Wednesday, February 28, 2007

GLOBAL WARMING



FIRE! My daughter Mia brought up a serious concern of hers about global warming. I believe we owe it to the young people of this planet to do what we can to improve the potential of their future. She was very interested in what could be done and so she wanted me to suggest everyone to go to the stop global warming web site and take a look.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Four Lovely and Happy Graduates



It's February and the final days for seniors in Thai high schools. Of course many of them have been done since the moment their acceptance letters arrived from their prospective universities. It has been my third year teaching in the Satit Kaset International Program and I am pleased to say that this graduating class has suffered through me for three years. Most of them did not exactly appreciate my "no wrong answer, just those you can prove and those you can't" Western approach to teaching, but a few of them seemed to appreciate the freedom of explaining their own interpretations of the literature we covered.
These four young ladies were always very lovely and here they are offering me a flower wreath to give respect to their teacher. This is something the students do by their own accord and it is very appreciated. Considering how difficult teaching is, it is wonderful when the students give a little back to us. Of course they may have been giving it to me because my desk is a mess and considering the occasional lost sandwich or half consumed cup of coffee lingering beneath piles of papers, there can be a rather revolting odor hovering about at times.
The flower's fragrance is splendid and brightened up my day! Thanks Kwan,Chuleeporn, Wow, and Linz! You will all be missed!

Friday, February 23, 2007

Thai Students Hard At Work



Do Thai students work too hard? I must say that Thai students have developed a very odd way of studying. For those of you outside the Kingdom you are probably not aware of their tactics so I will shed a bit of light on them. First classes are not attended with a great deal of vigor. In truth in universities it is very rare to hear a student so much as whisper a response to a direct question, let alone offer an original question of their own. Because there is so little interaction within the classroom the students rarely even bother to bring their books or notebooks, but attendance is usually mandatory so they do come, and in full uniform, ready to be counted. When the class ends, most of them have written only what the instructor put in their power point presentation or what they wrote on the board. Actually many of them write nothing, because notes are prepared down the street and offered for a very low price. Tutoring centers rake in fortunes as the students, mostly too passive about study to wade through the books on their own, flock to get last minute assistance.
It is a problem here. The method is cram and forget. Matching tests and regurgitation rather than offering new inspirations. Of course this is generalizing and I hope someone will write to me and say, "Sim, you're way off base we discuss, we write original work, we do our own research, we work together with our college instructors to drive our learning. You know nothing!" But, I have seen the campuses in Bangkok and they are lined with tutoring centers offering everything from study notes to previous tests, tutors who actually sit in the classes and then explain everything to the clueless masses they are sitting next too, and the worst case I ever heard about was that some professors - probably not for a low price - even sell their tests directly to the tutoring centers.
So what is happening the 14 weeks before finals? This is what I can't figure out. During midterms and finals it is obvious what is going on and that is CRAM IT ALL NIGHT, bubble in the morning and back to the normal day.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Passport Renewal



The hardest part about realizing that my passport is expiring next month is not so much the hassle of running to the Embassy down town to fill out the forms it is going to take to renew it. It's not the $60 I have to pay. It's not even the fact that I can't spell the street I live on here in Thailand by memory.
It's just that passports expire once a decade and I thought, as I flagged down a taxi to head down to the embassy, how strange it seemed to be doing this. Has it truly been ten years? I found myself looking at the photo inside and trying to use it like some kind of portal to my own past. I was 29 then and with a pocket full of cash from my sports accounting job and my teacher's salary that had finally broken $40,000. I was divorced and enjoying single life. I was strong and naive. I had never left America, but told people about my travels within the country as if I was telling harrowing adventure stories. I watched Asian films and mistakenly believed I understood a culture I'd never visited. And at age 29 I was finally getting around to filing out a passport application and actually leaving the country. A late bloomer is an understatement for this Xpat. God my eyes look young and of course there is more hair...
29 is such a wonderful age. Mature and yet not old. Young and yet experienced. On the edge of both youth and adulthood and so much of life is ahead and I can see in my eyes even in this passport no-smiling-please photograph that I know it.
39 is not so young. A decade has passed from my first passport and my first trip to Thailand which followed shortly after. My God I loved Asia. Within five years of my first visit I was moving here. Where did the ten years go? Where did the money I came with to Thailand go? Now I am just a broke writer barely getting by in a two room flat and eating street food because I can't afford anything more than a dollar or two a day, but when I came money was no object. My American money was strong against the baht and I had squirreled away lots of it in my gambling days. It went fast here! Writer's are not always such frugal people and Thailand's seemingly inexpensive lifestyle can make one feel a sense of false security. Water under the bridge for me really. I am poor, sometimes fearfully so, but I am a survivor and I have always found a way to make it.
I do fear though that I have lost something in this past decade far more valuable than a bulky bank account. Have I made enough memories? I fear my life has been like a trashy romance novel where I flipped through boring page after mundane chapter without recollection, only truly taking notice of erotic or exotic events - so many wasted pages have been turned between these special days and now they cannot be returned to for another glance.
What about my next passport? Perhaps that's the real concern. I'm coming to grips with the 40 thing, but I'll be months away from 50 when I make my next passport run. That is not a number I ever thought I would achieve.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Genius Inventions



Genius! I don't know if this is a Thai invention but certainly it came from the mind of a someone of the Asian persuasion because no Asian people are going to let you wear shoes in the house. Truthfully the mystery is why do Westerners insist on wearing shoes which have trod the filthy streets of their cities, within the luxury and comfort of their home. Since you're going to be in slippers, why not do a bit of buffing while you slide around the abode. Genius!

4 Languages But Hard Times



Yo, Sawadee to any of my wealthy or influencial friends here in the Kingdom of Thailand. I met a very interesting woman over the weekend. She has had some really bad luck in life and has wound up, I believe because she is a survivor, working as a security guard at the International Building at Satit Kaset University. I walked by her and said, Sawadee, but she wied to me and said, "Good morning, how are you?" Now in Thailand the very idea of a security guard who makes 250 baht a day speaking English is somewhat obsurd, but it gets better. We stood and chatted and I realized her English was very good. I invited her up to meet my Chinese class which I teach on Saturdays and Sundays (poverty sucks). When she entered the room instead of speaking English to them she chatted with them in Chinese. But, she gets even better. She can also speak, conversational Japanese. I was so amazed. How does a person making so little pick up languages and it was then that she told me her sad tale.
She had been a succesful hotel worker on the island of Kabi in the South of Thailand. When the big wave hit two years ago, she had run for her life with a group of tourists from the hotel. She describes it as so terrifying because the faster she ran the more rappidlythe water surged. She saw people go down behind her, lost in the murk of the charging waves, but her legs kept pumping and when she reached the mountains she climbed to safety. She lost coworkers, her best friend, and so many of her customers.
After she came north to Bangkok, but she had no job set up. Her problem is that in Thailand the want ads say specifically what age you must be to apply for work. It's 25 to 35 for hotel work, gee young and pretty, not a big surprise for this nation obbsessed with beuaty.
So come on let's find this skilled worker something that will help her. She is 44, her name is Mrs. Pattranit Poboonplook, she speaks four languages well enough to help customers on the phone or in person, and she has an easy way about her and a hard work ethic.
I lost every penny I ever earned in my business attempt here in Thailand. I got lucky and found a decent job using my skills. Now I am off bread and water and on bread, water, and coffee. We need to help Pattranit to rebuild her life.
Contact me and I will help you contact her.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Onion and His Friend



Her name is Onion (well it sounds much cuter in Thai) and no I don't mean the lovely young lady holding this friendly squirrel I mean the varmint. The Kaset Student who is holding the animal studies fish farming and informed me that she takes her friend Onion with her every where she goes.
Thai people love cute things and if you add in something that feels fuzzy and cuddly you have a hit. Of course there are laws and rules about bringing animals into restaurants or food establishments; however, in Thailand these rules are only for ugly animals and since Onion is not, this little guy goes where he wants. Without a doubt this young lady has a very Thai pet. If you want to know the girls name, then ask her yourself. She's not hard to find. She will be the girl mobbed with all the students wanting to pet her squirrel.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

HAPPY NEW YEAR PIG'S in ZEN



Happy New Years to all! It is the year of the Pig and on the populated side of the planet everyone is dusting off any relative they can trace back to China and taking them for dumplings and of course hoping secretly for that red envelope full of CASH! I have no Chinese relatives if you can believe that. I may be the only person in Thailand who can make this claim. Everyone else seems to be distantly or not so distantly Chinese. I am not sure exactly why Thai people want to be Chinese, but it is my opinion that it is because Gong Li is the greatest actress of our time and my personal favorite. I think I have had a crush on her for most of my adult life. Do not know her? Check her out here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gong_Li
Long Live the PIGS!

Thursday, February 15, 2007

A Day of Post Valentine Reflection



It is the day after Valentines Day in the Kingdom of Siam and all over the country Thai people seem a bit lost and disgruntle. Thai people are in love with the idea of love. They seem to have a high appreciation for all things romantic and in general try hard to keep the fires burning or strike the match of new flames. Beauty is appreciated with such high esteem here and what, after all, is more beautiful than love. Yesterday traffic was horrible, the wait for restaurants ridiculously long, and young and old emptied the flower stands and card shops of anything cute and cuddly so that they could present it to their loved one or loved second or loved third.
So the 15th is a day of reckoning as the brutal truth of failed expectations and less than fulfilling courtship rendezvous are reflected upon. The over all mood of the Thai people is one of - and I search for the proper word - nothing more than a sigh. "Yeah, nice I guess," was the response one of the young Thai ladies at my work gave me when I asked her how her Valentines Day had been. I had noticed yesterday she was all decked out in red and a skirt a few inches shorter than standard teacher attire. "I guess" kind of echoed in my mind.
Movie images. Loneliness. The reality of life alone is so ineffable and so individual that comprehending it and expressing it has been the cause of many an artist - painters, writers, musicians, all. But in truth it is holidays like one dedicated to LOVE that reminds us all far too well that we do not have the Korean Movie relationship in our memories. But as I have gotten older and come to a turning point in my life I must say this: I think love is different for all of us. I think it is expressed differently and shown differently and even felt and needed so unequally that it is a farce to attempt to melt down our most basic need to a bunch of flowers, cards, and chocolate bars. Love does give me strength, but I did find it without. Love makes me feel wonderful, but I had a Royal Flush in Vegas once that lifted me out of my chair with joy. Love is a wealth I actually treasure, both my family and friends' love. I have had my share of poverty, when as cliche as it seems, I could not find a friend, and a few days of true blissful gluttony.
Thai people, enjoy the day, but not at the expense of the weeks to come. If you are only happy with your girlfriend or boyfriend on Valentines Day or special events then it is time to look for a new one.
In the coming days I will be writing about a Thai phenomena known as the GIG or GIK which is an amazingly Thai concept that I find fascinating. If you don't like reading me rant about life, you may want to check out my rant about lovers in the odd dating world of Bangkok. I believe that one of the most fascinating books which is still to be written is the one which can actually define and explain the bizarre practices of Thai people when they date. Of course, for them, it is anything but odd and yet the more of them that I ask to explain things about dating in Bangkok the more completely confused I become.

I think my Blogging is Being Well Received


I know that my Blogging is going well, especially the http://www.siminoe.com/ because I have been getting some very nice emails letting me know how I'm doing and it would seem some of you are really enjoying my stuff. This was a great comment I recently received: I like your blogging a lot, except for all the words, there are just too many of them. Now I must say that this is not only an encouraging comment, but also a bit of damn good advice.

I am putting a photo of my office partner on this one, not just because she might have been the person who made this comment, but also because she has a very esthetically pleasing quality about her that just might get more people to notice my blog. Ajarn Linda speaks 7 languages fluently, but openly states that its best to keep writing, in any language, brief.

Friday, February 9, 2007

KICK THE CABLE TO THE CURB



The best thing I ever did for myself in the past decade was cancel my cable. In truth Thai Television is the worst imaginable form of entertainment. I say this only if you are not a Thai TV producer who I have sent an application to write for. But it is horrible and made worse by my lacking skills in the Thai language. If I could understand better perhaps I could stomach the melodramatic rubbish acted out by over zealous amateurs in front of cameras which seem to have one technique mastered, that of the cut left close up on shocked expression.
Now, back to the good stuff. With no TV to watch I stole from my sister (thank God she doesn't read my Blog) several novels. By the way sis, mystery novels? Anyway, mostly I have been able to read more, keep the noise box and its giggle box laugh tracks out of my head. Very nice I think.
With no TV I do rent a lot of movies, but they are possible and so I can view completely at my own discretion. Best of the best is that I have not seen a commercial of any kind in six months! I am so unhip it's sick. I probably am not using the proper dental paste, fabric softener, cough sirup, or condoms, but I have come to realize that since I don't know what I'm supposed to be brainwashed into thinking is better than other things, the things I have are working fine for me.
No WHITENER on my skin please. Thai's love skin whitener as they pursue the birth rite that their heritage does not offer and that is Chinese white skin. So a multi million baht industry flourishes here as every girl rushes out to get rid of that BROWN and find the WHITE color for her.
Christ would they have a hay day with this back in the Politically Correct Labeling society of the USA. We must label correctly mustn't we. I am all for labels it makes it easier for people to hate me. I mean you can call me White, Whitey, Cracker, Honky, Bone Boy, and so long as you know I'm not from Mexico, Asia, or Africa you know I should not be trusted. Come on now, NEVER TRUST WHITEY!

Saturday, February 3, 2007

SMOKE is a 4,000 word piece of fiction


First North American Rights

SMOKE

By

Jonathon Siminoe


Pon stepped out of the bright blue taxi, her pink skirt rising up and showing more than enough of her fair skinned thigh to catch the attention of the table full of office men sitting just outside the front doors of the Star Coffee Shop. She glanced about the patio and spotting Seth gave a smile, wave, and a bit of a curtsy.
Seth acknowledged her with little enthusiasm and walked to the curb to meet her. "Where have you been? You're late."
"Not so much. Its Bangkok Seth, rot dit mag (traffic was terrible)," she explained.
"Well I came through the same traffic, but anyway… Let's get a table inside. It's too hot out here to drink hot coffee."
"You could always have a cold coffee."
He didn't bother to answer. In all his years living in America he had drunk hot coffee and to him the idea of putting in ice, sweetener, and God forbid whip cream was unthinkable. Thailand was a sweltering land, but still quality coffee should be enjoyed hot.
Pon ordered for them on their way passed the counter. It was easier for her to speak Thai to the waiters because Seth's accent was thick and at times completely a mystery to the workers who had not originally come from Bangkok. The natives to the city of angles had grown accustomed to the Farang's (white foreigners to Thailand) toneless mutterings. But some worker fresh from the north or north-east would struggle greatly with the lack of lilt and pace in the Western man's Thai.
They were lucky and found a table near the back by the enormous window. Water ran over this rectangle pane creating a soothing blurring of vision. As Lad Plakao road ran just behind the glass it made for an attractive sight as car lights, especially red break lights, glowed through the enchanting watery transparency.
Pon leaned back exhaling a cloud of smoke just above Seth's head; it was her way of avoiding choking him with her self indulgence and usually avoiding his scrutiny. On most days this token effort was enough, but he was particularly sensitive today and the smoke - although it missed him completely - seemed to set him off. His hand came hammering down on the table, sending the utensils jumping.
"Sorry," she offered mechanically, her face turning down so as not to make eye contact with the curious coffee house crowd which had all been startled by the noise. Thai people seldom argued in public as drawing attention to one's problem was a complete loss of face.
Within a few seconds a waiter, dressed in the establishment's uniform of a brown polo shirt and gray pants, released a steaming blast of aromatic coffee into a ceramic mug as he began crafting a cappuccino. The many patrons, realizing they weren't going to hear a thing over the whine of that machine, returned to their reading or Internet surfing.
"I hate that shit! You know it killed my grandfather!" Seth said.
She frowned, and when she frowned this angelic Chinese beauty's face underwent a transformation of decay, a degeneration of such a massive contrast that she looked just shy of a demon. It was her perfectly plucked and brushed eyebrows curving upward like a cat about to strike, and her eyes which narrowed to black slits, and her lips not only turning downward, but thickening with a nearly geriatric looseness, which formulated this evil persona.
"It's my only one of the day," she said.
"I doubt that," he snapped, pulling his fingers through his thick blond hair which he allowed to flop about his face much the way a teenage surfer would do, despite being nearly 40. His green eyes speckled with gold, fixed on her face. "I doubt most everything you say to me to be perfectly honest. I'm not sure if you have an honest word to offer."
"Then what's the point?"
He winced with the sharpness of her words; he used to be able to chastise her without retort, but now almost nothing he said went undisputed.
"I admitted to you what happened which I did not have to do. I told you what I did. You said you forgave me, but every time you have a bad day I get punished for it again. Or are you really just scared of smoke?"
He huffed. "Smoking killed my grandfather, I'm not afraid of it I'm disgusted by it. It's a dirty habit; besides, it's so behind the times, first world nations haven't allowed smoking in public in twenty years. Thailand just never got the health memo. I am surprised a hip girl like you would cling to it."
"Well you are such a modern guy. You're the first one people check with to find out what's fresh in Bangkok."
She was fifteen years his junior and enjoyed reminding him of the fact that he was anything but up to date when it came to fashion, taste, or attitude. It was a joke between them most of the time. He teased her about her lack of film knowledge, "Blade Runner was one of the finest films Hollywood ever produced."
"In 1982 I wasn't born yet, how would I know," she would retort. "But I do know that wearing your shoes, with the leather tassels on top, that hasn't been cool since 1982."
He was the epitome of a man of routine; struggling with change, new approaches, even with putting on the new clothing which her father's generous allowance allowed her to lavish upon him. He was afraid of anything unfamiliar to a nearly manic extent and this was getting worse seemingly with each passing week.
He leaned on routine especially when he was stressed. The weekend after her confession to him of a romantic indiscretion - an 'I didn't mean for it to happen' type of offense - they'd driven to a restaurant which they often visited and when on arrival someone was seated at their usual table, he turned to her and with no particular annoyance or contemplation said, "Well, it's taken so let's go for Chinese food instead."
She knew his mind was far too preoccupied with their problems for her to point out that there were several other tables - albeit not the one which faced out toward the fish pond he loved - which were available. She nodded her agreement and they silently departed. They went for Chinese food; sitting at the table they always sat at located near a tall Ficus which he enjoyed hiding their conversation behind. He was always in contradiction with himself about being in public, desiring privacy while being out - wanting crowds and noise to keep things lively - but wanting to observe it from solitude and serenity, from his private reserve.
The coffee house waiter came around to deliver his American Black coffee upon a saucer. The Thai customers would come up to the counter to get their drinks when the workers would bellow or wave to them that it was finished. However, Seth had given no indication that he spoke Thai and so rather than have a miss understanding, the young man just walked it out and set it in front of him.
Seth would add two packets of sugar to the drink, stir with five quick circular churns, and then - before it had cooled in the slightest - take a lip smacking sip. Once he had finished this ceremony she knew his mood would mellow. She waited.
"And will we go to the sea tomorrow night or should we put that off?" he asked between the stirring and the drinking.
"Why would we put it off, we've been planning it for a couple of weeks now? You said you were looking forward to it."
"Well we planned it, but now we've been fighting."
"Are we?" she hummed.
"Aren't we? Yes. I don't want to be in a bungalow on the beach together if we are going to ruin it by fighting. It's a lot of money to spend for a better ring for us to box in."
She shrugged her shoulders. "I thought the trip would get us away from the arguing. Help us forget our troubles and move on… It's a perfect chance for us to relax a little bit."
He wanted to snap at her that it was easy for her to forget, she'd been the one fooling around with someone else and she was the one now starving for forgiveness and complete denial. He did, with every fiber of his being, want to give her amnesty, in fact if he could erase the images of her entangled in the sweaty, urgent arms of some young lover after a night of drinking whiskey and dancing on the beach, he certainly would pay any amount to lobotomize this vision. But, it had happened and no matter how many times he promised her that he would forgive and forget it over time - especially as it was a singular occurrence - he knew it was a cancer that would lay dormant beneath the skin of their relationship until someday it would once again surface. Deceit is never benign.
He had learned from his own mistakes that they are never truly forgotten. Two wives had already departed his life when he had committed similar crimes and just like Pon, begged for forgiveness and anticipated complete salvation - the kind promised by youth leaders in Sunday school - only to find that any and seemingly all disagreements which occurred after said forgiveness reintroduced a new fervor for opening those old wounds.
When he cheated on his first wife Nancy it had been with her cousin's best friend on a rafting trip which Nancy had been too busy to attend. He was in his middle twenties then and flirted with this college co-ed vivaciously as they paddled along the predominantly calm waters of the Colorado River. The group slept in tents along the river, the sound of rushing water an ever-present noise in their camp. She had slipped into his one-man tent late the first evening well after everyone else had gone to sleep. The second night, probably because of the beers she'd quaffed, she was recklessly early and Nancy's uncle Ed watched her slither in through the flap in his tent and then he crawled close enough to listen to their lovemaking through the canvas. The following weekend Uncle Ed dropped by uninvited, taking Nancy into the kitchen so they could talk in private and revealing the tawdry story to her between can after can of beer.
The screaming began the moment Uncle Ed's car rolled out of their driveway. He calmed her down with pledges of a 'lesson learned' and 'first offense' and 'never again.' For three weeks Seth moved around their home like a bat in the sunlight, nervous and scared. Finally he awoke late on a Sunday morning and found her note saying she was going to Florida for a week and on her return she did not want him there.
With his second wife Kay, nearly a decade later, his deceit was far worse. They had been together for three years and he felt closer to her than he had ever felt with Nancy. Kay's occupation as a flight attendant gave him far too many nights alone, and despite himself and his love for her, he met a young woman who had just graduated from university and began an affair. She was going through a terrible breakup with her violent and abusive boyfriend and wanted only someone to talk to, to hold her gently, and to pass the time. They were substitutes for each other - temporary replacements with no misunderstandings about a future. But when Kay discovered her key in Seth's jacket and went to confront her, there were no words that she could say that explained this reality to his wife.
Kay suffered through forgiveness for nearly six months. She'd break down crying in restaurants, begin to tremble at times without warning, and often fly into fits of random rage that Seth dare not confront. Finally, she asked for a city transfer from the airline and when it was granted simply stood in the doorway of their home and screamed as if she were a kettle crying out upon the open flame of the stove with her belly full of boiling fury.
Now it was Seth's turn to feel the sting of betrayal. When he first heard Pon say the words he had nearly suffocated from the shock - as if breathing's innate blessing had been forgotten and become a labor of paramount complexity. For days after, his gums bled from his habitual mashing of his teeth as he literally chewed upon the agony, silently lost in thought. When his teeth ached beyond what he could bear, he would gnaw upon the knuckles of his hand almost manically.
It wasn't the one night stand which was torturing him. It was his unceasing imagination which incessantly crafted an intricate web of betrayal far beyond any weekend imprudence. He envisioned romantic notes, secret hushed phone conversations, rendezvous in dim lit places, and worst of all he pictured their youthful passion abounding far beyond his own rather measured lovemaking. His heart stopped with every phone call she received. He would, after asking about her day, take mental note of every word she uttered for fear that he might miss some telltale sign. He would question, always silently to himself, the distances she would say she traveled. With traffic, he'd wonder, could she really have gone from downtown to home between lunch and meeting me, or did she come from somewhere else?
"Maybe the sea would be good for us…" he mumbled, attempting to calm the storm within his mind.
"I know that it will be. I'm sure of it. There is no place you and I feel better than the sea. It will be so romantic."
The idea of romance, the mere mention of it, and immediately his thoughts - unable to bring into focus the multitude of nights he and Pon had shared, the love, the conversations over dinner, the physical ecstasy - and he pictured her with the guy she had betrayed him with. In truth he had no idea what the young man looked like, only that he was young, her age, and the son of a wealthy land developer who could afford to whisk her away for a quixotic weekend to any island of her choosing. Seth had been golfing with his work buddies the weekend it had happened and he'd been shocked, when returning home early Sunday afternoon, to find her note detailing a spontaneous trip with college friends to Ko Samui. Ironically it was a location she'd been asking to take him to for months.
Perhaps he had been arrogant or just absent minded about his doting upon her. In Thailand she was the essence of desire. Her China white complexion, long black hair, tiny features, and wealthy heritage made her desired by Thai's elite and the nation's commoners as well. Much like the TV actresses she resembled, she was blessed with the unusual skin tone, the contrasting shade - her white skin was opposed to the usual Thai dark brown and her long egg shaped face contrasted their square profile - and this otherness made men desire her and women aspire to look like her.
Seth's thoughts were flashing, but he'd paused too long in their conversing. She exhaled a slow breath. "Seth, are you okay?"
"Yes… Sorry. I know the beach is your favorite."
"Our favorite," she argued. "You are always so relaxed there; your face loses all those worry wrinkles. It is perfect for us to get out of Bangkok and smell some salt air."
He nodded in agreement. His heart was pounding as if he'd been running to catch a cab in the rain, but in truth there was no reason for his anxiety, this had all happened a while back and since then she'd been making every effort to make him blissfully forgetful. There were just days, his exhausted ones, when the old wound seemed to reopen in him and both of them knew - without any need for it to be stated openly - that her prior unfaithfulness was why his tongue was razor sharp.
Memory was his tormentor. Her words playing over in his mind like a CD's song on repeat - crystal clear echoes of her voice, wavering a bit from tears, detailing her journey - with no ill intent - into the circumstances which would lead to her ultimate betrayal of him. She'd only told him the story once, and in fact had made him promise to never ask her to say it all again, but he could recall every sob and syllable verbatim. To make matters worse, as he had no idea of what Samui or the lover truly looked like, he had crafted - probably mostly from movie images - the most handsome young man and the most idyllic of settings, and now his visual memory ran with her narration in the background like a documentary of a tragedy.
He was being too quiet and it was making her uncomfortable. He was staring, lost, at the pavement and the passing vehicles zooming by outside the coffee shop. "If going is too much for you to handle right now then let's stay in Bangkok," she said nearly whispering. "We can see a movie or go to the park and walk. We haven't visited Thun and Ling in a while, we could go for a nice dinner with them."
He snapped from his self torment. "No. I'm so bored with Bangkok. I'm so bored with my work. I'm really sorry. It's not you; I just have a lot on my mind from work. Just can't get any peace and quiet there you know."
"Peace is important."
"Well yes, I'm tired of the struggle. Maybe I don't have that rookie vigor I once had… I wish you'd have seen me in my late twenties. I was running a division in Boston back then. I was a handful, never quit, good enough was not good enough for me or for my staff. It was a thrill in those days just to be such a player in the field."
She smiled. "Your eyes always come alive when you talk about your Boston days."
"Memories, just memories, but I'm happy since coming to Thailand… Slow paced, but steady and interesting."
"And the promotion you mentioned last week? You have hardly mentioned it since that first time, and you never told me the details."
He shook his head, leaning back as if he was about to tell a joke. "I turned it down in the end. It was a generous offer and a compliment to my work, but not right for me at the present time."
"Why? I mean maybe a new challenge is just what you need. You're still very young… Not even forty. Sometimes you talk like you're sixty or something and ready to retire and go sit in a rocking chair all day."
"The promotion would have taken me to Singapore…" he said, pausing to observe her expression.
"A plane ride away… A short one…"
"True…"
It was not the response that he'd been hoping for. Only a few months ago her eyes would have been filled with tears at the thought of him leaving Bangkok, but now, despite her begging for his forgiveness for her infidelity, her heart had hardened-tempered by his verbal shots and their recent squabbling.
"What if I said,” and he paused to look into her eyes and be certain that she could feel his words, "I said that you were my new challenge. I make plenty of money, well for living in Thailand anyway, but I've never had a relationship worth anything."
Her eyes closed as if she was catching his words behind her eyelids and holding them there for a moment; and then she smiled. "Maybe we could go to Singapore together? Maybe we could move there, just the two of us."
"You want to go to Singapore?"
"Together, I want us to be together and why not Singapore? It would be the two of us; it would be the place for us to start our relationship again."
That was it, he thought, Singapore, an island refuge from their Bangkok problems. A place for them to begin anew-be alone, without her friends and their incessant phone calls-and there his painful memories could be endured if it would finally bring about peace. Every man had to sacrifice to achieve a peaceful existence. Every prize comes at a price. And what a sweet surrender this would be for him, a doting girlfriend spurred to please him by their dependence upon one another in a city of strangers. He could picture it and this was returning some of the color to his pallid cheeks and putting a smile on his face.
"Besides," she continued, "Singapore is a lovely place, so clean and orderly. It is the exact opposite of Bangkok."
He hesitated, fighting an eruption, feeling the tremor before an emotional earthquake. It was his memory, that most specific and distrustful mind of his was rotating a detail-chiseling it from the hundreds of arguments and discussions concerning the boy she had given herself to, and suddenly the nation of Singapore became vividly clear. "You would like to live there, in Singapore?" he said, just as monotone as he could manage, but beneath his words was an air of suspicion.
"I think it would be away from Bangkok and I want to get away from Bangkok, from our problems, and start over. It's all I've ever wanted. You and I to have a chance…" her words faded as his eyes, intense with distrust and indignation seized her tongue.
"Wasn't he from Singapore?"
She shook her head. "He'd gone to university there, but why does that matter? It has nothing to do-"
"Is he there now?" he insisted, "Is he there?"
She lowered her head hiding beneath her long black bangs. Her nails scraped lightly across the tabletop as she slid her hand in his direction.
He did not allow her to reach him; instead he lunged forward and combed her shock of black hair away from her face so that he could unveil her eyes. It was a stage curtain falling down around its players or a film melting frame by frame within the projector - all fantasy evaporated.
Every patron in the coffee shop turned to see him as he began laughing, not a chuckle or a snicker, but a belly-laugh which rattled up through his lungs and bounced from ceiling to floor and from the coffee counter to the patio door. Her head went from side to side in a slow motion acknowledgment and then, he rose to his feet looking down on her as if he were a priest upon a pulpit. "He is there," he said, his words vibrating through his tight lipped frown. "Isn't he?"
Her top row of teeth pressed almost undiscernibly into her bottom lip. She sipped her coffee as if in thought, then set the mug down. He stood there waiting for her response - a denial or confession - but she said nothing. She was mute even as she, after gathering her things into her purse without haste, brushed passed him on her way to the door. She exited the shop, leaving him standing there with a room full of strangers. Once outside she lit a cigarette releasing a white cloud out through her pursed lips before sauntering away.