I cant remember when I first started drinking. 13 or 15 or somewhere in between but it remained a passionate life long love affair.
Today I got up early to take in the flickering lights of the falling Leonid meteors. After dawn I then got on the bike and headed out of the Soi taking a left and then another onto the new road past the closed pub and restaurant which still beckoned with its odour of beer and well lit displays of drinks but turned away with upturned chairs and debris of plastic floating in the fresh morning wind. It was from the East now. It always changes and grows cooler towards the end of year. On past the BB Gun combat zone where anyone can be a kill zone warrior or escape from the mundane and repetitive until this new found pursuit became that itself. Then I was up to the still fairly large and virgin mangrove swamp. Well as virgin as a set of wooden goal frames hanging at an angle set to defy gravity would allow. Still large but growing smaller by the day as the settlements of what we call development encroached ever more in insidious West Bank style driving away all life. Soon I was approaching the skeletal development of the next gated community and my own personal U-turn.
Today may be my last but I cannot complain that there are things I never did that I wanted to do.
Today I awoke with a monumental hangover and couldnt face work.
Today I awoke early and went down to the beach. There was a brightly coloured fishing boat settled on the seabed at some askew angle with water lapping over the starboard or is it port side. Atop the bridge if that is the right word for a white and blue box with some windows and some holes where there used to be windows stands a flagpole with the red, white and blue flag of Thailand hanging limply for one minute before a sudden gust sends it flapping out as a gull floats by on the eddy. The sea is very beautiful today. Often it is grey or covered in foam or flotsam dragged beachwards from the queue of big ships waiting, in the lee of Koh Sri Chang, their turn to enter the distant port. Sometimes and not very often it is perfect azure and laps the beach with a mere hint of waves. Very few times do I see this.
Today I saw my mother-in-law sweeping the debris from the dust under her house, and heard the rhythmic sound of the brush on dirt as I sat among the extended family shortly after her cremation.