It’s Thursday night in Bangkok and I’m taking a quiet night for myself. I’ve been here for over a month now, and still feel a bit scattered in my skin. For almost a year, I had been building up for this return, and was nervous to come back to a life left on pause. Six weeks in, and I still feel like I'm only half here.
Being back has been bittersweet. I arrived in Bangkok on December 29th, after spending a mellow birthday and Christmas with Dad, Diane and Erin (more in another post). The walk from my apartment elevator to my door was one of the longest walks I can recall. I remember stopping as I neared my door to stare out the window towards Victory Monument, which at night, stands out like a white beacon amongst Bangkok’s skyline -- Craig was always fascinated with that view. As I stood at my door, I took a minute to consider all that had transpired since the day I turned around to lock it before leaving for the airport ten months ago. I remember being nervous that morning. My heart was already in Denver, but still, I was hesitant to leave. I knew then that if I did make it back to Bangkok, I do so without a mother and a brother. With their cancers, I was optimistic about time, but not prognosis.
I also knew that my life in Bangkok would change, and, indeed, it has. Resettling has not been easy. I arrived during a tricky time of year, when people flee to nearby beaches to spend New Year’s. Every person except one was away for the holidays, which gave me some time to decompress and rediscover a life put on pause almost a year ago. The city is the same, but the feeling is different. I don't feel as connected as I once did, and understandably so. Mom and Craig are all around me, here. I’m surrounded by memories of their visits. I remember taking Mom and Dad to the Grand Palace on her birthday, and how she felt faint during our tour. I remember our dinner atop Bangkok’s tallest restaurant and how she looked as she carefully negotiated the stairs down to our table. I remember how she cried when I hand delivered a carrot cake Nu and her mother made for her birthday.
I remember braving knee-high water with Craig on his first day here, and how we had to pole-vault over a ten foot wall just to get to my apartment. I can recall how he nodded his head and looked off to the side when he told my friends about his life in Denver. (I realize that I do the same behavior.) I remember how he was a goofy drunk when my friend Rob and I took him out for a night on the town. We had to help him walk to a taxi.
I remember how he would laugh at random signs, like the sign On Nut, and insist that I take a picture. It was so easy to make him laugh. I have a photo on my TV of a time we spent in southern Thailand when we took a boat through a tiny cave, and had to lay flat just to get through. Though I was sucking it in, only one part of my anatomy-- my stomach -- responded. At one point, my chest -- and hence, the boat -- became wedged against the roof of the cave and the rock side. Craig laughed and insisted on taking a picture of the water marks left on my T-shirt. I wake up to that photo every morning. I’m looking off to the left while Craig is smiling at the camera. Such a happy time then. The memories are hard, but without them, life would be a hollow existence.
My days here have been mixed. I spent New Year's outside on top of the 19th floor of Central World. Central World Plaza throws big Times Square-like party for New Year's with thousands crowding the street. It was nice to look down on the merry-wishers as my friend and I counted down to 2009. I held up well, for the most part, but when we hit the ten second mark, it hit me that they are really gone. I gave my friend a long hug and left for my apartment where I had one of those once in a lifetime kind of sobs that would make Hollywood smile. It was the kind of sadness that comes when you realize that forever is forever and life will never be the same.
The sad days are difficult, and I often like to spend those days alone, far from the watchful eye of others – some details simply can’t be conveyed. Thankfully, I have a patient group of friends that don’t mind the tears, which have come often. My first time back to the UN was overwhelming for what it signified. My colleagues were aware of the situation when I left in March, and knew the situation was dire. To return meant one thing: that the “situation” was over, meaning Mom and Craig had died. That was hard. They were supportive, but obviously overwhelmed by the story. A few colleagues had followed along with the blog and were aware of the details, which helped. A few of my colleagues also had experienced loss, so I felt safe sharing. Still, at the end of the day, I felt emotionally raw, as if the weight of the day was resting on my chest, waiting to explode. So at a dinner with two of my closest friends, I let it all go. It was difficult to fathom that I’d never be able to relay the ‘first day’ stories to Mom, or gripe about inter-office dynamics to Craig, that the little successes and failures of life will be shared with others but not them.
I find that it’s the little things that creep up. Thankfully, life is getting a bit easier, and I’m taking the steps to help make it so. Taking a cue from Craig, I’ve decided to slow time down, act on what I said I’m going to do, and tune in to the inner sounds of life. I’m now taking classical guitar; I’ve begun yoga and Pilates classes; and I’m trying to remind myself to laugh at least a little each day. As for work, I’ll be here for the next four months, and then, as Mom would say, we’ll see. My original intention was to stay a few weeks to pack my apartment and say goodbye to friends, but I’ve revised my plan in order to pursue a short-term contract with UNICEF, which will last until June.
In the meantime, I’m taking life one day at a time. There are a few things I’ve discovered since arriving here: acting on the ‘To Dos’ is much more satisfying than writing them; talking helps; and music can help a body overcome even the hardest of situations. After living the last year bouncing from borrowed shelter to borrowed shelter, it’s nice to finally feel at home, regardless of the awkward fit. Staying a few more months buys me time to let go of my life here, but not the memories; those I'll take with me. -- J
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