote control, and turns on the television set. He scans the channels – rom-coms on HBO, replays on sports channels, bad news on constant loop. Nothing interesting. He lets the incomprehensible noises waft into the air, lulling himself to sleep.

Two doors to the left of the room directly above his, the girl from the elevator kicks her shoes off her feet as she lies down in her bed. Tired from an entire day of walking, shopping, and eating, she takes off the camera from her neck and scans the photos she has taken. A smile makes its way to her lips as the snapshots move in front of her eyes.

I’m here. I’m free. This is the beginning of everything.

She takes a deep breath before pulling out a cellular phone inside her jeans.

“Umma… How’s everything? Me? I’m doing fine. Thailand’s a really beautiful place. Yes. Yes. Oh, about five times. Haha, yes. Twice in the convenience store and the rest on random places. You really think so? I told you I blend well. People here are my relatives. Haha, yes. Yes… Appa?”

She sighs; a rather long stretch of silence before she speaks again. Her voice quivers slightly.

“I miss you two, also. But we’ve talked about this before, right umma? I will return only when appa learns to trust me and my decisions… I love him. But I’m not a little girl anymore… I should live my life on my own…”

Her fingers found a crease on the bed sheet. She plays with the fold absentmindedly; her ears still on the phone.

“I’ll be fine, umma. Don’t worry about me… Just… tell appa I called. Even if he doesn’t want to talk to me. I love you, umma. Tell appa I love him too. See you soon.”

She puts down the phone and stares at the ceiling, silent teardrops slide down on both sides of her face. She stays that way for a few more minutes before she finds the strength to stand up. She opens the refrigerator and takes out what was left of the lasagna she had for lunch earlier that day. The floor feels cold against her skin as she slumps down and finishes the food.

The staff of the inn must have cleaned the room, she thinks. The trash bin is clean and empty. She throws away the empty pasta box, walks towards the closet, and grabs a bathrobe. The door clicks close only to be opened a few seconds later. She half-runs towards the bed, grabs the camera, and whistles merrily on her way to the swimming pool at the rooftop.

It is half past ten and the pool area is deserted. She takes off her robe, places it on a bench together with her camera, and makes her way to the shower before plunging into the water. She pulls herself out of the pool after a few laps. Wrapping herself with the robe, camera in hand, and walks towards the poolside bar for a drink.

The friendly bartender notices the device on her hand and points at a staircase half-hidden by potted palms as a good spot.

“There is hut there. You have good view of street. Really good view.”

She gives her thanks, pays the bill – adds a rather generous tip too – and takes her time to walk slowly towards the place the bartender suggested. The gust of the cold night breeze welcomes her. She pulls the robe tighter around her and strides towards the edge.

It is, indeed, a sight.

People look like little black ants scurrying all over the street. Colorful flares from stalls and shops alike fuse with the sodium lights - giant concrete candlesticks sticking up from the ground - creating a palette of vivid hues against the  otherwise monochromatic gray pavement. She satisfies herself by taking as much photographs as she can before making her way into the hut concealed by two huge indoor palm trees.

A small gasp escapes her lips upon seeing someone inside the cottage. The said person looks into her direction after hearing the sound. Nobody speaks for the following seconds that followed. She bows her head upon realizing the situation. Muttering words of apologies in accented English. She turns her back and takes a step away.

“Wait.”

The word freezes her in her tracks.

“I’m alone. Do you mind if I… if I… ask you for company?”

She blinks furiously upon the request. She turns her head gently towards his direction. Her eyes met his, serious and sincere.

Her footsteps light as she walks towards him. His back is against the edge of the rooftop; the lights from the nearby buildings illuminate his form like a halo. She sits on the bench adjacent to him and observes.

“Dangshineun Hanguk-in?”

His eyes smile at her as he asks the question and she laughs that merry laugh of hers.

“Neh… Eotteohke asyeoss-eoyo?”

“Just a feeling.” He answers in English. His eyes never leaving her face.

“Geurodahmyeon…” she stretches her hand for a handshake. “Nae ileum eun Choi Sooyoung imnida.”

He receives her hand, holding it firm in his. “Choneun Shim Changmin imnida.”

Exchange of smiles, few words, until short comments stretch into long stories.

At around five in the morning, Changmin steps into the chilly Bangkok dawn to see only a few stalls standing open. An unusual smile stuck on his face as he marches towards the nearby 7/11 store for two packs of ready-to-eat lasagna. Sooyoung watches him from the window of her hotel room, both hands on her cheeks and stupid grin pasted on her features. She heaves a dreamy sigh and drums her fingers against the windowsill.

She looks straight ahead from the roofs of the buildings to see the inky black sky thinning out into a paler shade of dark blue against the horizon. Past sleepy food stalls, solitary tuk-tuks treading on lazy streets, large boards showing portraits of the King, and early folks readying for the Songkran festival, the soft rays of the gentle summer morning seeps into dozing alleyways, breathing life into the land.

Bangkok, the City of Angels, starts to wake up.