#4 - 18 November 2012

Today I'm leaving this place.

This formidable mountains and its limestone cave, this generous river that never stopped running as I walk, sleep, laugh and wonder in the past few days.

Having been on one's own with no one to talk to but trees, rivers and the stars, one can't help but wonder about one's life.

For me, one of the very reasons why I signed up for the trip is the inevitable purging of memories -

memories that are past, broken and need to be forgotten.

Sometimes I question myself, did I do enough? Have I taken all of my chances? Have I been brave and courageous, or was I too guarded? Have I conquered life or have I let myself be trampled by it?

I will never know the answers to these questions, probably.

"Perhaps you don't give yourself enough credit", a friend once told me.

Taking actions, and choosing paths based on what you feel, what you believe is right - takes insurmountable amount of faith, too.

#2 - 16 November 2012

I sat by the window, alone, as the scenery outside changes from the suffocating bumper to bumper I have been seeing in the past few days to the quiet and dry countryside of Kanchanaburi. 

There are still development here; tar, concrete, buildings and all. The square road grid and Japanese cars, the men in suits on the billboard and bottles of Coca Cola and Sprite; somehow, these one-size-fits-all development template tend to make you feel like you have never left your city. 

But they are not why I'm here. It's the lush and green spinal mountains, standing tall at the backdrop of the city and forming its backbone, that I'm after. 

From inside the bus, as we inch nearer and the mountains rise above me - I couldn't contain my smile. 

I'm answering the call of the mountains and its water. I'm coming home. 

#3 - 15 November 2012

We were stepping out of the mall when I first saw it.

The crowd were bursting with music, beer and sweat in the Oktoberfest-like atmosphere, and I was getting dizzy from the craziness of it all.

I don't really like crowd. They make my heart race. 

But then I saw it from afar, shrouded in golden light, and my heart quickens - this time for a different reason.

My stride turned into a quick run. I didn't bother explaining my euphoria to my colleagues. I only turned briefly towards them, while pointing in frantic to the other direction. "Find me over there," I mouthed, and then I was off.

Knowing I only had little time in the city and confined to certain kilometre radius around where I stay, I didn't make any specific plans to visit generous temple and wats in Bangkok. I was contented to just roam around its streets and find what little signs of devotion I could in its people.

I don't quite understand my obsession with all things religious. It's just ever since the moment when I found out I have lost my faith (in God), I am always in search of a way to fill this gaping hole inside me. And no matter what I do, I can't seem to fill it.

It makes you wonder if you have some incurable disease no one else can't know what it feels like. It makes you feel as if you are forever missing out on something.

"Having faith is a gift",  I blurted out to my friend. We were standing on the sidewalk, watching the locals stop by and pay respect to the towering Lord Ganesha, the one I was so excited to spot not a moment ago.

To be honest, I envy all of them. For having such devotion, such belief. Some of them are on their way home from work, some of them are itinerant youth with their spiky hairs and low cut jeans, bottles of beer in hand - but they all stopped, knelt, and prayed.

I concentrated my stare on the golden statue - elephant heads, four arms and all - and waited to see if I feel something stir inside.

Nothing, yet again - and I feel like a failure.

"Having faith is a gift", I blurted out to my friend as he walks towards me. A cloud of understanding wash over his face, and he looks at me helplessly. How I wish he knows what I'm talking about.

#1 - 13 November 2012

It is Tuesday. This morning I went out running again. I am beginning to love this ability to move around people so seamlessly, so anonymously.

It's been more than ten years since I am back in Bangkok, and I'm not sure if this lack of fear of the city has a lot to do with my previous relationship to it years ago when I was small, or if it just means that I've grown up, that I've grown formidable and strong that nothing fazes me anymore.

I'd like to think it's the former that's true.

Roaming around the streets of Bangkok in the early morning is beginning to bring home a lot of meaning I've been searching for every time I feel like I don't have enough answers for every questions I keep building up inside myself - 

that I am fortunate, that I am insignificant, that I am big and small and I am capable of doing whatever I want to do and whatever it is I do, they actually don't really matter.

As I step out onto the street, everyone else is already ahead of me. The man who yesterday wore an orange t-shirt is pushing a cart filled with goods. He is probably heading towards the same spot in front of the tower where I saw him yesterday. I tried to outpace him (seeing as I don't have anything heavy to push), but he was faster.

Another man, older, one of his legs cut short by a stump. His skin dark, probably from days and hours under the sun, is washing himself with a small pail of water by his side. He is taking his time, slowly caressing dirt away from his body with a white cloth.

I wanted to look away, but I didn't. 'Feel this." I told myself. I'm not sure how long has he been on the street.

Moments like these are why I go out every day, pushing my body, my emotions and my mind to the limit. This is how I connect myself to the physical world, to the outer world, to make sure I am still somehow anchored, grounded to the roots of what is making my being possible. 

Otherwise I will forever feel as if I am floating, drowning inside myself. As if I am not real, that I need to ascertain - I can feel something.

You are part of a beautiful story

As you fall, remember that you are part of a beautiful story that did not start when you were born.

- I Wrote This For You 

It's November and rain is pounding on our soil like a long-lost lover. One evening I was out running when suddenly the wind shifted and torrential rain mercilessly poured down on me like missiles.

There were thunders and lightning too, and I was forced to take shelter under the small booth by the bridge, laughing and praying to God to keep me safe.

It's been a long time since I felt so alive, vulnerable, strong, thrilled and at peace all at the same time.

I don't know if I qualify to be defined as a believer. But I'm beginning to think whatever happened to me in the past years, they cannot simply be random, disconnected series of events bouncing off each other like gaseous molecules in a closed jar.

One thing is always a cause to another, and had I not the littlest faith to take so many unknown paths - I don't think I would have made it so far.

Which is why, as I stood there in the rain - feeling afraid and exhilarated at my own helplessness and the possibilities of surviving and life and living, I look up at the sky and found myself saying, I'm all yours, God, do with me what you will.