Notes to self: Reading the signs

I’m one of those people who roll their eyes and thinks you’re a delusional science-shy fool if you tell me everything happens for a reason. But, this week, Bangkok has been trying to seduce me and, if I was the type to take ‘signs’, I might think the universe wanted me to stay here.

I’m due to leave Bangkok for Amsterdam in one week; I have a new job set up for me but that’s about all that’s ready. I haven’t packed, I haven’t found somewhere to live and I haven’t even got any savings to set anything up.

Instead, I am in a state of denial. I’m sitting in bed surrounded by heaps of clothes, sports equipment and books (far more than will ever fit my luggage allowance) and I’m planning out which gym classes I’ll hit in my last week, rather than where I’ll live, or if I’ll have any money to eat when I land.

I think the problem is that, while I know I am ready for a new adventure, I haven’t fallen out with Bangkok. When I left London, Dubai and Cambodia I’d seriously had enough; I was glad to be on that plane out of there. But, with Bangkok, I’m still in love. It’s like a dysfunctional relationship — you know it’s not working out and it never will, but you still want to forgive and keep giving it more chances.

This week, Bangkok has played its part of the emotionally blackmailing boyfriend really well. It knows I’m leaving and has laid on the charm really thickly. For work this week, I’ve been to a five-star beach resort in Hua Hin, been given a diamond necklace (my first-ever piece of fine jewellery, which was handmade for me, no less), eaten a five-course raw vegan meal (that may sound terrible to you, but I’m a vegetarian and I love that kind of roughage) and had my hot gym instructor come over to me to ask to touch my workout vest. I have no idea why but, of course, I said yes. These are all totally out-of-the-ordinary things and, somehow, they’ve all merged together the week before I go. I’m not getting cold feet, exactly, but I can’t say my feet are toasty and warm, either. When I move to Amsterdam I guess I’ll forget what warm even feels like…

I have a little mantra to say to myself when I start to question why I’m leaving. ‘Visa woes, bad pay, terrible dating scene. Visa woes, bad pay, terrible dating scene.’ I say it over and over to myself when I get teary about leaving my gym — seriously, it’s the most beautiful gym I’ve ever seen — or when I feel the sunlight on my face and remember there isn’t any sunlight in northern Europe, or when I’m eating out three times a day and I remember that’s not really something people do in Europe. Sigh. Anyone would think I’m being pulled away against my will, rather than this being something I’ve been working hard for several months for. I suppose the stress of the move just clouds the rest of it; you can’t think further ahead than throwing out half your belongings because they’re too expensive to ship, trying to find a place to live on a very tight budget or that first day at school feeling as you enter a new office in a new country for the first time. They’re all things I won’t even remember in a year or two but, right now, they’re weighing heavy on me and, instead of tackling them head on, I want to pull the covers over my head and pretend it’s not happening.

Well, I suppose this is me over and out from Bangkok. Next time I write, I’ll be in autumnal Amsterdam. Until then, kop khun and sawasdee ka, Bangkok and hallo and goedendag, Amsterdam. Gulp.