It’s official now. I’m gonna leave San Kamphaeng on April 16th, which is 8 days from today. It’s true to say whenever I leave a place, a piece of me left behind.

With the absent of a permanent home in my mind, these so called “temporary home” became my permanent home for a particular period of time. By April 16th, I would have lived in this small town for a full 2 months. I mentioned awhile ago about immersion , I became part of the community that I felt incredibly sad when I have to leave. I realize, whenever I leave a place, be it Santa Barbara, Boston, New York, Helsingor, London, Hoi An, Bangkok, Khok Kloi, and now Sam Kamphaeng, I feel an enormous amount of sorrow. If someone asked to to go back to one of these places, I would say yes in a heart beat. Oddly enough, the only place on earth that I was happy to leave is my mother’s house.

My partner sent me this song today, a song he wrote and hasn’t given a name yet. He said he will name it later, I named it “Mong Con”. I didn’t ask for his permission, but this blog is just for me, so I guess it’s okay. I have played this song in a loop for the past hour. This song reminds me of the part where my mother though has her fault, but still is my mother. I also understand that she’s waiting for me to go back to her house, and if possible ” stay there forever”. I also understand that it’s quite common and also “a norm” that the mother will wait for the child to be home.

However, I also think that no matter right now how hard my mother trying to pull me back, 25 years ago I’m already pushed very far far far far far far far far far far far far far far away. By the age of 15, my only wish was to go study abroad, so that I can be far away from my mother. The same wish stay true today.

It’s such a tragedy! A very sad tragedy! It’s a tragedy for a woman like my mother to have a daughter like me. I used to say the relationship between my mother and I is a broken relationship. There’s nothing can fix this. Nobody can ask me to suddenly love my mother so much that I want to share everything and talk everyday with her. Love has to be nurtured, not any magic spells or words like responsibility/guilt can force this. All I can do is pretend. With a belief of “Fake it till we make it”, maybe.

My mother is a typical traditional woman, who never lives alone. She was born and raised in a big family with 7 brothers and sisters. She got married to my Dad, and live with him in a house 100 meter away from Grandma’s house. She’s never alone. I know she’s afraid of being alone because she doesn’t know how to be alone. I understand her frustration, sorrow, and hopelessness.

In contrast, I’m always alone, even as a child, I feel very lonely. I’m afraid I will always be alone because I don’t know how else to be. Just as yesterday, when the house owner told me that I need to leave soon, I suddenly feel so scared and afraid as if I have no one else in this word, as if I’m gonna just be homeless by tomorrow. I know this is a huge fault in my character.

As a child, I wasn’t taught how to love, or what love is. As a child, I has to fight for my own sanity. As a child, I learned to look at my mother behavior and predict what will happen. As a child, I learned to shut up, because speaking only makes things worse. As a child, I learned to stop listen when my mother spent hours yelling. As a child, I learned that the peace only exists out of home.

I’m working on it though, twice a week with a therapist. Writing this blog also helps me to reflect on it. I have to re-learn what love is, how to love, and how to communicate, etc …

During the run this morning, I recalled my therapist told me: “You don’t have to fight with your fear. As long as you are aware of it, it’s totally okay to be fearful. Remember that you have grown up, your survival skills are no longer needed. It’s totally okay to be in the dark corner alone, but be comfortable, because you chose to be here, it’s not because you have to be here”

While continue to listen to the song above, I re-read the post last night, the suffocation came straight back. I feel so heavy that I can only read once, and not dare to read it again. I was a cry for help, that is totally created by my mind though nothing has happened yet.

After all, I’m still that small little child who ran out of the house crying and decided that if I cried right now or I smiled, it’s only me, so why not smiling instead. The same thought stay true today.