It’s been nearly two years since The Husband and I moved out of Thailand, and truly, there is no love lost between myself and the Thais. I’ve never made it a secret that I like most of them as much as I like fitness equipment (which I don’t). In fact, I’ve even written a nasty thing – or two! – about them at some point. Still, no matter how much I dislike the majority of the Thai population, I never ever would’ve wished the horrible events of the past few weeks (or has it been months already?) on a place I called home for over a year and a half.

The fact that I actually care enough to keep myself informed of what’s going on is quite surprising, really. I never thought I would, but I guess there’s something very horribly disconcerting about seeing a myriad of streets and buildings and even freakin’ 7-11s that should have been familiar but are now barely recognizable from all the damage that’s been done.

And as shallow as this may sound, what shook me most was seeing Central World Plaza burning. I cannot count the many Sundays I’ve spent taking refuge in Central or in Siam Paragon next door because I was a new girl in a strange city and had absolutely no idea how to get around. Siam was the easiest place for me to get to back then, so week after lonely week I would journey to that crowded, bustling place, and sit and read or write beside the fountains, or meander from shop to shop, daydreaming as I did so. For me, it was the place of first dates and glorious IMAX movies and expensive wifi, and by the time I finally left the city, I could’ve probably walked through the area all the way to Pratunam, or Chulalongkorn University, or Soi Nana, or even Silom blindfolded. Why, I probably still could.

Oh, Bangkok. How I grieve for you! Once upon a time, you helped a girl finally find herself. I hope, after all that’s been said and done, your people will help you do the same.