Bidding My Time, Waiting for that Puff of Clarity

A few moments of clarity, mixed with a sprinkle of confusion. I am known for that, maybe, though several days ago I was emotionally exhausted from the traveling. Did not feel young all of a sudden, merely this seductive desire to close my eyes and embrace the much-needed slumber. 

The journey has just started

Its not as if I have not thought about the end of the road, traveling does all sorts of wickedness to the mind. Have entertained it, though ever-so-rarely. That fermentation of the inability to search for a new experience or that dreaded prospects of not feeling the adrenaline again. A traveling junkie? Perhaps. Or merely a person who seeks that speck of humanity in the vast ghettos of loss and abandonment.

There is no nobility to social work. It is extremely difficult, back-breaking endeavor - a thankless passion that draws me to the slums, surrounded by the filth of degradation that evoke the aura of my barbaric, impatient side. Almost no one notices a social worker, nor would people understand what one does; nor does it makes an interesting topic of discussion for the gossip-hungry hi-so bright-eyed woman. The motivation of a social worker varies, depending on the strengths and weaknesses of that person, in general is that desire to contribute what you can for the betterment of a marginalized and vulnerable group. 

I don't think much about my country, Malaysia, nor do I care about the amusing, clownish behaviors of many. Makes no difference to them nor does it makes a difference to me... somewhat. Some still live in their perfection of idealism, conforming to the bizarre illusions; perhaps such sensation brings about joy, focus and distraction, from the realities. 

Bangkok seems fine, for now, to satisfy the need for adventure and to do what I do best - to be that annoying, loudmouth asshole who speaks no Thai but talks in rapid-rhythms with animated features. 

My passion, twisted it may appear, is in the cesspool of poverty; that which makes others cringe in terror at the sight of a homeless, dirty vagabond or flinch at the darting eyes of oppressed and misunderstood young people. Do I care what Bangkok high-society think of me? No. I care not. I am determine to do what I can to help those who seek for it.

I care for the people who are oppressed, despite their occasional profanities, uneasiness or utter contempt for those who are not in their shoes. Poverty, in the midst of this great insane city, is divided into multiple, and uncountable, facets. Such drama is fueled by the Grand Thai Caste System. 

The rich and the poor are the foundation of Thai society; oh don't make an effort to explain to me the confusion of the working class - I am simply not in the mood. The rich in Bangkok have it all, or are planning to acquire those that they have not already obtained - not all are selfish, though they tend to be discreet of their passion to offer aid. 

The poor, well more can I say about them, are stuck in the shit-hole of oppression. They work, they drink, they laugh, they eat. Then as they die, they realize that they are still poor (or poorer) because of this cycle. And yes, I am well aware of the similarities of urban and rural poverty in many countries in the region, thus at this point there is no need for comparison. 

Are there possibilities, or at least more than just a speck, for a revolutionary change of mindset among the poor to bridge the gap, and as so many on Twitter have said, it takes education to escape the piss-pot of poverty. Easier said than done but not impossible. 

I met a young woman, 36 years old with two children, working at a mobile coffee stall. She earns about 7,000 Baht every month, selling sweet coffee and Thai tea to the corporate masses. She supports her children who lives with her in a congested room barely the size of an expensive luxurious sofa set. She sends them to school, she cooks, she runs her small business and she does this every day. 

Not surprisingly there are many single mothers in South East Asia facing similar predicaments, with no one to turn to. Do the rich care about her? No. 

Besides providing counseling to her, and teaching her children some ICT skills, I can do no more. There are another 36 women and men living within 115 meters from her, who are also in need of support services. Mind you, just in case you are unaware of Bangkok, there are approximately 12 million people living or working here. 

I do need a break. Not a vacation or a return to my country, but a break from the crawling insanity of society. I managed to summon my confusion tonight, to write this post, to express these "random" thoughts; but I do need more. A break from that speck of societal redundancy and a break from the savagery of the work that continues to pile upon itself, regenerating the loss, for that sheer rush of adrenaline and suffering. I need to exhale the mist away. 

The moment of loss

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