Winds of change
The cold season has arrived in Nong Khai. A wind began to blow late last night carrying a chill I had not felt before. It was the sort of wind that brings change. Yesterday afternoon, an American friend who’s lived here a couple of years pulled his jacket around him and said, “Seriously, come on, you don’t feel cold?” I told him to stop being such a baby. But by this morning I too was shivering.
“It’s cold!” I announced at Mut Mee. Since Simeon was the only person within earshot, I pointed my voice at him. “I’m freezing,” I added for emphasis. I was about to announce my imminent wooly mammoth style demise when Simeon cut me off to say it wasn’t actually freezing. I argued until he finally got up and checked the temperature at the reception desk. “75 degrees,” he announced. “That is a bunch of bullshit!” I cried, pointing at the halogen lightbulbs. “Look at those heat lamps it’s sitting under!” To prove his point, he brought the thermometer out to the arctic garden where the reading actually rose a degree. What a show off that guy is.
As the weather turns cold, my life is turning inward. I had to say goodbye today to Mr. Man. I haven’t mentioned him in this blog yet but he is my best friend here in Nong Khai. He is the person I turn to even when my problem is him. I told him that while he’s gone, I am going on a two-month writing binge. And I meant it. The more I work, the sooner I will forget that he is gone, and the better off I will be. It’s no good being heartbroken all over again. All I want for now is to be alone and work.
That didn’t stop me from indulging in one last emotionally tormented but basically pointless monologue of the sort that Mr. Man has grown resigned to, I’m sure. His saint-like patience is a match for my Woody Allen-like neuroses. Unlike most people who find it necessary to, oh I don’t know, point out how totally ridiculous I’m being or offer advice or their point of view, he just listens quietly but carefully, nodding at the right places and saying that he understands. Eventually, given a non-judgmental listening ear, I run myself to the end of whatever half-baked impulse started me off in the first place. Then I apologize, feeling stupid. He says it is fine and not to worry about it. And I, for the kabillionth time, wonder where he’s been this whole time and how, given that he had recently married when we did finally find each other, there can be any argument for justice in life.
A while later he gave me a hug goodbye and I left for work. In my head, I always imagine that things end with some grand display, some marker, something. After all these years, I am still shocked that all that happens in real life is you say goodbye and you walk away. That’s it. That’s all there is. Incredible.
When I moved into my house, Lee off-handedly asked me to care for the dwarf roses he’d just planted by the stairs. I began to worry about them recently when a bud disappeared completely. Then last week I was horrified to notice that they had been eaten. About 80% of the leaf area was decimated and the plant’s days were obviously numbered. Not that Lee will notice or care if he did, but I had really looked forward to seeing them flower. Now a plague of locusts or whatever the hell happened would prevent me from even finding out what color the flowers would have been. It struck me as a potential metaphor for my life but I immediately put it out of my mind and went about my business, determined never to think of that particular failure again.
This evening, when my weekend employers dropped me off at home, I walked toward the house with a heavy heart. With the distraction of work over, all I could think was, “He is gone. It is winter. Now is the next part of my life.” Just then, something bright at the foot of the stairs caught my eye. It was a flower – a brilliant, full-blown salmon red flower growing out of the beleaguered rose bush. I stopped and looked at it, surprised but suddenly very pleased. “Thank you,” I said to no one in particular, for reminding me that this is just life and life means change. Even if we can’t make sense of it, it is more than enough to remember that there are unexpected miracles like love and beauty happening everywhere, all the time.
Tags: Nong Khai, Thailand
sandra_101
I saw this flower in my mind as you described it writing. It’s cheesy, but I could see you saying thank you and my eyes got misty. In pain there is beauty.