I just arrived back in Thailand and the season is already changing. I know what’s ahead when the Songkran Monsoon begins. I cringe at the thought of months of prickly heat powder and wet sheets soaked in copious perspiration at night.  Thai people celebrate the beginning of the rice planting season, but I know they’ll be as miserable as I over the coming months. Rainy season is also mosquito season…arrgghh!.

“It’s happening too fast”, I think. I’m writing with a towel on the desk, otherwise beading armpit sweat runs down and would likely flood my keyboard. I don’t remember Thailand being this hot so early in the year, but people tend to suppress bad memories instead of reminding themselves that it’s the same every year. I don’t look what temperature it is… it’s really freaking hot. A passing storm poured down overnight and cleared the air but the humidity is outrageous….like steam rising from a boiling kettle.

I have just received a permanent resident visa, good until I’m not welcome in the kingdom anymore. This is the fortieth anniversary of my first visit to Thailand and I’ve never been sure of my status….aside from being officially ‘farang’. Did I do the right thing? Will I be able to wear a shirt with sleeves and long pants anytime over the next eight months?

I passed a fellow on the BTS train platform this morning looking as if he’d showered in his suit. No one ever really acclimates to this heat…even the most demure of Thai’s sweat like dogs when they think you’re not looking.

“Take your jacket off fool”, I wanted to suggest, knowing by his actions that he was a newbie to the tropics and he’d either learn to adapt or die. My sweat glands will continue to gush like an artesian well for hours because I run on a treadmill every morning in an air conditioned fitness room overlooking a turquoise swimming pool I find too cold to use.

So many once famous people are dying on the front pages. I run as if I’m running away from a rampant pandemic affecting people my age. The society page obituary is now a daily occurrence, a rolling commentary of who used to be famous and influential. The media is discreet and respectful, saying these passing stars have died from ‘complications’. That diagnosis worries me…I’ve lived a very complicated life….am I next?

Personally I’ve never known anyone who’s died…aside from my parents whom I didn’t really know. They died within months of each other and it makes me glad that I married  a young woman who’s nervous energy keeps me young. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve never made many casual friends. It’s saved me from attending any funerals. I’m OK with that. So what do I do? I move back to Thailand. Does that make any sense? I might have died of boredom if I’d stayed in Canada.

At 61 I had a choice to make, continue living the vagabond lifestyle of international travel and bird flipping irreverence or…lease a yellow Cadillac and take up golf…waiting for grandchildren to appear. My choice was the former, it could be the death of me, but I doubt it. I feel more alive here than anywhere I know. Thailand is a second home. Let’s see where this takes us…shall we. I have lot’s more to complain about. Thailand is my last resort.

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