Well, if my plan was to stop being invisible in Bangkok, then it has succeeded. I suppose the moral — if there was one — of this week's column is to be careful what you wish for.

I've been getting a bit cocky here, when it comes to safety. I walk around with my laptop, I head out alone at 2am and I get in the front of taxis with no qualms.

When I lived in Cambodia, on the other hand, I was scared all the time. I suppose I had good reason to be. My possessions were stolen from my room twice, my friend's house was broken into repeatedly — and someone padlocked her in her flat as they made their getaway. Another friend had her throat slashed as she was mugged behind her house (she is fine now). Phnom Penh certainly feels a bit edgy at times, if you're not careful. However, if you take a few precautions, it's easy to avoid trouble. Please don't avoid Cambodia; it's wonderful.

Bangkok, in comparison, has felt almost as safe as Dubai. In Dubai, I never locked my apartment door, I walked home alone at night, I used to leave my bag on my seat when I went to the toilets and I nearly always had it open when I walked around. Safety just wasn't an issue there, really. I've felt almost as safe here. But perhaps I have been very naïve.

Last week, I got a cab home alone from a not particularly nice area of town after a night out with a friend from Dubai. I brazenly sat in the front and chatted to the taxi driver as much as my Thai and his English would allow us to. After our small talk, he became completely inappropriate. He had some odd ideas about how Western girls behave. I got him to drop me in a reasonably busy area about a block from my house so he wouldn't know where I lived.

I laughed about it when I got back home. My friend had reached her hotel safely and she had also had a bad experience with a cab driver who didn't know where he was going. We just tutted and joked about bad taxi drivers. A couple of nights later, I was in bed at home when someone knocked at my bedroom door. It was 4.15am. I certainly wasn't expecting visitors. I decided to keep quiet. The knocking continued. Then the banging started. I could hear a man mumbling outside, but I couldn't make out what they were saying or who it might be. After ten minutes, the knocking stopped. I assumed they had gone back to their room. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, ten minutes later, the knocking and banging started again. I was petrified. My door is wooden and flimsy, and the bolt is the kind you would put on a shed door. With a big enough shove, the door would open. I stayed quiet. Thankfully, they eventually went away.

The next day, my flatmates and I found the kitchen in total disarray. Nothing had been taken despite there being a computer in there, but it had all been looked through. A neighbour told us she had seen a Thai man in the house during the early hours; she had assumed it was someone staying here. The Thai man hadn't tried to get into anyone else's door, which makes me wonder if it's someone I have met. I still don't know.

Earlier, I enjoyed the serenity of my quiet little house in the suburbs, away from other Westerners. I've liked the fact that it has Thai-style open side, so that anybody can come and go. It made the place seem so trustworthy and safe compared to my flat in Cambodia, with its night guard, triple-lock, dogs and barbed wire. But now I just feel unsafe and vulnerable. Time to move out, I think.