Finding A Burrito in Bangkok
5 Slices Of Home That I Miss
I realize that most of my posts on this blog have been extremely positive. I can hear the cynics shouting. “Melarchy! There’s no way that your canceled flights and deportation have left you without a scratch. Surely your entire life is not as hunky-dory as these snapshots depict…” Fair. I’m going to spend this post outlining a few things I miss from back home. But regarding all the positivity, I believe in a little thing called synthetic happiness (and you should too because it’s real! Take a few minutes and watch this TED talk. Seriously, it will be more impactful than anything you’re about to read from this babbling optimist.)
Today, I tried to find a Chipotle in Bangkok. I’m sitting in the birthplace of gastronomical gifts such as pad see ew and mango sticky rice and I sought out a chain formerly owned by McDonald’s (and I know, guacamole is extra). But sometimes a Californian has got to do what a Californian has got to do. As flavorful as the last few months have been, there are definitely some constants of home that I miss daily. Here is a short list:
A consistent bed At home, my mattress is not Tempur-Pedic. My sheets are not Egyptian cotton. But my bed is mine. Every night when I cash out, I can expect a similar level of lumbar support, a sheet/comforter combination that will keep me cozy, and a poster of Questlove’s afro that will greet in the morning. In the last three months, the most I’ve slept in the same bed is four nights. Too many times, I’ve woken up on a foreign mattress unsure of what city I’m in. There are many reason’s why $5 hostels are awesome. The quality of the beds are certainly not one of them.
“See you laters” Like home, my days on the road are filled with greetings and goodbyes. But, unlike home, many of these goodbyes are permanent. One difference in the South East Asian breed of backpacker, is that there are a surprisingly large number of travelers who don’t have an firm itinerary or end date. The result of which is little travel families that form (I like to think of them as tribes of snails, backpacks in tow) and spend days or weeks traveling along the same route. So far, I’ve traveled solo, as a pair with a French physical therapist, as a trio with a British university professor and a German vegan farmer, and in various other small groups. Unfortunately, these families inevitably break up—the tighter the bonds formed, the harder the goodbye.
Flushing toilets I knew what I was signing up for, so I don’t expect much sympathy on this one, but oh how I wish I could throw toilet paper in the bowl, press a little metallic button, and keep my excrement out of sight and out of mind. You’d be surprised by the amount of my daily mindshare that goes into where and how to go to the bathroom. I’m not gonna belabor this point and I do appreciate when I stumble upon technological luxuries like the “bum gun,” but no one likes to think of poop more than they have to. Well, I guess some people do.
Professional ambition I wasn’t expecting this one before I left. I had plenty of intentions going into my trip and traveling is chock-full of novel experiences to learn from. But ambition to complete a writing project or to explore a new city is distinct from a desire to advance in my career. Don’t get me wrong—all of the lessons I am learning on this trip and the time I’ve spent writing will undoubtedly improve the quality of my work. I definitely don’t feel a sense of urgency to return to an office. However, (after years of private school brainwashing) I have a thirst to fulfill my professional purpose. Maybe this distance is exactly what I need to think about what that purpose might be, but there is certainly a part of me that misses working alongside a team of coworkers toward a goal I believe in.
Concerts Asia is full of music—playlists blaring from hostel common rooms, street musicians entertaining the masses at night markets, jam sessions around late-night campfires. Karaoke machines are more common than hot water in this part of the world. However, there’s something about the lights coming down in a concert hall, where a group of strangers are instantly united in support of a singular act that I miss. I have loved trading music with travelers from around the world and hearing traditional instruments create a soundtrack to match the pace of life in these different countries, but nothing beats the butterflies in your stomach the moment before a band you love strikes their first chord on stage.
Longingly,
Simo
