This is how it starts. Tell me what is shit. Rewrite any part or all if you wish. Help me out.
This is an important story, and I want to post it on ThaiVisa when it's done. But I cannot write for shit. That's where you come in. I don't need fucking faggot circumspect Catholic bullshit. If it sucks, say it sucks. If it can be improved, help me out you pricks.
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Saving Face.
I wasn’t even supposed to be in that filthy hole. I'd followed a mate inside and instantly wanted to lash out at someone. Anyone. Everyone. When I decided to stay in Bangkok, friends would keep taking me to these places infected with horror. I’m not even going to talk about the horror or I’ll flip. We walked in, I started ranting, and we walked out.
I was whining the same old rhetoric when I saw what would turn out to be Mai’s face flash for a fraction of an instant. She was behind a crowd of fat pigs, but all I could think about was saving myself and making good my own escape. I had been whining non-stop (as I've been known to do) all night. My mate was over it, but that's never stopped me.
“Why the fuck why are we here? Why can’t we go somewhere decent? Somewhere where the heinous is dialled down? Bangkok must have normal clubs?”
My buddy didn’t know. He was in Bangkok for a while before I got there but he didn’t know. I dunno. If you don’t know you don’t know. How can you know what you don’t know? It’s just...I spent two years almost too horrified to leave my apartment as a result of my initial introduction to Bangkok's horror.
I didn't spend two years in my apartment running away from cute girls! You can take my word for it. I knew, in much the same way as racists know things, that Thai girls were - all - disgusting. True story. I knew it for a fact. I knew it for two years. It's not like I was in Thailand for girls, but I have always been into cute girls. I'll admit it. You might be into other stuff; but in my life, I have almost exclusively been preoccupied with cute girls.
There were none in Bangkok. I knew that much. I was only ever taken to horror shows when I got there and I was in way too delicate an emotional state for the kind of horror we're talking about here. Aside from maybe saving Mai’s face, I saw so much terrifying shit during my first month or two in Bangkok; it sent me shrieking for the safety of high-rise apartments and I couldn’t hardly be dragged out for two years. Bangkok girls were filthy.
If you'd have asked, I could have told you. I would have been happy to. Thai girls were all ugly. I'd seen maybe 200 of them at no less than three different locations and they were all shocking. Bangkok, a city of 12 million, had no cute girls. I knew that for a fact.
When I did finally limp back down into Society, the first club I walked into was The Bank. I was living almost directly above it, right up the top of Siri@Sukhumvit. I had no idea. I wandered in bored and curious and the first sentiment I had was farcically conflicted. I wasn’t sure if I needed to kill myself right away or celebrate. Still unsure about that Suicide v Celebration dilemma. For two years I was oblivious to the reality. Bangkok has tens or even hundreds of thousands of pretty girls, and a lot of them aren’t averse to having fun with my money. Who knew.
Some of them could even take or leave the money. But then I am pretty amazing. When I’m not being creepy.
When I am being creepy, I rescue pretty child prostitutes. Well, I’ve only done it once. But that’s only because I’ve never seen another child prostitute pretty enough to stick my neck out for. I know right? I’m a real hero. If you wanted to name your children after me, I'd understand.
The first thing I did when I found out Bangkok had cute girls (~two years after I became convinced all Thai girls were horrifying) was rush to tell my friends. Not only did they already know about The Bank, they knew about all the normal clubs; which they then proceeded to tell me about. For the first time. “This is some creepy shit,” I was thinking. “How can this conversation even be happening.” I'd been in Bangkok for two years.
Do you ever get the feeling you’re continually sharing things you’ve discovered with everyone; without any reciprocation? That’s pretty much how I’ve felt for my entire life. I swear no one ever tells me anything.
No one told me Thailand had cute girls. They just showed me horror when I first arrived. It wasn’t all bad, though. There was this tiny orphan girl named Mai, and I’m pretty sure I saved her face.
I only caught a glimpse of that face as we were leaving Horror. She was being ‘protected’. Managed. Hidden from view by her horrifying ‘sisters’. Bangkok's "sisters" are girls in the sex industry who shouldn't - really - be in the sex industry for the same reasons I shouldn't - really - be playing ball in the NBA. But they're a plucky bunch; they'll just plug away, regardless. If you haven't worked out how they survive yet, keep plugging away at it. You'll put the horrifying pieces of the exploitation puzzle together, soon enough.
Mai had a - lot - of sisters looking out for her. She caught a glimpse of my friend and I and wriggled to get free of her protective ‘family’; unsuccessfully, as it turned out. My friend and I walked in, took a look, and walked straight the fuck out. It was not a pretty sight.
The hole was choc-a-bloc full of Bangkok’s sisters. It was early in the morning. Only the horror remained. The horror and Mai. I vaguely understood the sisters’ caper and they only frightened me a little bit. I had seen Mai’s face but only for a fraction of a second in the midst of the “family gathering” and although I wasn’t intrigued enough to check it out, when my friend caught the first cab I got tired of waiting for another one and so I shrugged and headed back down “just to take a look”.
The sisters were blockading my view so I just physically shoved them aside, literally swinging the first few out of the way before the rest stood back to let me see their hidden trophy.
I wasn’t prepared for the crushing disappointment. I was horrified. Repulsed. Devastated. Then I was furious. There was nothing but this tiny terrified child with a desperate look on her face. I was filthy, mostly at myself. I thought I’d seen a stunner, but what I’d discovered was child prostitution. That's just great, I thought. Exactly what I needed.
My face would have been so cruel. I winced and turned to escape or throw up; looking back only once at the little child, who looked like she was about to cry. I recognised that despair. I'd been there. I paused to think for a moment, but I didn't do any thinking. I just felt...nauseous. I was tripping out at the horrifying scene of a dozen sisters all hovering around this little child - who was about to be torn apart by the imminent tug-of-war, I figured - and something just snapped (my better judgement, perhaps). I just couldn't take any more of the sleaze.
She didn't belong there. They were going to destroy her with their sisterly love. Though I don't honestly know how valid these sentiments actually were, it seemed to me to be a matter of life and death or at least; that's how I managed to frame it in my emotionally fragile state. Unable to just walk away - as I had been doing my entire life - I reached out my arm for the child to grab if she wanted a lifeline and her tiny arm slapped against mine. Almost as if we'd practiced, I yanked her up out of the gathering, set her on her feet in line with the exit and we were off.
Behind us, there was a mild delay as the shocked sisters squabbled between themselves before realising a united front was called for. Their meal ticket was bolting away. They gave pursuit, yelling out warnings to the girl telling her to come back. Trying to convince her that I was dangerous or violent or whatever the fuck they say to retain control of their little prey for the pedophiles who likely appreciate their management services. But the little girl wasn’t listening to any of their ‘advice’; she was pretty sharp and she wanted out. She was beating me to the street as we cut our way through the horror and up the stairs and then we were clear.
And then we weren’t.
Out of the bowels of horror, Horror and her horrifying ‘sisters’ emerged to talk business. They were all babbling at once. She was their “good thing” and they wanted to negotiate her release, sell her or just salvage something, I guess. They wanted to get paid.
That was never going to happen. I was not in an ‘understanding’ mood. I've never been violent, but I wanted to change all that and I was aware these girls might be happy to ‘man’ up (they’re invariably weathered old beasts; ageing elephants or water buffalo who’ve been “in the shit” far too long to get squeamish at the prospect of some fisticuffs). They’re toughened in ways you’d rather not think about, and I had no doubt they were each tougher than I’d ever been. But I was in Fight mode. Sense didn't a get a look in.
The little child was all about Flight. I guess she didn't like my chances. She had already hailed a taxi and was grabbing at my arm whilst I sneered at the sisters, trading insults as I guiltily indulged in wicked mini-fantasies (like triple swirl extra creamy ice cream wicked). I was imagining formally introducing sisters to concrete. There was a moment of truth where the child was in the car as the sisters advanced, and I hesitated.
But I went with the correct decision. I gallantly spat in their direction, made some rude gestures, yelled a final insult or two, hopped in the taxi and then we were - properly - clear.
At which point, I almost lost my fucking mind.
I was panicking. What the fuck was wrong with me? Oh my god. Fuck my life. What the fuck. Ohh shit.
I was traveling at high speed down Sukhumvit in a taxi at 5am with a freaking child prostitute looking up excitedly at me. This was a new level of fucked up.
"This could be a little awkward to explain", I half-laughed and half-choked. I was pretty certain explanations wouldn't be requested. What's to explain?
"The pedophile fought bravely, Sir. It took three police officers armed only with batons roughly twenty minutes to subdue him."
I was trying to calm myself down but I was fairly certain panicking was more appropriate.
“What’s your name, kid?”
It was Mai.
“How old?”
14. Almost 15. She listed her age the other way around, as kids do. “15...almost. 14.”
Jesus Christ.
I had no idea if she was even telling the truth. She looked like she might be 12 or 13. I was hyper-ventilating, imagining police pulling us over any second. They'd look inside, look at her. They'd look at me and...
And the taxi driver wanted to know where we were going. I looked up to catch the filthy grin on his cheese-eating face and I very much wanted to wipe it off but the truth is, I’m not - remotely - violent, at all. I've never thrown a punch in my life. So I didn’t.
“Mai, where are we taking you.”
Mai didn’t know. She was just enjoying her freedom. When you’re trapped or imprisoned, incarcerated or a child with shitty parents; emancipation is all you can think about. But when you get that liberty, it's invariably delicious and nerve-wracking at the same time. Mai was free, but she had no plans beyond that. I think she had just started to realise that. She didn’t answer, preferring to stare at Bangkok rushing in the other direction.
I was about to repeat the question when she turned around and shrugged. What did she care as long as she was free, was the impression I got. But freedom can be frustratingly elusive for the luckiest of us; for a pretty homeless child retreating into the inching floodwaters of a Bangkok monsoon, freedom could turn out to be just another prison.
“I can’t take you to my apartment, kid.”
Her innocent little face turned to look at me inquisitively, as if to say “Why not?”
Certain I was doing something impossibly stupid and regrettable, I showed her into my apartment hoping the maids might be there. They weren’t. The child prostitute and I were alone.
“There’s food in the fridge, help yourself and help me out will you? Give me someone I can call. Any relatives, an older brother or si....”
Older sisters. I’ve got one who has a great deal in common with the beastly wretches that prowl Bangkok’s streets looking for pretty children to ‘adopt’ under their motherly wings. Mine has always been fairly comfortable with exploiting our association; randomly imposing her sisterly ‘caring’ and ‘concern’ for my well-being whenever she needed something. Hah. When she starts caring for my welfare suddenly, there’s a decent chance she’s been friendly with loan sharks who’ve stopped being friendly. Cue sudden overt concern about my diet and lifestyle. She’s a real creep.
I was staring out the window muttering about sisters when I noticed the clouds had synced with my crashing mood. I snapped out of it and yelled, “Hey Mai. Who we gonna call?”
Mai wasn’t listening. She was emptying my fridge, without moving. Kid was starving.
I honestly don’t know what I’d have done if the sun was setting rather than rising - probably give her cash and turf her - but I figured it was less creepy to let her hang out during the day. At least, this was my line of logic at the time. Seems nonsensical now. I told her she could crash in the spare bedroom and that under NO circumstances was she to bother me or wake me up.
I had no intention of sleeping.
She nodded, soberly and attentively. I was suddenly cross with myself and annoyed at my sudden ‘gruff’. I had become my parents, I chuckled to myself without realising I was laughing audibly. Mai was looking up at me, perplexed. She didn’t get the joke. Swiveling, I turned and marched into my room, locking the door with a lot of noise although I'm not entirely sure why. I had nothing I needed to do. I just wanted to smoke and escape the wretched misery I’d been running away from ever since...
Ever since I’d run blindly towards ‘freedom’. I was the same age as Mai when I ran to escape the suffocating horror of an apocalyptic religious sex cult; only to run smack into the outstretched arms of a cult almost as creepy, but with far slicker marketing. I ran into Society. I ran into nationalism. I ran into pretty girls. I ran into the military, wanting to fly jets and I’d very nearly run into the Coalition of the Willing. Unwilling to kill but mostly unwilling to be killed for Queen, God and Westphalia, I ran away. I’d been running from something or another, ever since.
I was tired, exhausted and wrecked when I found myself in Bangkok en route to Tokyo, Singapore then home. I couldn’t go home. My friends were there. I’d been running away from them. Without meaning to, I missed my flight to Tokyo. I was buying a one-way ticket to Singapore when I realised I didn’t want to run anymore. In the years to come, whenever people asked me why I lived in Bangkok or why I’d moved to Bangkok, I never knew what to say. I didn’t move to Bangkok to live and despite the best efforts of some decent fellows who tried and failed to drag me down from my hermit treehouse, I never really lived in Bangkok.
I was in Bangkok when I stopped running, is all.
Though it’s not technically accurate, it would be fair to say I moved to Bangkok to die.
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