Thailand smile

Chapter One

For some time, I thought we were all dead.
We would just collectively turn off and pretend that we were not, but I was sure that we were living some sort of post-mortem madness that kept us stuck in here.
I was sure, to be honest, that we would have just woken up someday and we would have given up on the idea of keep trying, that we would have agreed that this lie was not only useless but also incredibly boring.
And then I came to Thailand.
A few weeks before the trip, I would have sworn that I would have spent my last day on Earth surrounded in grey: grey suit, grey city with grey buildings and grey air. The grey was filling my lungs and I could breathe through it just enough not to let it choke me.
I could also perfectly remember the moment I have decided I had enough of it.
“Miss?”
I raise my face just to notice a woman staring at me.
She’s wearing a dark blue dress, barely touching her knees where the scars of an adventurous childhood were not erased, her hair is meticulously collected in a bun that shined despite the not-so great lightning in the room.
As everyone in here, it is complicated to define an age.
“Yes?”
“Your room is ready,” she lets me know in a mellow accent that is a great attempt of imitating our common language.
She is used to talk to foreigners, and I am used to be one.
I wonder how many people like me she had seen before, walking in this luxurious five stars installation that was so inaccessible to the average Thai citizen, I wondered if she ever considered herself lucky or cursed to work here.
That was something that I had learned already in my short stay: you can walk through the richness and the poverty without even leaving the same neighborhood.
“Thank you so much.”
I gently touch for the last time the soft fiber of the couch where the staff allowed me to sit as my room got prepared, apparently arriving at six in the morning is too early for every country in the world, and I think about you.
Were you here too?
No, I know from the receipt in your email that you were staying at a nearby hotel, not this one, but something inside of me knew that I could have not deal with being in the same reception as you, the same hallways, maybe even in the same room.
I follow the lady, despite her elegant high heels she’s not producing a single sound as she walks in such a gentle pace that makes her look like a mythological nymph; I notice a man carrying my bag as he takes a curious look at my foreign appearance.
I’ve seen a lot of people doing the same, getting caught staring at me, at how I move, at how I look and how I dress.
In a country filled with people, they have stared me a lot.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why you loved being here.
“We have continental breakfast completely included in the price of the room, also the gym and the swimming pool in the roof with no time limitation,” her voice fills the elevator and I am barely paying attention to her.
“Thank you.”
It seems that those are the only words that have come out of my mouth lately.
I look at the mirror behind me and I struggle to recognize me as the same woman I was a month ago.
The reflection looks familiar, with the same auburn hair surrounding a squared face and falling until the ribs, the same paleness (maybe more, you would have made me notice), and my enormous hazel eyes who could probably need a night or two of sleep.
But I had no time for that.
“I’m searching for a place named The Boy Toy, in Nana Plaza” I say.
The lady changes her posture and I notice how rigid her shoulders are; I can only imagine how many requests she must have heard in her career to manage to keep her smile.
I have asked her about one of the most known red-light districts in all of Thailand, placing a very specific opinion about me on my first day.
Nana Plaza, also known as the “adults playground”, one of the biggest complexes dedicated to adult night life and entertainment, filled with activities that attracted not precisely the right kind of tourism.
But it attracted you somehow.
“Oh… I never heard of such a place,” she slightly blushes, “but we can arrange a cab if you want to, Miss.”
“That would be lovely.”
She escorts me to my room, placing the keys in my right hand and allows me to get inside: the first thing I notice is how clean and modern everything is, from the king size bed with two folded-towels swans kissing to the giant window that allows me a perfect view of Bangkok.
“Wow,” I can’t help to whisper.
“Is the room okay, Miss?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely perfect,” I mumble, getting close to the window and hugging my own arms, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am here.
“Whatever you need you can call the reception, we are always available,” she recites, “what time do you need the taxi?”
“Around seven thirty would be great.”
She nods with her head and walks away, leaving me alone once more.
So weird to be here, in the land of smiles, and feeling like crying my eyes out every time my mind goes to you.
I walk to the bathroom and spend too much time in the tub, so long that my ecological conscience is screaming inside of my head, but I can’t help it, I just want to wash the trip from my body, I just want to feel a moment of peace after two months.
I get out only when the image of mom’s bathtub comes to me.
I quickly get out as I hold the scream in my throat, and I empty the tub, watching the water disappear and making sure that I am calmed.
The tub makes a last aspiration noise as I leave the bathroom, wrapped in a rope and I sit on the bed, searching for my phone and noticing that I have no missing calls.
They called you when you got in Thailand, several times, but you never used to pick up the first time.
The ring sound expands through the room.
Mom answers when I was about to leave every hope and hang up; her eyebags are swollen and the wrinkles around them have accentuated even more, she is also wrapped in a rope and she is walking out of her room, most likely to avoid waking up dad.
“Hey ma,” I say.
“Did something happen, Miranda?”
I have my grandma’s name, and I wonder if they only agreed to it to appease her or because they genuinely never thought that the relationship with her would have become so difficult.
“Everything is fine, I just got to the hotel.”
“Mmm… is it safe?”
“Yes, the safest place I could find, the neighborhood seems pretty good too,” as I talk I can say that her interest is fading away, “in any case, I just wanted to let you know that I am fine, that I’m going to rest a little and then I’ll be going out.”
She suspires.
Mom really misses you.
“You don’t have to do this, Miranda, you could just come home, and we could let all of this go.”
Mom has offered me this every time I’ve mentioned the idea of coming to Thailand, until the moment she left me at the airport, but at the same time she has never made an attempt to actually stop me from coming.
I smile:
“I’m fine, don’t worry too much about me.”
“Make sure to call.”
“Of course.”
She is standing on her home’s stairs, in front of a picture of yours, and I have to keep myself from crying again.
“John called by the way,” she announces with the same monotone voice.
Of course John called, of course he was trying to reach my mother and father in the worst possible moment to make sure he could localize me, I roll my eyes and I shake my head:
“I’m sorry he did, you don’t have to talk to him, Ma.”
“He’s worried, you know? You could have gone with him, he would have kept you safe and he is truly a good guy.”
“I am kinda tired now, you should go to sleep too now.” I yawn, maybe I am faking it, but maybe it’s my body realizing that I am exhausted indeed.
I hang up without saying goodbye.
When I do it, I also see that John has tried to call me at least five or six times, and I must have at least fifteen messages from him, I close the app and I ignore them and him and everyone else on Earth.
It’s not his fault, but I can’t.
I just can’t.
My head is suddenly heavy and as I fall on the mattress and close my eyes, I can’t stop thinking about all the mess you left behind.