Sun sets over Bangkok and my time in Thailand

I’d been feeling ragged. Chewed up and spit out. Tears would spring out of my eyes in fits and starts. I had canceled my work permit, believing immigration would honor my visa amnesty. They did not. Instead, they gave me seven days to get out of Thailand. First I had to leave my school, now I faced leaving my beloved Thailand. 

Yes, I could have gone through the process of requesting a “Covid-19” extension, but somehow I felt all the wind go out of my sails; as if I was forcing too hard to not go back to California. Exactly one year ago, I declined requests from my father and the US Embassy to fly back to the US. A little while after that, I declined the urgent demand made by my mother to return upon the discovery of her breast cancer. Folks, I said “No” to her. I had just started teaching, and it felt like destiny. The momentum to stay put and teach in Thailand was so strong, I could not go against it. I promised her I would visit upon the completion of my contract.

My contract abruptly severed, I still refused to go back to the US. I informed my parents I would continue to stay on in Thailand. My mother wrote to say she was very disappointed.

Now, if you know anything about my mother, she is a strong muvva. When she really wants something, she uses her super muvva powers to get it. So in fact, when I felt the wind go out of my sails, it was she, altering the atmosphere.  When I told her I would be flying to California, and revealed my plans to rent an apartment on my own, she squashed it immediately. I would live with her. She would not be denied.

The countdown to my departure began. Every day felt like standing on train tracks, waiting to be crushed. To say I was not looking forward to going back to California is an understatement. California is in the international news for all the wrong reasons. I spent my days walking past sumptuous food stalls, already pining for the day when I can no longer feast on green curry chicken for $1.10. I became weepy walking down the supermarket aisle because I will no longer be able to buy detergent for $.30.

Thai-style bento lunches ready to go.

Heaping pile of fresh grilled chicken on skewers.

Cakes, cakes, cakes!

Time to say goodbye

Throwing a tantrum like a child; being forced to go to bed and I don’ wanna! Every morning I rose and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows in my room, looking upon the city enrobed in a filthy shroud of pollution, the sky scrapers barely visible, and nearly threw myself face down on the bed crying, “I don’ wanna leave this!” I spent my evenings listening to Andrea Bocelli sing Con te Partirò. It became the soundtrack of my current state, which in English is translated as “Time to Say Goodbye.” 

Certainly I had come and gone many times over the past 20 years of visiting Thailand, so why was this looming departure hitting me so hard? Partly, it is due to the way in which my teaching stint ended. The bigger reason is Covid-19, because borders are still closed, and new infection surges are hitting in 3rd, 4th, 5th waves. I fear I will be stuck in the US.

I have lived abroad continuously since 2018. I have been venturing out on long-term solo travels since 2002, the year I broke up with my fiancé. In 2000, we went to Vietnam for the first time. The country caught my breath. I never knew a plane could land in a field of banana trees! I never tasted coffee more delicious and addicting than the robust Vietnamese brew mixed with generous lashings of sweetened condensed milk. I squatted in the middle of a sidewalk eating a seafood omelet with chopsticks and discovered heaven. But it was when I saw a foreign girl bicycling that sealed my fate. She was Western, around 12 or 13 years old, pedaling leisurely down a wide French style boulevard, underneath leafy trees, her linen blouse and trousers billowing softly—and I knew, “That’s me.” The second thing I knew was that I had to end my engagement. My fiancé did not share my passion for travel and certainly never entertained the idea of living abroad.

Bangkok hotel digs.

I actually ended up living in Thailand and not Vietnam, because that’s where the second epiphany hit. I had been staying as a short-term guest in a monastery set deep in the Thai forest, near the border with Laos. To say I fell in love is correct. I fell head-over-heels in love with the unconditional love vibrating everywhere; it was in the leaves I swept every morning, it was in the coconut milk I drank, it was glistening in squirrels as they leapt from tree-top-to-tree-top. Then one morning, I saw a pakhow (pali word meaning “novice monk”) squatted on the ground, his white robes stained with the red dirt, brushing his teeth while a rooster pecked next to him. In an instant I said, “That’s me.” And so it was. I returned to the US and either sold, donated, or tossed all of my belongings and came straight back to the monastery in Thailand.

After some years of living as a long-term practitioner at the monastery, I then lived on the border with Burma, volunteering as an acupuncturist. To bring things up to date, I volunteered as an English teacher at an orphanage in northern Thailand, studied Thai, and most recently taught at a government high school in remote town. My involvement in this country spans many years, in varied positions, working closely with the locals. All of this history was hitting me hard like a bad break-up.

Rooftop pool with a sweeping view of Bangkok.

The dancing queen in my room

Then someone knocked on my door. Knock-knock-knock! Knock-knock-knock!

“Ok ka,” I said, lifting myself off the bed and opening the door. It was a hotel cleaner, come to clean my room. It was a man. “Sawadii ka!” I greeted, and let him in.

He kept up a steady stream of chatter as he changed my sheets, so props to me for being able to keep up (somewhat). He asked me where I was from, how long I had been staying in Thailand, what I was doing. He called me over to point out a small stain on the newly-changed bed sheet.

“Mai bpen rai,” I said. Wow, he was actually pointing out pre-existing stains. None of the previous hotel cleaners had ever done such a thing. In fact, having stayed at this hotel for six weeks, I had come to know the rotation of hotel cleaners, but I had never seen this man before.

Then he notified me that he had topped up the lemongrass-basil liquid hand wash (smells amazing!). He praised my Thai language skills and gave me a thumbs up. He was my cheerleader, encouraging me even though I was tripping over my words.

As he vacuumed the floor, he asked for my name. I told him. Then he gave me his name.

“My name Jay-nee. I am ladyboy!” he cheerfully announced. “Is that okay?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure if he meant, was it okay that he shared that information, or was it okay that he was a ladyboy, but in any event, I answered, “Yes! Ok ka!”

Jay-nee repeated above the vacuum noise, “I am ladyboy! Is good?”

To which I replied above the vacuum noise, “Dii dii! Dii maak ka!” meaning, “It’s the best!” 

Jay-nee smiled so big, and repeated both of our names together, “Ayoung, Jay-nee.”

“Yes ka,” I affirmed. He had no idea he was talking to one of the biggest hags ever. All of my best male friends from high school ended up being gay. I lived for years with a gay man in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco where we hosted drag parties once a month.

Vacuuming finished, my room cleaned to a sparkle, Jay-nee came and shook my hand. None of the other hotel cleaners ever did that! I wai’d to him and said “Thank you.” 

Artistic hand-painted murals on hospital walls…

…where I went for my pre-flight Covid-19 test.

It wasn’t until he left that I realized my mood had completely shifted. He had totally changed the course of my ship and dare I say it, put wind in my sails? I think the Universe sent me another message, or messenger, in the form of a barefooted-hotel-cleaner-ladyboy. Jay-nee represents everything I love about Thais—this unpretentious, happy-go-lucky spirit. He waltzed into my room a dazzling sun spreading self-love, and I gladly absorbed his rays. Previously, I had been feeling kicked out of Thailand, with my tail between my legs. Jay-nee was the balm to my broken heart. He was the dancing queen to my morose pity-party. 

The Universe had sent me a fairy godmother, but since Jay-nee is cut from a different cloth, let’s say the Universe sent me a Thai ladyboy fairy god-muvva.

Respect!

Glorious fiery Thai sunset…

…until we meet again.