Sweet Sorrow

I felt a drop of sadness leaving Bangkok this morning, a sense of gratitude and nostalgia as I walked the now familiar streets around our hostel. It had only been three days, but hundreds of tiny triumphs--figuring out how to use the Skytrain, purchasing our first street stall meal in awkward sign language, avoiding a taxi scam--made me feel like I had earned Bangkok, a right to be here.

I lean back in my seat of our crowded van to Ayuttaya, a 10-seater packed full to seat 14. I am surrounded by Thais of every age and walk of life. An older couple to my right carries on a light banter with the driver, the woman resting her hand protectively on her husband's thigh. A young mother sits behind me stroking the head of her 6-year-old son, who breaks out every ten minutes or so in a helpless moan, straining against the claustrophobic heat. I try to focus my attention on my breath--หายใจใน (inhale), หายใจออก (exhale)--but my mind wanders back, tracing the ground covered in Bangkok.

Everyone told me I'd hate Bangkok--the heat, the sex tourism, the excess. Perhaps because of this, I loved it. For me, Bangkok was about the kindness of strangers--the patience of street vendors and service people as they struggled with me through choppy verbal exchanges with smiles on their faces, the willingness of recent acquaintances to offer their advice and help in planning out our days.

In one of these exchanges, a Thai friend-of-a-friend who we had only just met, upon hearing of our interest in yoga, offered to sign us up for a class at her favorite studio. When we arrived at Yoga Space Bangkok the following morning, sweaty and stressed from the confusing commute, Kru Pim, the teacher, greeted us in English, informed us that P Nim (recent acquaintance) had let her know we were coming, and showed us to our mats. Despite there being a 4:1 Thai to American student ratio, Kru Pim taught the class mostly in English, switching hastily over to Thai only when it became clear the majority of the class was not following. Afterwards, the Thai students invited us to sit around with them on the mats and share some delicious homemade yogurt. They asked us questions in broken English, giggled through the stops-and-starts of the communication barrier, and promised to take us here or show us that when we all come back.

Though I'm not able to stay present in this moment on our hot van ride to Ayuttaya, I can use it to honor and acknowledge my time in Bangkok and the people that made it memorable. I'll let the sweetness of that "sweet sorrow" parting brings wash over me, rinsing me clean for the new places and experiences that lie ahead.