Whoever came up with that overused sentence “All good things come to an end” is such a dick. Why? Why?!
It was time to leave Thailand. I’d fly out of Bangkok tomorrow. I reunited with my Uncle Charlie and his mob of old folks (JK LOVE YOU GUYS) and my sweet Thai angel forever friend Pin and we headed out to the usual Pat-Pong bars filled with white haired western men and girls younger than I pole dancing. This night was a celebration and an internal funeral of my carefree past 40 days. My old pal WANLOP even made an appearance. In proper Charlie fashion it was drink after drink after drink.
I sought out a “life changing trip” and in the last 40 days my life had totally fucking changed. I experienced an earthquake, I was alone without a guide book or itinerary, I thought I got kidnapped, I was attacked by monkeys, I went to a full moon party, I laughed, I cried, I fell in love over and over again, I went to a protest, I saw riots, I was in a military coup with a curfew,I saw weird things crawl out of weird holes and I even paid to see it, I made new friends, I found new light and felt inspired and sad all in one. I ate some bugs. I lived in a tiny village where I felt like a celebrity. I didn’t even get my proper pre-trip vaccinations. I drank Scorpion whiskey and had the shits for days. I held back on nothing. It wasn’t anything that profound, my “vacation,” but I was outside my comfort zone and I managed to do just fine.
An old man with a Polaroid camera approached us at Goldfingers and took our photo. As a lost art, I purchased it off him and had him sign it. His name was Charn. Charn’s photo would never show the perpetual tears that drunkenly fell through my eyes that night as I had to say goodbye to a beautiful country with beautiful people.
That night, I got up with the Goldfinger girls who I had formed a regular friendship with, who had fed me fruit and whiskey for the last month and I danced my ass off to some Rolling Stones, for in life there are constant moments of letting go and saying goodbye.