Who Are Any Of Us, Really?
I wake up in a bed that is starting to feel familiar. The white light sheets wrapped around my bare legs make me feel like a mermaid.
The AC blasts on my face in swing mode. I pull the soft comforter right below my half-opened eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. I don’t want to do anything. I know my brain will start churning over irrelevant details the moment I open my eyes. And my internal zen will be over. Too much thinking has never done me any good.
I’ve been in this cozy-packed-with all-comforts- Bangkok apartment for over a month and have no intention of leaving it. I mean, I go out every morning to attend my language school, walk my ten-thousand steps around the city, try new restaurants, immerse myself in the fascinating culture … and come right back to the peace of my solitude.
I like to play it safe these days. Keeping my emotions to myself. Not getting involved in unnecessary discussion. Holding my disobedient tongue in its place. Of order. And silence. Without warning, it can easily shape-shift into a snake and swiftly bite whoever needs to be put in their place. I think. Twenty years of arguing and tiptoeing around someone can burn your brain like a piece of dried-up bacon. But this is in the past. Don’t go there, Elena. My self-preservation is still acute somewhere in the…
