Happy Birthday! Happy New Year! Hope you had a wonderful thanksgiving night, and enjoyed your dinner having Turkey, or whatever country of your taste. You, millions of my blog visitors and my followers, I wish I had. Hello! Hello,
I don’t really know what time it is now but it is certainly after daybreak. I have just been back from a journey to that paradise, a short walking street perpendicular to crazy Patong beach, the tourism capital of Puhket Island, marketing venue of anything you dare to think of, called Bangla road. I even don’t really know how I have found this small luncheonette in which I made my palate happy in this early morning and be acquainted over my breakfast with Tengkwa, a barmaid who knows me better than myself at least last night that I can’t remember any. I was suspect of a trick to make me pay her bill when she cracked conversation with me as if she had known me for years until she showed my pictures on her phone. I feel awesome and honest and a bit ugly as I feel guilty of not having followed the advice of my friend Morad not to turn up in this kind of places.
As I remember I was heavy-hearted yesterday, for my good friend Morad, whom I respect like an elder brother, is leaving me and amazing land of smile in coming evening. Among a bunch of his success and personal characteristics with which I am envious of sometimes, he has made a reputation among our friends and relatives as a moralist and despite his awareness of my playfulness he can’t help but sermonize me. And yesterday wasn’t an exception as he gave me a one on one lengthy sermon to refrain me of haunting infamous places and wrong doings for months to come before I rejoin him. His caring and brotherhood, in addition the sense of guilt I got, made my eyes teary, but I could manage to save them for today that I am seeing him off at airport, as I am sure I will get more moral lessons on the way today.
I would hardly ever get that feeling of guilty, nor would have known how crazy I had been last night if it wasn’t for the pictures inside the gallery of Tengkwa’s cellphone as witness. How joyous I was on pictures despite being in a bad mood yesterday evening, made Tengkwa wonder to solve the paradox. She wasn’t my type at all to invest more on her friendship, yet her plain looking could be traded with her patience that made her a great shoulder to cry on, as I was badly in need of somebody to open up for my homesickness had been exacerbated by Morad’s leaving. But that wasn’t the only reason for our simple acquaintance going ahead to be a friendship. The thing that kept the flame was the secrets inside her cellphone which made my eyes about to jump out of their default place and left me with a wide open mouth for a minute or two. The scenes that I am about to describe for you, but let me show you where Bangla road is then I will let you know why my face transfigured into that kind of close up.
Where is Bangla road?
It’s a perfect ecosystem, so perfect that you take one element away and it falls apart, so interesting that make tourists paparazzi. A place to make friends, to fall in love, or in lust, a wonderful place to find people of any kind in their talkative and positive mood if you too so. Nobody is stranger here and nothing is uncool.
It’s a destination for those couples who quarrel endlessly but still live together, whom their chemistry have worn out but still have the same partner, to cure painful emotional wounds with instant friendship. Best place fitted bad guys who fed up with broad hips to find their favorites, the size of their pension which is a fortune here, the tinier the better. It is such a destination whose alchemy power makes ladies getting rid of their jealousy. A warfare, where all is fair, so weird that people with their life partners touch private parts of other counterparts and they laugh together.
A place that feed you with a kind of tropical concoction which make you do anything that always wanted to do but hide it, with no mask, without filtering your conduct, behavior, and speech, feeling no shame, free from aftermath, no need to justify or whitewash as nobody remember anything the day after. It’s a laboratory to test what you believe. You can get instant enlightenment.
It’s a husbands’ care center for busy wives, with pretty hostesses who make you believe in love at first sight. You don’t need to touch their heart as they have love for you already. They can stay with you faithful for your life long, I mean as long as your wallet or your credit card can afford. They are fluent in every language with not more than twenty words in their vocabulary banks. Some are too pretty to work a day job, too young to have experience to be hired anywhere else. It’s the only place males no need of the art of seduction, the greater, they mean the older, the better, they mean the richer.
It’s a vast stage for storytellers that some of them might tell yours, mirrors of you if you were at another position of gender spectrum. It’s the habitat of men that call one another “sister”, peacocks who have spread their colorful plumage not to attract the female of the species but for their own gender, she males, lady boys, or lady men, whatever their names will be. The biological component of love is not working anymore.
It’s a battlefield that tom boys, full armed, gorgeous enemies, whose sharp spears have been aimed at male species of human being. They precluded females from their victims. It’s not about prostate cancer that draws some attention on Father Day for the former young, fifty plus man. The phenomenon threatens the happiness of young males and competes with conventional masculine role. Those whom the little nymphets have sought refuge to, and the society is car free of their actions.
…and it’s enough for this subject as I don’t like to be considered as a gender or sexual orientation supremacist. I even not only reluctant to criticize it but also admire the context that made people show their real characters without shame. It’s one of the reasons which made this land amazing.
Tengkwa was more or less suspicious of me to be gay or something like it as my way of mourning for a friend’s leaving was pretty weird to her. It was understandable with minor difficulties as close relation between two men, even brothers, in this part of the world considered homosexuality. My explanations about our brotherhood relation, yet his setting as an unattainable example, better say an idol, made her ask, half out of compassion and half out of curiosity, if I had any picture of him in my cellphone.
The more I showed his pictures, the more her eyes got smaller focusing at my face as if making her gaze laser sharp to see the likelihood of ever having brain inside my skull. Soon she lost her interest of concentration, made a short look at all my body then turned her look somewhere else as if regretting of wasting her time with an idiot. Checking whole my body hastily, lest it was naked or see my breeches might be ill-buttoned, nothing special has been found, I answered all these with an awkward smile.
I got short of patience to know what I had done wrong and as it was expectable from her, she couldn’t bear seeing me on that state, tortured by waiting. “I do think I know your idol more than you”, stated in a sarcastic way. “Really?” I asked with suspect, “you mean Morad?” Then she opened another album of her gallery. I couldn’t believe my eyes to see Morad on that attire in, much crazier than Bangla road itself. How professional swimmer he was in underground waters and how credulous I was. Tengkwa’s pictures weren’t just eye candies, they were hammers, destroying my idol as the fates of all idols are, they were sharp axes, stripping away the barks of a sacred tree which I have worshipped .
…and now you know why I feel ugly as well. You have the right to consider him as a hypocrite but hurry not please! Having got several masks is quite normal for us. It has become our human nature, not only bearable, but acceptable, even respectable. Yeah, he is sick, but it not an odd thing, because majority of us are sick, that why we are ignorant of our sickness. We got aware of it while we bother to travel, and to our luck we don’t do it so often, so we appreciate our health. Besides, I am not going to cut with him, but I have got a mixed feeling of jealousy and hatred for how he can play this role and how he can do this with me, and delightful that I deserve his friendship without shame, that he is an everyman like me, with some flaws in common, and glad that he can’t indulge himself in concealment any longer. I do understand him better now. He is an innocuous moralist because he is just playing the role of it. He isn’t a real one, those whose crusades are motivated by envy, pure and simple, so he isn’t so dangerous to stay away from.
Oh, it’s getting late. I need to make myself in order again. Let me wear my mask and enjoy the illusion of being healthy. I have to go to university now. And don’t forget to leave a comment and share your experience if you have already been in Bagla Road. It doesn’t matter if you are sober now, share what you can remember. If not, what is the nightlife like in your town? What is there beneath the skin of your town? What’s more, please stay away from people like Tengkwa as the more you get to know them, the more you understand how sick you are!
Look after yourself