Cold and Warmth

It's 2C outside, I'm warm in my apartment with a glass of Madiran, I just made some caramelised onions to prepare some homemade onion soup for Rus who'll be visiting for the next 3 days. Listening to some Thai ballads, imagining myself walking along the sides of Lumpini park, after a night out, it's warm, maybe 28C, but feeling so cold inside in a city where everything is avail at a price. I imagine walking into a 7-eleven, the familiar tonal greeting, the same harsh florescent lights, almost the same offering of cold pre-packed meals, and drinks.

Warm and stuffy, I needed to open my balcony, the sweet fragrance of jasmine and frangipani reminds me that I'm lucky to be Suvarnabhumi. I can call a friend, have an early morning 'jok', 'khao tom', or an expensive brunch at Emporium, watching beautiful (and rich) people. Cold, knowing that the social strata can almost never be breached, as much as the Isaan cleaner, next to us, would want.

Cold, is how these Thai ballads leave me, cos' I'll never get to experience that pain and sorrow of departure they sing about, maybe because, I've never been there in the first place. But why are my eyes tearing? Warm is the shower waiting for me, much needed after a day's work, that went pretty well, I must say. Warm is my fleece blanket that keeps my toes happy while I dream of distant melodies and further away places.