(I/H) 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 || mewgulf

crisped.

If there was one thing Gulf swore to bring to the grave with him, it would be the intense hatred he had towards this place.

You heard it, Gulf hated Chiang Saen with all his existence.

It started when he was roughly seven or eight. Home he ran with mud-covered soles which thudded in the peaceful setting sun, amplifying the echoes of his sparsely feathered shuttlecock hitting leathered insteps. He was beaming with joy and it was as if the sun dropped a bundle of gold morphing into a boy with a charming smile, namely Gulf Kanawut.

In Sangkhlaburi, Gulf was the sensation. Any boy mischievous, their mothers would twist their child's ear: Look at Gulf, they all chanted, the boy with rounded scores from school, fragrant goods from the bakery and a great helper from home. How decent! How well-taught! Any boy who played shuttlecock kicking whispered into each other's ears with half content: Look at Gulf, they all chanted, the boy was blindingly in love with the game to the extent that he lost himself. It was true, though, he would be head over heels in love with practicing, even if it rained.

Therefore, 10-year-old Gulf didn't understand why his mother would insist on moving. They were having baby potatoes and lamb racks - Gulf's favorite. Yet, he felt as if he chewed on rubber when his mother rolled on the soles of her feet, happily chirping that they were going to move. Even his brother, who had always taken his side, joyfully chowed down his piping hot helping.

What was lacking from their peaceful life?

On the weaving river-bed away from Sangkhlaburi, Gulf looked back at his home fading away from his vision. Life was unpredictable. He thought the place was in his veins, but all of it had changed, after one night of a phone call. Brown straw-built roofs, scraggy palm trees, bulky children sharing the same interest as him and gossipping washery misses whom would whisper excitedly whenever he took a stroll. Gulf felt uncertain. He could have or rather should have thrown a tantrum right then, when the neighbors had busied themselves with grieving goodbyes, when his youngster friends had occupied him with a game before he left for good and when a girl, younger than him one or two years gave him a brand new shuttlecock as a memoir of Sangkhlaburi. Now, although he wanted his innermost to revolt, he just stared, face as blank as paper while his orbs trailed on the fading spume of white-capped waves drawn from the canoe's tail.

🍊

Chiang Saen to Gulf was just a greener Sangkhlaburi, yet a gem to Gulf's family. He knew it from the moment the carriage heaved with crisp on cobbles in front of a densely vined gate, on which etched "Chiang Saen". The three squeezed through the crowded town market with their cumbersome holdalls towards the very far end, where a stoned path led to a petite cottage, brimmed with an unmistakable rural Italian hospitality. Stood tall and high in front of Gulf's naked vision, the thing might be the only good impression he had (should he omit all the sneezing) upon laying his footsteps here. It was still acceptable from the outside, a fresh coat of paint and some gardening would do it good. The insides were, unsurprisingly, messy and full of cobwebs. Horrific. As you would guess, it was a painstakingly thorough journey to make it from rags to riches, which was the bakery they owned then.

Although Chiang Sean did pound them like bricks, there was one thing the Kanawuts all agreed on.

The garden backyard.

It would be an understatement to say it was luck that they had all bumped into. In fact, it was a royal miracle for them to encounter such an abundance. Trees, of which trunks were larger than Gulf's embrace, mushrooming hale and high from moist dirt. Leaves a deeper shade of healthy green stayed still completely, as if taken aback by the entrance of new-comers. What is the best of all? Fruits. Baby fruits thickly sprouted from frail dried branches and from any angle you would see tiny spheres of lime-green patiently waiting for its moment of harvest. It made completely no sense to Gulf that this much of a beautiful garden would be lent for them, let alone such an intricately adorned house in the middle of a green-grassed field. Moreover, from whom could his mother be able to make such handsome profits? A millionaire? Or an undercover royal? It surely couldn't have been someone of mediocrity. Yet, the scenery wasn't a powerful stride from the said mediocre impression. Too human, in fact.

If only he could know what wonders lie beyond.

Eyelids fluttered shut with his forehead pressed to the window of his room. His shuttlecock feathers crisped agony in ivory...

A/N:

It's been such a long time since I am back on track and it's one hell of a bumpy ride. First of all, regarding the complex situation of COVID-19, please stay inside as much as possible. Educate yourselves as much as possible, on BLM, on political issues or on matters surrounding you etc. and I can't stress this enough but if you have to go out, wear a mask for the safety of yourself and others. Though it's hard, we're all in this together so stay in, stay safe and stay woke.

Moreover, this is such a guilty confession because I haven't left you guys a decent note considering my admissions but I will update as much as possible.

I miss writting for you guys so much *cries*