Bangkok III

After an evening of walking along Sukhumvit, we're now back at the hostel, sipping cultured milk drink from a local brand. What is it called? I certainly can't read Thai. But it tastes better than Yakult, and even Vitagen! The bottle itself looks cheap, with faded print in red and light blue. If it wasn't for my sister, I'd never have bought such a thing.

Our first day at Bangkok didn't go as planned, but I suppose it was a satisfactory evening. If we had gone to Asiatique, I reckon I'd have spent and bought a lot more, feeling 2-times the guilt, but also 2-times the happiness. Instead, we headed over to Central World because Lisa came across a Facebook post about a much hyped-about bazaar (which later, when we got there, she admitted that she never bothered reading the post and only looked at the pictures). Sure, we found grilled pork, a variety of seafood and Pad Thai, but we also paid 70Baht for a cup of coconut water. I wanted to vomit it back up and ask for my money back.

Long bored of international fast fashion with price tags that aren't on par with quality, we wanted to leave the monstrous heart of consumers as soon as we finished our business. Due to the convenience of everyday life, details such as incompatible plug points completely slipped our dull brains so we had to find an adapter-charger to resuscitate our phones. Since our phones are directly linked to our livelihood and wellbeing, leaving them alone and actually bonding with each other is most unfathomable.

In hindsight, we should have just bought a random one at the Godsend 7-Eleven instead of browsing through Central World for a "proper" one. So we paid 400Baht for said "proper" charger, and on the way back, as we browsed through the shelves of 7-E for shampoo, we saw a whole section of adapter-chargers selling for 129Baht. Those 129Baht ones also came with Hello Kitty prints. But, of course, our malnourished brains didn't think that far ahead.

Have you ever put a sweat-soaked bra to your nose and took a deep breath? Even now, I can taste the sourness in my throat.

We circled the floors to find the exit, stepping into a few boutiques and felt for the price tags before kicking ourselves out of the overpriced stores. Elaborate malls tailored to extravagant tourists, in all their bright glory, is not where a 22-year-old wearing a thin linen dress from UNIQLO should be shopping at. Even the scents in that enclosed space of luxury smell more expensive than my tuition fees.

Hurrying to the exit, that's when I saw it. Matsumoto Kiyoshi. I've never been to Japan, but shopping there, at this over-lit drugstore blasting Japanese pop music by some tactless boyband, I felt as though I was no longer in Bangkok. I had never intended to buy anything, nor did I expect them to stock the LuLuLun masks that I've been obsessed with but there they were, hanging at the masks section with cheap price tags overhead; even the limited edition ones! I wanted to cry, because we never booked check-in luggage.

I hung all three packets of LuLuLun back where they waited to be taken home and walked out of the store.

I went back inside.

After further deliberation and discussion with my sister, I decided to buy just one pack. If I didn't buy at least one, I would have troubles sleeping tonight, and for the rest of the days I spend without LuLuLun.

Where am I? Indeed, I'm in Bangkok, yet my heart is elsewhere. Whenever I tell people that I've never been to Japan, they open their eyes so wide as if inviting me to gouge them out of their sockets. More than anywhere, I'd like to go there, but more than anything, I'm also afraid of going there. It's funny, but I'm scared that I'm not good enough for Japan. That's why, until now, I've only flown away from the land of the rising sun.