'Looking for a better future in Bangkok'

She stood there, in front of the house with its crooked wooden planks and rusty corrugated iron roof that groaned with every gust of wind. The smell of fried fish and rice hung in the air, a smell that had always embraced her but now seemed to suffocate her. In her arms lay her little boy, his face still wet with tears, his hands clinging to her blouse as if he knew what was coming. But he was only one. What could he really understand?

“Mae’s going to work, honey,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her mother watched silently, the lines on her face drawn into an expression she couldn’t read, pity, disapproval, understanding? Maybe a little of everything. Her father sat under the mango tree, staring at the ground. His old eyes followed every movement of her foot as if he hoped she would turn around, take back her decision, never leave the village. But Bangkok was calling.

She set her son down, his tiny hands slipping from hers as she turned. “Bye, bye,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own. Something sharp pierced her heart as she heard him cry. She walked away, step by step, the sound of his cries like background music that grew softer and softer until all that was left was silence.

Bangkok. A city that smelled so different from home. The air thick and heavy with exhaust fumes and hot street food. Here, every day was a struggle, not just to make ends meet, but to exist at all. She worked long hours in a factory where the lights never went out, where the constant hum of machinery filled her ears like a bad song she couldn’t get out of her head. The only moments of peace were the phone calls she made to her parents, short conversations in which she always lied. “I’m fine. I make enough money.”

But she didn’t want to show any weakness, not to her parents and especially not to her son. “He’ll be proud of me when he grows up,” she told herself. But the nights were a different story. She slept on a thin mattress in a tiny room, surrounded by other women from Isaan who, like her, had dragged their hopes into town by their hair, only to see them evaporate on every street corner.

The loneliness crept along with her like a shadow, elusive but unmistakably there. It was in the way she looked at the photos of her son, eyes shining with an innocence she would never find again. It was in the way she counted her money, turning each baht over as if it were worth more than it actually was. It was in the gaze of the other women, all fighting their own battles, but none with the courage to say they felt as lost as she did.

One night, when she returned to her cramped room after a long day at work, she pulled a can of beer from the fridge and stood on the balcony. She stared at the endless sea of ​​lights stretching out below her, a dizzying ocean of neon and LED. But in all that light, she felt darker than ever. As if all that glittering gold only reminded her how far away she was from what really mattered.

She thought of her son, now with her parents. What would he remember of her when he grew up? Would he recognize her? Or would she by then be just a vague face in a yellowed photo, a voice on the phone that once said she loved him?

She took a sip of the beer and felt the cold liquid slide down her throat. She wanted to cry, but the tears had dried. All that was left was an emptiness, a hollow feeling that even the bustling Bangkok could not fill.

The city was a wild jungle of asphalt and concrete. People came and went, like days that flowed into each other. Bangkok swallowed you and spat you out, leaving you behind, a little broken, a little wiser. Maybe one day she would return to the village. Maybe one day she would feel her son’s hands again. But right now, right now, all she could do was keep going. One step ahead of the other, like she had that day when she left him with her parents.

She stared at her empty can, turning it in her hand as if it were a holy relic. A symbol of something that once meant something, but was now just an empty shell. She threw it off the balcony, watched it fall, spin, bounce, and disappear into the shadows. Maybe that was all she could ever do, fall and hope that someone, somewhere, would catch her.

But until then, there was only Bangkok. And the loneliness that grew stronger with each passing day.

About this blogger

Farang Kee Nok

My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.

ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.

I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.

Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!

Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.

Read the latest articles here

Older posts from this blogger

• CultureDecember 10 2024'Beach vendor in a world where dreams fade and the horizon promises little'
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• CultureDecember 4 2024'A life between steel and silk'