a previous life

The bustling city of Bangkok was busier than I remembered. Amidst the tightly packed cars like sardines in a can, the distant grey heads rushed around, enshrouded by the airy fumes. Skyscrapers and company buildings littered the streets – a permanent shadow that followed me everywhere.

This used to be a place I once called home, but now, I am nameless. faceless. Lost in a sea of conformity. I am disgusted by the society. And I am disgusted by my self  and my inability to escape the relentless cycles of power, politicians, and prejudice.

The car rolled into the suburb, uniform houses stood next to each other— the ones with a small porch and a garage. We drove past the empty playground. The once green grass lay overgrown and deserted, the swings creaked softly at the departing wind. I noticed the peeling paint off of the merry-go-round as we drove past the barren land.

My head snapped back into the moment as she asked casually, “so how have you been?” — as if she knew me—as if she cared while I was away this whole time.

“I’m fine. And you?” I reply automatically.

If I’ve learned anything at all, it is that, people ask you questions, not because they care for the answer, but because they don’t have anything else to say. This isn’t true for everyone of course, but it will always be true for my mother.

An awkward pause. A horn blares from the opposite side of the road, filling the empty silence.

“Fine.”

I looked out the window, wishing I was anywhere else but there.

“So, Psychology, huh?” she looked proud, as if knowing what major I was in meant that she was involved in my life.

“Actually, I switched to Journalism six months ago.”

“Journalism? That’s great.” she chirped.

I could see her crinkle her nose in disdain through the side view mirror.

*

My old bedroom looked smaller than I remembered. A bed. A dresser. A desk. My eyes shifted from the small twin sized bed to the tired table. I pulled out the chair which groaned against the ashy hardwood floor. Old books and novels lined the shelves— a thousand lives I wish I’d lived.

The oblique golden rays shone on the stained cardboard boxes, the fine coating of dust marking the years it has been left behind. A gentle gust of wind drifted through the creaky window, as the thin white curtains danced against the soft light.

There was an element of something almost magical at the untouched pale-pink walls. Plastered with polaroids of family trips and middle school dances, I almost didn’t remember the thrill of being asked to the first dance. Almost.

Scratches on the pale walls made by the end of metallic rulers. Names of crushes, dates of first kisses. Tally marks of days spent alone and nights spent lonely.

I sigh.

I am reminded of all the times spent in the corner of my bed- curled up and alone. All the times spent looking up at the artificial fluorescent glow, wondering when it would all get better.

I breathe in deeply.
Late night conversations on the phone and tears that ended up with scars not on the walls.

The fluffy white blanket gave the illusion of being comfortable and safe but its frayed hems said otherwise.

Opposite of the bed stood my vanity. The polished structure that once stood strong now wilted. Staring defeatedly at me, as if asking me why I abandoned it. The mirror hung, lone and depressed. But wiped clean, without any fingerprints or marks or trace of life.

I stared back at myself.

— Who am I?