runaway princess…

Dear Diary,

“I’ll see you at the lobby,” He kissed me before heading out with a white cottoned long sleeve, beach khakis and dark brown sandals. His light brown hair with blondish streaks was slicked back with a little help from Gatsby.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, I dropped my mascara to dial housekeeping. In less than 3 minutes a lady arrived with short stemmed red and pink roses and a bag of various shaped candles. I asked her to spread the fresh large petals across the bed and bath tub.  Grabbing the remaining roses and carnations, I made a trail of petals from the front door to the bathroom and to the bed itself. Candles were all ready along with dried scented flowers.  I placed the two wrapped gifts I bought for him by the pillows. Inhaling deeply, I dried my hair and carried myself down the elevator to Amari Boulevard’s lobby.

“I’m Robert Voisine and you?”  The man I love teased bringing his lips to mine.  He grabbed my hand and escorted me to one of Amari Boulevard’s outdoor restaurant located at one of the higher floors.

Robert reserved a different menu for us and a table nearer to the pool, bit isolated from others.  We consumed his choice of red wine, appetizers I loved, and main course we together agreed on. A soft breeze greeted us from time to time as he repeatedly locked his hazel eyes to mine.

“It’s been a year and we have a life time together. Can you handle that?”  He stated squeezing my hand before kissing it.  I shook my head wondering if I should’ve used beige petals to accompany the red ones instead of light pink. Smiling to myself, I feasted my eyes on my love’s facial features. As my best friend revealed, the love I felt for him have been one I longed for - passionate, romantic, serene and earth shattering all at once.  It’s been one year of magical madness and keeping records of his continuous long visits. He’s painstakingly driven. He’s Sensibility and Consistency. He’s revealing. He’s loved me in ways where many men have literally failed before my eyes. 

For the past year I’ve made him cry but he managed to always put a stop to my tears.  I’ve made him wait and his patience deserves a throne.  I’ve called him names but his recital on his love for me grew louder by the day. I’ve forced my volcanic emotions to sit on his lap and he took it, held it, and gently crushed it. I’ve slammed phones down yet he’s returned all calls before the day ended.  I’ve screamed nonsense in his ear but he never took a single step out the door. I’ve unveiled my obscurity using my youth as what I call now as despicable reasoning. He said he understood. I’ve brought my ex lover to the surface, the one man who abandoned me with lies, turning himself all too common. Robert Voisine picked me up, brushed my body with kisses, filled my room with roses, whispered to my soul that promises was no need as he commanded Destiny whom  he was dancing with to allow me to cut in so I could be the one dancing with him for life. I dropped on my knees and begged Destiny to be our eternal guardian.

After dinner, I motioned for him to wait at the lobby yet witnessed a strange eager smile on his face.

I dashed up to the room to light the candles and fill the tub with lukewarm water for a lavender scented bubble bath.  Grabbing a lighter and anxious to witness the surprise on his face, my feet stopped at a table covered in a white cloth standing in the middle of our room. My lips parted in awe. There stood freshly cut fruits, a bottle of champagne posing inside the silver ice box along with two glasses, two plates with its cotton napkins, a mini pot of white and red roses, and a fruit cake covered in bits of nuts. A thin bar of white biscuit decorated the surface with chocolate icing that read: Happy Anniversary.

Dear Diary,

I haven’t felt such sensation since my lover’s last visit and frankly Mr. Voisine made just the right impression. When I laid my eyes on him for the first time at the Amari Boulevard lobby, I couldn’t help to bury my skepticism of what could be a wonderful evening.  He was wearing a white thin line striped shirt, khaki pants and black shoes. His brown hair was slicked back, obviously with a little help from Gatsby. He was as handsome as his picture, yet I imprisoned any sign of over adoration for the sake of my flagged pride.

Dinner at Tony Roman’s was filled with various stories as the white wine took its stroll throughout my body by the end of the meal. I made him laugh as he made me race toward amazement.  Mr. Voisine was brilliant, a 34 year old with greater sex appeal than any 20 year old I knew.  He’s stepped his foot in various places. I was sure he’s stepped his heart in and out of few more than his high school sweethearts. He’s tasted life and exposed more stories than regrets. Oh, I adore men as such. He was forthcoming, down to earth, and articulate with pretty hazel eyes that I fell in love with immediately. He was classically handsome with what seemed to be the complete package I couldn’t wait to uncover.

Bed Supper Club, my favorite venue was our next stop and I couldn’t help to think that I was setting aside my Swedish distant lover for a change.  I realized that after one year of continuously being far away from him in addition to his negligence, as a young female mortal, my heart cried out for a small break.

Mr. Voisine and I began the evening with a simple Heineken as we gave room for fluent conversation.  I thought of my lover sporadically reminding myself to expect only innocent moments with the French Canadian standing before me. I expected absolutely nothing. Nothing at all, until the evening reached its peak and Infatuation took me by the hand and commanded me to harbor between Mr. Voisine’s shoulders at one of my favorite songs.

It’s been too long since I carried my body across the floor in such an erotic way as my lover was never much of a dancer himself. It always bothered me yet I clutched not too long to the thought as Mr. Voisine drew his body closer to mine.

Whether it was Fate or the Devil flicking his finger, I possessed almost no time to savor any thoughts. My body danced along his body as my lips danced with his lips. I devoured him completely before allowing myself to turn away and reach for the Bailey’s Irish Cream he brought me.  Guilt remained an uninvited guest as my heart shivered only in blissful ecstasy.

I kissed him with such erupted hunger inside the elevator of Amari. We entered the room and I wasted a good ten minutes with an open chit chat about ice hockey. Yet a growing impatience was boiling within and I surrendered to the little voice that no longer whispered.

I wanted Mr. Voisine as a woman. A young woman waiting to say good bye to her distant lover. A woman who wished for that divine, passionate, eternal, earth shattering love.

Oh, If only I was prepared for the plans Fate had wrapped for me. If only I was realistic enough to think that I never had any absolute last words for anything in life.  If only I was aware of the power of wishful thinking. If only I had acknowledged the supremacy of Time and Destiny just a little bit more…But then again, who can?

I was close to physical insanity, sweating and feeling that high fever slowly consuming my body.  It was a very sizzling Tuesday, a rather highly humid and long one. One I would love to pass quickly although I knew very well that Wednesday’s weather would not escort me to an elevated bliss.

I only fancy the tropics for its fresh coconuts, heavenly ocean breeze, and the satisfaction of wearing a two piece bikini while staring at hot tanned bodies with a bit of sunburned hair and friendly mannerism. In other words,

Bali

. Outside of that, I am afraid my tolerance has been quite a weak thread. 

I’ve abused my so-called power breathing in places I’ve failed to retrieve Absolute contentment. Oh, Brahma, forgive me.

I plainly miss any simple minus ten snowy winters. I miss my black high boots and long leather coat. And of course, those light colored sexy turtle necks. Oh, I yearn for my uninterrupted and prosperous health!

My two weeks on and off sickness had reached its toll. I take after my mother in that sense, dwelling in headaches and physical fatigue as a cause of the overly damp air while everyone bloomed in precariousness under the scorching sun.  My mother and I blossom in utmost beauty (I’d like to call it) only in breezy to chilly weather conditions. Seriously.

Lunch hour was finished and I thanked whatever Divinity out there that my lessons for the day were over. Taking a seat in front of the computer in the library where a fourth grade class held their extremely quiet math lesson, I felt an uplifting relief. Thank you Silence, I whispered.  Sipping apple juice and few headache pills, I slouched just to close my eyes a bit.

I miss my love. He’s scheduled to arrive Friday and my patience is wearing thin – again, a much weakened thread. Oh, perhaps my sickness would be bygones at his arrival.

I received a text message from him, asking me if I was still at school. I smiled and opened my chat room immediately, waiting for his greeting – a routine I forced myself to grow accustomed to considering there’s only a few countries and oceans sitting between us.  I grew restless waiting and wondering why he was taking longer than usual. Thus, I dashed out to my own office and grab tissues to accommodate my irritating runny nose.

I saw a ‘miscall’ on my phone as I returned, blowing my nose frantically. My weariness was accompanied by annoyance. I didn’t understand his miscall as he’s never done so before. If he wanted something, he would’ve been online yapping his heart out to me.  If he couldn’t chat, he would usually send off a text message and call me in the evenings. His ‘miscall’ was slightly irregular.

“I need you outside at the school gate now. Can you come out?”  A message suddenly appeared. I groaned, sneezed then coughed some more.

If it was another one of his flower or chocolate deliveries from

Japan

, couldn’t the delivery boy walk up one floor and hand it them to me?!

I walked out of the library wishing for a nice bed underneath my fragile body. Leaning on the rail of the second floor I gazed out at the school’s front gate and observed an empty street. No flower delivery.

“Sita, look!”  Teacher Pao appeared and grabbed my shoulders.  She pointed to the school gate and again, I saw a few motorcycles running by and a man sitting under a tree across the street. Nothing out of the ordinary and still, no flower delivery.

“Go, go down and go out of the gate!”  She pushed me. I grunted lazily walking down the stairs toward the gate cursing at the overly generous sun and my uncooperative pathetic body. The street was vacant as I glanced back and forth from one direction to the other.

“Sita!”  Shouted a man’s voice. I took my eyes to a fine figure walking slowly toward me crossing the street.  His light brown blonde streaked hair shone under the sun as the warmest smile decorated his face.  Sweats trickled down the side of his face, down to his neck and into the collar of his white Polo shirt.  At an instant, my body melted as I fell back on the gate’s wall with tears racing down my cheeks.

The man embraced me tightly as I breathed in his body scent.  Words didn’t bother to fill up my lips as they were no match to the erupted passion queuing in my throat.  He grabbed my hand walking me slowly back across the street to a bench under a tree. My eyes wondered from his small duffle bag to a bouquet of fresh white roses.

“For you,” He whispered kissing my forehead. I buried my face in the petals and allowed more tears.

“What are you doing here!?”  I felt a bit bothered at the unscheduled surprise feeling very German-ly stiff that way. Yet there was a luminous striking sensation within, one I failed to delineate at that very moment.

“I can’t wait for Friday.”  He answered with a smile glued to his sweet face.

I squinted straight at the sweltering sun from under the tree, making an immediate decision to stop being so contemptuous towards it.  I ran my fingers through the white petals feeling its meticulous virginity before inviting my gaze to the man who gave them to me.  Then I defined that ongoing enigma inside my head.  Standing before me with what I distinguished to be undying love from his hazel eyes, was the man I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with. The man who was willing to shower me that Absolute contentment.

Oh, Brahma, thank you.

“You’re beautiful,” He recited.

“You want something.”  I declared smiling.

“I want you.”  He scanned my body with his crystal blue eyes.

“I am taken.” 

“You might be,” He replied casually. “Where is he?”

“In a safe place where no men like you can harm him.” 

I allowed a soft laugh as I thanked the waiter for my Bailey’s.

“I’m serious.”  He said looking at me in the eye.

“So am I.”  I answered.

“You’re good but please, call me Sean. Sir makes me feel…”

“Ahead of your time?” I answered. Sean laughed and I honestly found it quite sexy. Oh, his entire being was amazingly stunning.

“I am not old so I don’t want to feel that way.”  He confessed.

“How young are you, Mr.…?

“Whitman. I am 32. You?”  He sipped his Carlsberg.

“Let your numbers switch place.”  I said.

“Well you’re the one ahead of your time…”  He stated smiling.

“Ahead and stumbling.”  I said watching him chuckle. 

He leaned over to reach out for my hand yet I crossed my arms and leaned back on my chair disallowing his action. “Oh, you’re good.” He nodded.

“You’re not the first man I’ve spoken to, Mr. Whitman.”  I leaned putting my palms together. “What do you want? There are beautiful women all over this place. Why have you placed your fine ass on my table?”

I sensed him studying me a bit. Either that or Sean Whitman was thinking with his entire brain capacity in search of a first class line hoping I’d literally fall for it.

“I approached you because you’re alone.”

“Well, isn’t that bravery…?”  I commented giving him a soft applaud.  He smirked keeping his smile as sincere as possible.  “Ever thought of the fact that I might be secluding myself?” 

“Not in Thailand. Girls sitting alone in a bar are usually waiting for their daily victim…”

“Do share your expertise.”  I commented.

The blonde hair Brit-Swiss blushed.

“You’re not here to make friends, Mr. Whitman. Spill it.”  I declared.

“Be with me on my holiday for three weeks. I offer you five star hotel, first class service and cash at hand if you agree for the entire three weeks, not a day less.”  He announced introducing me his true colors – colors I’ve always wished to be nonexistent in a man.

“Location?” I kept my posture erect and voice calm.

“Phi Phi Island.” He said as my head flew to Leonardo DiCaprio’s The Beach. 

“Timing?”  I continued clasping my hands together.

“I need to go back to London for two weeks so after that I will be back to pick you up.”

“Type of transportation?” 

“We’ll fly.”

“Name of airline and seating arrangement?”  I asked.

“We’ll get us business with Thai Airways?”

“Outer parties?” 

“I don’t mind a couple other girls if you’re up for it. If not, it’ll be just the two of us under the sun, baby.”

“Exclusively compensated?” I assured sounding like a first class whore.

“Everything. Food, services, you name it. Just be with me.”

I exhaled, feeling a deep anguish running through my body.  Since I moved back to Asia, I’ve discovered how the love and hate relationship I’ve maintained with Caucasian men have turned into one frenzied fixation.

Again he examined my face. “You really have a man don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He doesn’t have to know, baby.” He almost whispered.

“No, he doesn’t.”  I agreed.

“Deal is it…”  He asked.

“State your price.”  I smiled as Sean Whitman showed his widest grin.

“Two grand.”

“You’re cheap.”  I giggled as he raised his eyebrows laughing.

“Honey, that’s two grand a week. You will leave with six grand.”

He ordered another Carlsberg.

“Honey, what else do you want? You want clothes? We’ll go shopping then. Just name your brands.”

“Burberry?”  I lied having no interest in that particular top dog name.

“Whatever you want, baby. I promise.”

I thought of all the mentally underprivileged men I’ve unavoidably met during my short life.

“Six grand for three weeks of full paid holiday sounds reasonable. Branded clothing is a common desire amongst women. But it’s not enough. You’re still chaining yourself.”  I said leaning bringing my face two inches from his. “Look around…” 

Sean brought his eyes to every corner of the bar.  “What?”  He said.

“There’s not a rich man in this building or city that cannot give me what you’ve offered.”

“Yes, but we want each other, honey.” He announced confidently. “You’d choose me over that loaded fat guy.”  Sean pointed to an overweight middle aged man surrounded with four Thai women – one on his lap.

“Give me a lifetime.”  I grew anxious at how far he was willing to go.

“What?”

“I want your offer plus a lifetime with you.”  I stated flatly.

“You’re joking now.”  Sean backed away a bit.

“Your offer is awfully insignificant, Mr. Whitman.”  For the first time that night I allowed an insincere smile watching Sean Whitman turned for embarrassment. And fury.

“How about ten grand?”  He answered densely.

“You don’t understand.”  I smirked. “The sum in your bank account won’t do a thing!”
“You’re lucky I offered that much!”  He raised his voice.

“You think I’m worth ten grand, Mr. Whitman? These girls here are worth that. You can pay ten grand and get five of them! Discount at it’s best for a tight wallet like yours!”  I stated firmly.

“How much would you go for? How much?!”  Sean insisted.

“Be with me, love me.”  I laughed watching him parting his lips in distress. “But we both know you can’t afford that much!”

“Bet your man is loaded?”  He twisted the conversation leaving me contemplating for a few seconds.

“No idea to be honest.”  I answered softly.

“So have fun with me. What is the problem?”  He demanded.

“The problem, Mr. Whitman, is that you can’t give me what I want. Ten grand doesn’t exactly cover it.”

“You’re a fucking insane woman.”  Sean scoffed loudly.  Suddenly his handsome face was the most hideous thing a woman can ask for.

“Better insane than poor in more ways than one,” I laughed cynically. “Get off my table or I’ll call security.” I glanced at a tall built Thai man in a black shirt standing in a corner giving me a concerned look in return.

“There are tons like you in Bangkok anyway.”  Sean got up.

“I hope not, otherwise you’d be doing a one-some for three weeks.”

“Fuck you.”  The blonde recited before leaving.

——————

I sat in the backseat of a taxi gazing out at Bangkok’s nightlife. Mr. Whitman’s “you’re beautiful” ended with “fuck you.”  Funny, the sort of dejavus playing for me.

“You go alone, Miss.”  The driver asked. “No friend?”

“No, friend not here.”  I answered thinking of my lover whose voice lingered inside my head.

I am so much in love with you. Tell me this is forever, Sita. All I think of is you, me and our little Alex…

I am jealous. I am jealous of the distance between us. Closer to you from where I stand. But you can never understand.

I’m jealous. Of the smiles you receive. Of the sins you conceive. The beauty your eyes feast on. When the day is gone. Certainly not my body. Nor my decree.

So I’m jealous. Of the darkness your mind aches to light. Of the dream your heart reaches at night. Without me you dance in the heavens. Until daylight.

Forgive me for being jealous. Cursing at this distance between us. Of every soul you meet and greet. Ones perhaps you long between your sheets. Of every soul that comes and goes.  Ones perhaps to be my foes.

I am utterly undeniably jealous. At the clothes covering your skin. At your naked body in the light so dim. Sitting in the solitary. Without the presence of me.

Until you take me. Hold me. Own me. Keep me. Captivate me. Greed only for me. Love me…

I remain jealous.

I deserved to be punished.  Today for the first time in my life, I hit a child.

Perhaps to some people it’s one way, if not the best way to discipline a child, to educate them, to throw some sense into them, to remind them that somehow a quiet class is traditionally good. Oh, but as I ran my hand through that boy’s cheek, I’ve also placed my decency in the lowest place possible.

As a child, there was a time where I felt hands across my face when I somehow displeased the adults in my life. I never liked it. I hated it and always found ways to fight back projecting my objection in various ways. For some reason, at that earliest stage of life, I knew that it was plain erroneous to have anyone putting that much pressure on my body as a cause of anger. Thus, after feeling such way of punishment during my early years, I made a promise to myself to never lay a hand on anyone, especially a child.

Today I broke my own promise. I was physically exhausted and mentally disturbed this entire week. I kept few bad news in my head. I kept few drops of tears inside. I was faking my every smile.  Still…it was no excuse to hit a child.

———-

My patience stood helpless on the ground as the entire class decided to be what I call unrefined. (God, this is the part where I thank those nutty royals for at least planting mannerism on me more than skin deep).  I closed my eyes wishing that my headache would go away.  I shushed the class for what seemed to be the millionth time. I told everyone gently to place, hell…glue their butt on their chair.  I slammed a ruler once, feeling odd portraying that much aggression in class. 

I was going ballistic convincing myself (trying to at least…) that I’m a goddamn good teacher.  I know how to put materials, necessary ones in their heads and keep it there.  I know how to make kids from anywhere laugh and put comfort on their lap. I goddamn know how to make parents praise their children because of the effort they’ve put in learning. I know how to make a white kid shut up and listen to me.  I know how to make a black kid say hi to me. I know how to make a Chinese kid smile at me first. I know how to make Japanese bow 90 degrees and have no problem bowing back that much.

What is fuckin’ wrong with Thai kids being so damn preposterous 24/7?!

All I ever wanted to do was have fun teaching and smile in satisfaction at students who would finally toss away their fear for speaking English. Oh, but silly naïve me. Who would’ve thought that culture gap would be such a mean enemy toward me?  Who would’ve thought that my patience would always be standing at the edge of a cliff? Who would’ve thought that I would stick around this long? Who would’ve thought that I begin to take no tolerance toward my fellow Asians?!

———-

That kid WAS the Devil. He was pulling all my chains and nerves, fully knowing I possessed only few left. He was physically unattractive with that malicious smile painted across his face since I stepped in the classroom.  He created the charade and enjoyed every minute of it.  I tapped his shoulder a bit harsh once, motioning for him to sit down yet he ignored my existence.  Few of his friends decided to join and began jumping around the room. Some shouted my name, asking for my attention thinking whatever animal like behavior they were taking was something amusing. 

No wonder you remain third world, I thought heavily.

The boy looked at me, daring me to do something, anything to stop him from his dominion.  He laughed at my commands and loved at the fact that he was causing a bigger headache for me.  He smiled at my fatigue. He enjoyed at the fact that I was plain helpless.

He came to me and laughed in my face.  At that split second, I slammed my hand against his right cheek silencing the entire class.  It was just too loud, I thought.

“Khun Sita…”  A girl started.

“Don’t say a word.”  I managed to hide the shock from my own action.  The last time I placed pressure that much on a person’s cheek was a couple years ago when I was betrayed by a lover.  Yet at that time, I held no regret. I was pleased and wished for repetition. But this time, looking at the boy’s 8 year old eyes, I was taken back to those moments where I myself felt hands running across my cheeks as a child.

“I don’t like you at all and I want you to know it. I want you to remember tomorrow also.”  I said to the boy softly who still stood frozen in front of me.  It was a battle between me who wanted to apologize to him and me who wanted to slap him again and again and again and lock him up in the bathroom for a few hours in the dark…

THE WAY HE’S LOVED ME SINCE THAT NIGHT WE MET…

Sorry for loving you so much

That my love is making you cry

Sorry for those empty nights

That you have to spend alone

Sorry for the distance we have

That your days are so long

Sorry for loving you so much

That you are scared of loosing it

Sorry for missing you so

That you have to wait

Sorry for not being there with you

That you feel lonely without me

Sorry for loving you so much

That love hurts some days

Sorry for my affectionate touch

That you can’t feel everyday

Sorry for not kissing you every night

That you need to be kissed tonight

Sorry for loving you so much

That your feelings get mixed up

Sorry for being so far

That my touch can’t be reach

Sorry for all this time

That your heart been missing me

It felt like I’ve had sex and fully committed myself to the Devil (the real one, not the one wearing Prada) these past few days. I admit I’ve been a tyrant to my own self while giving away my million dollar smile (I’d like to think it’s worth that much) to just about every walking body.  Now, the last time I actually ridiculed myself with this much pestering was a while back when the whole world around me was in no doubt withering. At that time Dad wasn’t home much and when he was, I didn’t hear a thing.  He was basically what I call then Financially Fucked. Mom was minding her own business praising just about every middle aged man, except her husband, in my face. My sisters were never home so there was no one to buy my Kotex (or Charm with wings as large as Mami Poko) during those heavy emergency hours. I was never a lady to keep umbrellas for rainy days. My folks needed me “home”, so a ticket to my next flight and new life in

Singapore

as they promised was postponed.  Um…my crazy first class maniac ex was torturing me while the lover I had at the time acted like a real guy – multitasking was as challenging as tapping your head with one hand while rubbing your tummy in circles with the other.  I went through massive weight gain and loss in less than 6 months. I hated myself in the mirror although my friends still thought I was the hottest chick around. (Sigh).

So yes, there I was isolating myself from anything breathing. A knock on my door used to freak me out and a second knock drove me up all four walls (and ceiling).  The only person I always tolerated was Mom herself and even then she had to be extra careful. Otherwise I might’ve given her one of my rare but quite deadly outbursts.  Oh, but I never did as she was always one that had the most beautiful heart in the world. Christ, I’d bow at her feet for eternity if I could.

But that was then when I had all the reasons in the world to be what my doctor called mildly depressed, a state of mind declared still to be pretty normal and 100% curable.  And yes, it was.

But recently, nothing worked and it’s been one great dejavu (however you spell that). I turned down a modeling gig, which offered me 5 grand for a day’s work.  I considered that an awfully nice bundle considering that they tolerated my extra love handles.  They liked my face, but I hated theirs so I shut down the phone without regrets (maybe just a tad bit). I shouted to my student whom I could’ve sworn was the Devil’s advocate himself to jump out the window if he couldn’t stand still in my class. I even offered the push.  I snapped at all the little adorable girls grabbing on my Giordano. Lay off the fuckin’ shirt bitches!! I almost forgot Mom’s birthday if it wasn’t for the damn alarm ringing off my phone. I shushed every student who recited their good mornings to me wishing their mothers would’ve taught them on how to keep their mouth shut more often. Just like Mom.  I cursed at the nasty lunch, any students who walked annoyingly slow, the Physical Education teacher who needed to grow an extra 10 inches to fit his job, the lesbian dance teacher who touched me too much (I hate strangers touching me), and last but not least, Yoiji – my Japanese angel who reminded me all too much of what I was like as a kid and still at 23, nothing of my heart have changed.

Oh, Mom….I wished she was stroking my hair convincing me with her sweetest words that the Devil would vanish in no time. But such wish is just far too weak. The Devil shadowed me at all my hours and I did nothing but gave in.

“Yoiji’s mother will stay for one month. But it’s her company from

Japan

that sent her here. They’re putting her on training so she can’t spend 24 hours with Yo.”  Khun Pao, Yoiji’s homeroom teacher stated at lunch. (Khun is a title in Thai for the elderly).

“So her real intention wasn’t to visit him?”  I scowled.

“No.”

I stared at my Japanese angel along with the other children who were ready for their nap time.  He clutched to a green handkerchief belonging to his mother, not allowing anyone else to touch it.  He looked at me then blushed, fully realizing how sentimental he was as a boy to be so attached to something of his mother’s.

I bent down and placed my hand on his face as I’ve done at every nap time since the day I met him.  “Can I hold it?”  I asked.

“You can but I hold it too.”  He placed my hand on the handkerchief as he brought it closer to his chest.

“I have a meeting today.” Khun Pao said. “Put them to sleep okay.”  She walked out.

I turned to Yo as he stared blankly at the wall.  I hate your parents, my head recited. I can’t care less what excuse they might have but if you were mine, I’d never ever leave you. Period.

They have no idea how much he misses them, how much he’s loosing more time each day to be with them, and how many good night kisses and good morning hugs he’s lost.  How he’s so diligent, so different and special from the other kids around him, how he’s created his own world and enjoying himself being inside it, how he can’t care less of his surroundings because it’s just not good enough for him, how his intelligence surpassed every one else’s, how quickly of him to be bored from everything because a mind like his deserves so much more than anyone has ever given him.

“Where is your mother?”  I asked him feeling reluctant whether I should bring up that touchy subject.

“She said she’s working.”  His gloomy face melted me.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”  The boy whispered almost in tears.

“Can I sleep here?”  I leaned beside him afraid to intrude his space. I knew exactly what it felt like to be all alone. My best cure was to stay alone as other’s presence would only damage my growing emotional instability.  I absolutely despise gray areas.

“Yes.”  He said still staring at the wall.  I rubbed his back and kissed his hair in silence. And that moment I broke down in tears.

“Why are you crying?”  Yoiji’s face confused.

“Do you miss her?”  I asked him.  The boy got up to sit a while before lying back down on his tummy.  “Do you?”  I turned to him as he quickly buried his face on the pillow.

That was a “yes”.  I brought my face close to his as he turned to me.  I gave him an Eskimo kiss he always liked.  Yoiji giggled.

“You miss your dad too?”

“I haven’t seen him in a long time.”  The four year old spoke out.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Mom said he’s working in

Japan

too.”

“Do you love your mother, Yo?”

“Love.”  He answered quickly.

“And your father?”  I asked holding him close to my chest.

“Yes.”  He said shyly.

I held him close for a while before he sat up.

“You need to sleep.”  I said to him. “Everybody else is asleep already.”  The boy looked around at all his classmates breathing softly drowning in their own dreams.

“Why are you crying?”  He turned to me.

I smiled, took his handkerchief and wiped my tears with it.  He grabbed it quickly, kissed and gripped it tighter. 

“Where are your mom and dad?”  He suddenly asked.

“Far away also.”

“Really?”

“Really.”  I ran my hands through his hair. “I am like you. Our parents are both far away.”  The boy placed his body next to mine and stared back at the ceiling.

“Is that why you’re crying?”

“No.”

“Why?”  He insisted softly.

“Remember Khun Robert?”  I asked him referring to my lover who visited my school few weeks back.

“Yes.”  Yoiji smiled shyly. “Your friend.”

“He lives in

Japan

.”  I confessed.

“Really?”  The boy became wide eyed.

I witnessed him thinking a million miles away. It was one of the most beautiful things in the whole world seeing him in such a deep contemplation like that. He curled his eyebrows just like I did when I was his age whenever I felt that I needed to understand something, anything.

“Why is everybody in

Japan

?”  The Japanese boy looked at me with the saddest brown eyes I’ve seen next to mine. 

“I don’t know, Yoiji.”  I said hugging him so very tightly crying in my silence just as he was in his.

My kindergarten 3/1 class was amazingly quiet except for the chatterbox up front -

Kan.

  While all her friends were attentively drawing as I assigned them to, one of my could-be-enemies-if-I-was-still-growing-up was yapping louder than a sound system, distracting her nearby friends.

I stopped and stared at her paper thinking of how on earth I should shut her up. Candies never worked on these children.  Slamming the huge wooden ruler worked only for few seconds. Being angry meant creating unwanted wrinkle on my 23 year old face and certainly a waste of breath.  Shushing them as I have done to Western children has been a gesture well ignored amongst Thai children. 

The little 5 year old giggled obnoxiously sticking her tongue out to me.  Indeed, she’s one of my intelligent ones, but if it’s one thing I hate about Thai students is that they allow their astuteness to be accompanied by plain arrogance.

“Your picture is ugly.”  I told her flatly, breaking a very important rule in teaching Thai children – no criticism allowed at any time or place, yet I discovered that very rule to be THE method in stopping Thai children from doing anything – talking included.  The kids around her gasped then giggled softly. 

Kan

stopped her gibbering and stared at me with wide eyes.

Good girl.

“Is mine beautiful?” A girl next to

Kan

asked me.

“Yes it is.”  I let out my fake million dollar smile.

“What about mine?”  A boy showed me his unattractive drawing.

“It’s lovely.”  I said acting out the number one rule in teaching Thai children – always compliment no matter what.

Kan

curled her eyebrows kicking her desk mercilessly.  She threw her color pencil, which hit the white board.  Her friends laughed harder. The little girl then grabbed a few utensils and began slamming it on her desk.

You should be caged in a zoo next to the lions.

“Finish your drawing.”  I said to her without a smile.

“No!”  She shouted.

“Why not?”  I kept my voice stable.

“You said my drawing is not beautiful.”

“Well, it’s not. How can you draw beautifully when you talk more than looking at your paper?”  I said flatly. 

“I won’t draw anymore!”  The little girl threw a ruler across the room and hit her classmate - Bo.  My annoyance was at the tip of my tongue allowing my patience to disappear.

“You idiot! You hit my glasses!”  Bo screamed walking to her desk and slammed the ruler on her chest.  He showed no mercy by slapping her on the head.  The class roared in laughter. I couldn’t help but to join.

Good boy.

“Sit down, Bo.” I winked watching the boy return to his seat with his chin up.

“You won’t finish your drawing because I said it’s ugly?”  I asked

Kan.

“Yes! I won’t do it.”  The little girl said haughtily.

“Well, it is ugly.”  I said leaving her to attend to others. 

Kan

began mumbling softly on her own, still with an angry face. 

“I don’t like you.”  She said giving me that I-wish-your-class-is-over look.

“I don’t like you either.”  I recited with a cold face, having a ball watching her little 5-year-old bratty ass turn for that ultimate displeasure toward me.

What terrible sin have I committed to have to put up with a little 5 year old like you for the past 7 months?!

“You are so mean!”  The little girl stood on top of her chair crossing her arm.

Oh, forget the zoo. Zoos are for tamed mammals.

“I can draw better than you though.”  With that,

Kan

sat back down and sulked on her own for the remaining 30 minutes of class.

So mocking them to the core shuts them up. Oh, peace at last.

———-

“Not a bad idea to try.”  Paul, my colleague stated.

“You’re an awful bitch!”  James stated laughing giving me a pat on the shoulder.

“And what else?”  I asked.