After ten years of Asia, in many ways, I am practically Asian – though will never be recognised as one, nor would like to be. It is mostly very convenient to be the perpetual outsider, break the rules I want to and keep the rules I want to, and then do the exact opposite the next day.
I will go out and enjoy the sun. Or I will go nuts about exotic flowers like tulips on my annual pilgrimage to the Chiang Rai flower festival….
…but if I think about it, they are always exotic. Fragrances and textures and splashes of certain hues of certain colours you only get to have for two weeks or three, are always special. I miss the enchanted garden of my childhood, maybe, if I allow myself to go back in time.
I also miss Thailand, I miss home, miss the colours of the cool season in the mountains.
You move around too much, all you own is a bag and some rags. You’ll never get to own the flowers. Which is just as well because I always killed all my Christmas flowers and even the orchids. The only remaining plant, the frangipani, I had to give away.
In the end, it’s the tulips that own me. Some rules even I can’t break.