2018.12.04 – Santi Chai Prakan Park

Today I wandered through every nook and cranny of Bangkok again, wanting to take a few more photos to capture everyday life here, and at the same time, letting myself get lost. The feeling of knowing I’m lost – and allowing myself to remain lost – is always liberating, because I have no idea what awaits ahead, no clue whether I should turn this way or that way, which street to take. So my feet step freely, and my heart, my intuition, do as they please, not guided by reason or anything else.

Today, I turned in a different direction to begin my wandering journey – opposite from yesterday’s path. I followed smaller streets, then stumbled upon the riverside through narrow alleys, passing street vendors who were sound asleep, their stalls and shops completely empty, leaving only tables and chairs basking in the golden sun. Bangkok at midday is hotter than I expected. Beams of golden sunlight stretched across the branches of the quiet green trees, standing still, waiting for the wind. Suddenly, I craved something cold to eat…

As I write these lines, I am sitting on the grass beneath the shade of a tree in an unnamed park in Bangkok (it wasn’t until many days later that I learned it was Santi Chai Prakan Park). By chance, after hours of wandering, I found myself here – the park by the Chao Phraya River, where last night I had wandered in after getting off the boat. This means it’s very close to the hostel where I’m staying. Or in other words, I fully know where I am, which also means I’m not lost at all.

And strangely, I’ve always had a particular fascination with the small mailboxes placed at the gates of houses. Old mailboxes, their red paint faded, showing only the rusted traces of time. Inside, would anyone find a handwritten letter sent by a loved one? Does anyone open the mailbox every day, hoping to glimpse something near and familiar? Is there a child who sneaks out to the gate every morning, eyes glued to their mailbox, heart fluttering in anticipation of some small miracle, perhaps a letter from Santa, or a note from an imaginary friend? Does anyone?

Every mailbox I’ve seen so far is red. Why are mailboxes usually red? Why, I wonder? Perhaps I’ll go find the answer someday. For now, I simply lie back on the cool green grass and watch the sky, the white clouds drifting lazily, endlessly…

2018.12.05 – Bangkok at Dawn
I’m sitting by the river after wandering through the narrow alleys of Bangkok. Today, I woke up really early to watch the city in its quiet morning hours, as if it were a ritual or habit I follow while wandering. No matter where I go, what I want (and need) is to observe the place for a long time, both at sunrise and at sunset.

Sitting here is so nice, unlike the hostel. Here, I can hear the water splashing as fish surface to snatch food, the sounds of vehicles, of people, of quiet, of the morning itself. Thinking back, I still don’t understand why I chose a hostel so close to the bustling area, where every night, I can clearly hear the pounding bass of neon-lit music. But well, I’ll check out today anyway, and Bangkok doesn’t really have any story worth remembering or telling.

Last night, I went to bed early. While dozing off, the light from a neon sign and the voices of two travelers startled me awake. No matter how much I tried to reassure myself, such small details made me uncomfortable. Suddenly, I remembered Mapping and everyone there…

What is Bangkok like at dawn? The air is already hot, vehicles stream rapidly along the streets, and the shops have been open for some time. I forgot that Bangkok is a city that never sleeps. The sun rises higher, casting the first weak golden rays of the day, illuminating the riverside houses and sparkling across a stretch of water. The fish, the birds, and even the little crocodiles (if I’m not mistaken, but they look very much like them) are enjoying the fleeting morning sunlight. How free they seem.

Earlier, I walked past a small bridge across the river and saw a few people tossing tiny breadcrumbs into the water for the fish. They watched intently as the fish scrambled for breakfast. I wondered what they were thinking. Is feeding the fish just a small pleasure they want to savor at the start of the day, a ritual, or does it carry a deeper meaning? I wish someone here spoke English, so I wouldn’t have to sit and write these lines in a state of unanswered curiosity.

Just be,