Baan Talay, Jomtien, Pattaya, Thailand
08:48
I awoke with the dawn, ensnared in my customary social media stupor, wading through the artificiality of Instasham where every post felt like a futile skirmish with predatory algorithms and relentless targeted ads. Fed up, I muttered a resolute 'fuck it' and chose a divergent path – a walk to the beach, a nostalgic nod to the days when these morning strolls were punctuated by invigorating dips in the water. I made a pact with myself to revive that ritual, a slender thread of sanity in this whirlwind of madness.
Down to the beach I shuffled, armed with four kratom leaves and two joints, feeble attempts to quell the persistent agony that gripped my body. My chronic back pain had turned each step into a grueling negotiation, a testament to the toll exacted by both aging and the additional pounds I had amassed. Last year's triumphant shedding of a hundred pounds now seemed like a distant memory, eclipsed by the 70 pounds I gained during my stint in China. The pain in my L4 and L5 vertebrae served as a bitter reminder of my past indulgences.
Yet, undeterred, I pressed on, refusing to surrender despite the relentless jabs in my lower back. The indomitable spirit of my youth, buried beneath layers of flesh, occasionally reared its head. Velma Brock's candid declaration, branding me a 'cream puff,' echoed in my thoughts. On days like this, her brutal honesty stung true. Nevertheless, I persevered, reaching the concrete steps overlooking the serene Gulf of Siam, a fleeting moment of tranquility amid the physical chaos.
Armed with Kratom leaves, I concocted a makeshift remedy, savoring the rarity of red vein leaves – the Indica of Kratom, renowned for their pain-relieving properties and their promise of blissful sleep. The leafy mixture offered momentary relief, and I marveled at my luck in securing these elusive leaves, courtesy of the benevolent Pacha Giin, the sweet, brown-eyed enchantress of Ando Loco’s.
The unyielding Thai sun eventually drove me from my sanctuary, propelling me toward the 7-Eleven coffee kiosk. There, I indulged in my version of a 'skinny latte' – an Americano and Pepsi Zero, my morning elixir. Seated on the kiosk's expansive patio, a peculiar tableau unfolded before my eyes. Foreigners exhaled clouds of smoke, mingling with early morning hustlers, while locals weaved between cycling and jogging, their routines a testament to the daily rhythm of paradise. A handful of drinkers savored breakfast beers, and above, pigeons cooed, their melodic serenades blending with the incessant cacophony of Chok Dee, the omnipresent shit birds. It was a microcosm of life's absurdity, playing out in every nuanced detail.
In this surreal backdrop, I contemplated my next move. A bicycle emerged as a more merciful alternative to walking, a glimmer of hope for my weary bones. Fate, however, had its own designs. A fellow traveler, his entire world balanced on a single leg, ambled past me on crutches – a living testament to life's capricious nature. His resilience struck me as a stark reminder. I eyed his crutches, wondering if they could be my ticket to a more painless existence. Ah, the ever-spinning wheel of karma, imparting its wisdom to those brave enough to observe the world, both inside and out.
After a second joint, I retraced my steps back to my room. There, standing at my desk – my sanctuary from the hunch of pain – I spilled these words onto the page. Another day in paradise, another battle fought. Against all odds, I endured.
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