After a long blurry mess of immigration officers, traffic jams, a single chocolate muffin for breakfast, lunch and dinner, long flights next to drunken Norwegian men and heath so thick you can almost taste it, I’ve finally arrived. A cute Canadian man with mad skills in the travelling compartment recommended that I find a room along the Khaosan road; and so, here I am. It was, after all, the safest option. Though sitting here now, in the middle of little America with tuk-tuk’s, I start to miss travelling with out knowing where I’m headed. So far, I’ve found:

  • Two 24h Burger Kings. Because obviously the answer to insomnia is a large whopper with chips.
  • Three 7/11’s.
  • One Starbucks. Having never been inside of one before, I now feel like I’ve slept with the devil.
  • One KFC
  • And one 24h McDonald’s; just in case your quest is to have a grand battle of the burgers.
It’s nearing nightfall, and I don’t want to go out again today. I want to put on my bathing suit and take advantage of the privileges that spending money can give you, in the rooftop pool of my hotel. Then I want to eat the rest of my strawberry pocky and hide away from the world under my blanket while watching Thai soap operas I’ll pretend to understand. Tomorrow I’ll give being an obvious tourist a new try, in a nocturnal flower market. I expect to feel like Sailor Moon, looking for her Tuxedo Mask, in a sea of roses. (I can’t believe they’re re-making that show. Poop on my childhood memories why don’t you.)

Yesterday I ran away. I should have stayed to say I’m sorry, I love you, I know it’s no-ones fault, everything is going to be ok …
But I ran.
I was scared of you, scared like I haven’t been for at least five years. As I let go, and stood there crying in front of you, I knew that you understood, and that you didn’t care.
You’re one of the only people who has seen me like that, and it broke my heart that at that point it didn’t matter to you.
We are as different as night and day, you and I, and it becomes more apparent the older we get.
Your eyes are green, mine are brown. Your hair grows long and wild, mine is straight and almost proper, if there is such a thing as proper hair.
I guard my emotions and observe the world from a safe and quiet distance, you’re like a storm which leaves nothing, and no-one, untouched. When something happens your description is recalled trough your feelings, I would never stray from fact.
Yet despite all of our differences, there is one thing we have in common, which no-one else shares; our history together. There is no-one else in the world who shares our secrets. No-one else would understand this growing darkness inside of me, and I know that you feel it too.
The more time passes, the further this silent hysteria pushes me to the edge of reality, and it frightens me that you’re the only one who can see it. Even more so now, when I’ve lost you.
Yesterday, when I reached the safety of solitude in our mother’s little cottage in the woods, I fantasied about a gray haired me and a wrinkly faced you, and how we would sit and laugh about all of this, with years of wisdom and acceptance. There would be forgiveness and understanding, with out ignorance. And your smiles were no longer crooked, my voice was no longer cold, the world was no longer strange, and we were free to live our lives the ways we wanted to.

I will always wish for your happiness, no matter where we are.

This morning I opened a Swedish newspaper for the first time in six months, and was greeted with this:
Earlier this year, Sweden sent 3.3 kilograms of plutonium to USA, confidentially of course.
The minister of foreign affairs claims that the US promised to not use the plutonium for military purposes, though there is nothing in the “contract” which says they have to keep their promise.
Sweden has no control over what happens to the plutonium, and probably will not even find out where it goes.

200 years of peace my arse.