A Beautiful Doom (Part 2)
I don’t remember how tall you are. But as I see both of our reflections over the black window the MRT, now I do. Your beauty is not something out of this world. When I first saw you, you looked like a regular man. A typical man that grew up from a typical boy that would always tease and mock his fat classmates. A typical man who idolizes big bike and would never want to be caught crying.
But, I admit, there is something admirable about you. It is small but big enough to create a lasting impression on me. It has been three years, but I am still thinking about you whenever I am lonely.
It could be your almond-shaped eyes and Asian-American nose? these features you luckily have even if you don’t come from a mixed-race heritage. It could be the scarred left eyebrow and tattoos that run from the pillow of your shoulders and down to your arms that makes you a menacing angel. But let me tell you, I am not in love with your striking red hair colour. But I like your poise and the fire within you.
You are the kind of person that does not have to try so hard to be happy. It’s like you don’t struggle with it. Unlike me. I need to make sure that everything is in the right way to make me happy.
I need to have the right amount of exercise per day, at least thirty minutes of mild cardio. I have my coffee decaffeinated and I should not handle too much of spicy or sour food. Saturday is for writing, so I tend to get upset when my mom drops a surprise visit. I would always book return air flight for I cannot stand the idea of not knowing where I am going next. I just hate to wait, so I’ll make my own way, but the world keeps working against it.
You look at me and I ask me if everything is alright. I say yes, everything is alright… for now, because I have you here.
That night, we would explore the city like a theme park. We would walk along the red light district and make fun of those pimps who try to hand out the Tiger show flyers. We would be sharing a plate of mango sticky rice and we would find a quiet park near the bank of the river and watch the light of Krungthep from afar.
And I’d say, “This city is not any different from Jakarta, we are only lack of good transportation system.” And you would not understand any word I say, because there’s a language barrier.
But that’s not the case, you take me to a casual Thai restaurant that looks dull from the outside, but serves the most fantastic food. I can tell because I brave the aromatic tom yam gong.
We are not good with talking as a form of communication, except, maybe with our bodies. The dead air makes everything around us to be audible, from the clatters of the silverwares against the ceramic plates to the high-pitch traditional string music which instantly gets stuck in my head.
I lazily start the conversation, asking about how things are doing with your life and are you still going for any match. I ask them word by word for you, fraction by fraction simplified for you. You are still polishing your English, I know and that should never be an embarrassing fact to admit. I couldn’t talk a single word in English when I first landed for my bachelor study in Singapore. I know how terrifying it could be.
Although, I still wish that this language barrier would never exist. I thought that you could potentially be as interesting as your attractive look. Your attitude could be the opposite polar I need, for my balance.
I find something comforting in not talking. Maybe I just need a beautiful present that soaks all of my worries and anxieties. I cannot afford to talk anymore. I have been using my voice at home and at work. You don’t know how much I appreciate this moment.
The night is getting late and we wonder what to do next. We walk the Soi together, side by side. We let the smoky fumes from food carts brush our hair and some drunken farangs block our ways and make out in front of us. I start imagining you and me, and I know by the look in your eyes, you don’t disagree.
You ask me for a drink and I say yes. Our drink is served in a shot glass and it is crystal clear like a distilled water, that’s where the mystery lies. We clink our shot-glasses and now my head is on fire. I bet that my face turns lobster red as you point your finger senselessly to my face. You find me amusing when I am silly, you never really take me seriously. I pull you close to my chest as I am about to lose my balance and then we share a drunken wild kiss. I cannot really remember what happens next, we could have been kissing our way to the taxi stand and back to my hotel. We would make the taxi man uncomfortable or extremely curious.
To be continued