Moment on a bridge

On a recent evening, late enough for the night to be illuminated by lights but early enough for traffic to be a continuous flow, I found myself standing on a bridge over Thanon Phloen Chit looking down. I was reminded of one of my favourite quotations, something I found during an endless perusal of Winnie the Pooh: “Sometimes if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.”

In a moment so burdened with craziness in a city that seems never to stop to breathe I was filled with an overwhelming sense of serenity. Things seem smaller when you're on a bridge. Each person is a microcosm attempting existence within this chaos. When magnified and examined up close, each specimen is striving, needing, wanting, longing. But when watched from a bridge, it appears as a mere attempt at existence. Resembling worker bees, each person emanates a contentedness that's only possible when one focuses entirely on the task at hand.

Of course this contentment is lost and overridden when analysed, which is my tendency. I am, if truth be told, insufferably inclined to over-analysis... I blame having spent four years studying The Human Condition, a title that I feel aptly describes the conflicting and often contradicting state of the human psyche and the environment in which it attempts to function. This moment on the bridge, however, silenced my mind (a rare occurrence) and somehow merged the bedlam of my own life with that of everyone buzzing beneath me. I felt lighter, less burdened and in this moment, I found immense relief.

Where does personality come from anyway?

The environment in which you grow up undoubtedly affects your character and contributes toward the person you ultimately become. I doubt anyone would dare dispute this, it's been proven and re-proven countless times in various research papers seeking to further slog the good old Nature vs Nurture debate.

Traveling is a tremendous opportunity for self reflection and growth. I find myself wondering not how much my home environment has affected who I've become and am still becoming but rather, which aspects of my personality are most affected.

Being a member of a family of Lebanese descent, the men in our household are somewhat revered. I remember the first time I had lunch with an ex-boyfriend's family and was told to help myself to food... Before dishing up for him!... Gasp! (Appropriately horrified expression) I felt obscenely uncomfortable and, well, cheeky if truth be told.

In my family, when lunch is served the women (and girls) dish up for the men (and boys) and once they've started eating, we dish up for ourselves. While writing this I realise how archaic and chauvinistic this feeding ritual sounds but for us, it's a way of expressing respect and love for the men of our family. They, in turn, take care of us in ways that reciprocate these feelings. Essentially, I believe that men and women have different roles to play in a relationship but both roles express similar things like love, care, respect etc... And as if you couldn't have guessed this by now, I'm a bit of a traditionalist. I'd be quite happy barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen thank you very much. Yes yes I know. Feminists all over the world want to track me down and parade me around a town square on a stake. Bite me.

When the boys in my family do things they should not, we shake our heads, make tutting noises and give their arms an affectionate squeeze. It couldn't be helped, I'm sure. They're definitely not, at least entirely, to blame. When the girls do these same things, we're appalled, shocked and astounded that they could be so stupid! “She should have known better! I mean really! What was she thinking?” I find myself carrying this inclination out of the family environment and into the world and fear that Bangkok may be the very worst place on the planet for this particluar personality trait.

I was recently privy to a situation involving two friends of mine, a girl and a boy, that I'd much rather have remained oblivious to. Alas, I can't always play like an ostrich no matter how hard I try. My initial reaction was to be angry at her, blame her for the entire ordeal and to commiserate with him. I found myself making excuses for him and trying far harder to empathise with him and his position than with her. This isn't a once-off experience for me. It seems to be my automatic response to these types of situations.

On reflection, this has been a bit of a theme in my life lately. Like a film study module on “Strictly Ballroom”, it's becoming somewhat repetitive... I seem to make excuses for bad choices made by boys and be harsh about the same choices made by girls. I seem to feel that different expectations exist for us... A different set of standards entirely... One not designed by some omnipresent “them” but composed and applied, to a large extent, by myself. And of course my family. When in doubt, blame can always be laid at the foot of childhood experiences.

If anything, society reinforces this mindset and it's even further exacerbated in Bangkok where the rules are different. Like Band Camp it seems that what happens in Bangkok, stays in Bangkok. It appears to me that Bangkok exists as some parallel universe to the real one where the consequences don't count and the ramifications are negligible.

The modern woman in me is shaking her head making tutting nosies while the traditionalist is nodding approvingly and wiping her hands on her apron. Does this aspect of my personality need changing?... Like I said, barefoot and preggers suits me just fine.

Running in a monsoon

Last night I met a friend at Emporium for dinner. The nightly monsoon timed itself perfectly, as usual. It started to absolutely piss down the moment I set foot outside the house. Thinking I would catch a taxi at the gate of our complex I rolled up my jeans, opened my Baby Pooh umbrella and made a run for it.
Thank you, Murphy, there was no taxi in sight. Not one to give up easily, I ran a little further thinking a taxi couldn't possibly be far away. By the time I was halfway down the soi, still no taxis I might add, I was utterly drenched!
Out of nowhere, the most intense gust of wind came hurtling down the soi and actually propelled me forward a few meters.
There was me, jeans sticking to me they're so wet, rolled up to my knees, sneakers making squelching noises from the vast amounts of water inside them, squinting against the downpour and bolting down the soi clutching manically onto an inside-out Baby Pooh umbrella.
...Thinking back, I must have been quite a sight. I am the neighbourhood entertainment.

Welcome Monsoon Season. I intend to invest in a pair of wellies and am seriously considering a neon orange rain suit.