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Updated: June 16, 2025
A guest house or even a night under the stars with the base of a stupa as his pillow would be preferable. "Maybe you just like guest houses in foreign areas or something." Nawin did not say anything so the youth continued. "If you are trying to hook up with a foreigner why did you choose me?" "Why you?
It was close enough to the truth without the tedium of details for one who was a stranger to him and needed no more than a stranger's cordial trifle. "No problem," said the driver. "You looked sick when I saw you there squatting on the ground." "Train sickness I guess. Sickness of everything generally" offered Nawin with a feigned chuckle.
Suddenly rebounding from his half hour of petulance in his typical good nature, Nawin Biadklang chuckled quietly at his irascible hubris and abjured this moodiness that was part of the curse of his insomnia. The silent giddiness soon wore off with the itchiness of the skin of his broken arm under the cast. All his firing neurons once again became a cluster of pensive rumination.
Nawin sniggered mutedly while feeling both amusement and aversion at being in this guest house and in this company, this effeminate role to which he found himself in, and of becoming so old despite feeling youthful physically even with all this distorted emotional stretching over the past month.
She began to cry. There is no paint for me, Nawin. No canvas...just the clutter of a woman's home...countless things if she marries well...countless knick-knacks she has to move around and in which she has to reflect her thoughts, all in different parts of the house.
People can just twirl around their feet like empty bags blowing in the breeze, amusing for some minutes, gone, and forgotten." "So, for you I am an empty bag blowing in the breeze?" the boy asked and laughed. Nawin did not say anything and then they fell into silence as thick as the lifeless darkness which governed them. "Someday I'll go there." "Huh?" "To Bangkok."
His best explanation was that geckos ate mosquitoes; in his youth, when snorting glue and swallowing amphetamines back in those days when his parents had died and he was working along with his brothers in a sidewalk restaurant and being molested as a "cheap date", he used to hallucinate about talking mosquitoes; so if the mosquitoes were Jatupon's only companion, they symbolized the self, a child of poverty that his name change to "Nawin" could not consume.
"You act like you've just seen light after being pulled out of a box." "I've been alone a lot in recent days." "Why?" "I don't know. I need to get away from people." "Maybe you just need to get away from the old people." "Maybe. Anyhow..." "Anyhow, one in a billion." Nawin laughed. "If you want to see it that way: manipulation of all natural forces to ensure our reunion."
I sat next to you I was " Nawin smiled warmly. "You were on the floor at my feet." "That is not the best way of being remembered but yes, it was me. Please sit down." Nawin sat down on the damp bench. "It is hard to find a comfortable position on a train, isn't it?" "I didn't sleep well the night before." "Why?" "Financial worries, change, the thought of returning here.
Was it to interrupt the last trickle? Was it to interrupt this spiritual retreat of him who did not believe in a spirit? "I wish one of those straw hat milk maidens from one of the dairy farms would come by for a bit of my wet sausage," he said. Nawin smiled awkwardly at the words that gave proof to an impalpable conjecture and made him assess how trite human interaction was.
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