Within the last five days, I’ve flown from the sandy shores of Brunei back to the busy streets of Kuala Lumpur, then to shopping central Singapore, and finally, to Bangkok, Thailand, where taxis are hot pink to lime green and hairstyles are jet black to bleach blonde.
I said I wanted an Asian haircut, but my mom persuaded me to “wait until Hong Kong”. I might just come back with asymmetrical bangs and another spiked fauxhawk that parallels our cockatiel’s crest.
I could also save that money if lightning were to strike me just as I walk out onto our 20-story balcony in the middle of a thunderstorm—as I did last night. We’re staying at our relative’s empty condo in State Towers, which is just as good as a self-serve five-star hotel with a breathtaking view. At dusk, our west window filters in beautiful sunrays, and at night, the boats on the Chaopraya River sparkle and wink at us.
I have seven more unscheduled days to fill here in Bangkok, but I feel like nothing worse could happen when I’ve already scrubbed mold off of furniture, stepped on the wrong skytrain, and flooded a public restroom with others waiting outside of my stall.