The tremor had shaken Bangkok like a restless giant, and now, the aftershocks resonated in the echoing silence of his cell phone. “Honey, the door to the apartment won’t open, so we’ll have to sleep in our car in the parking lot tonight. The apartment manager said that thieves might come, so we shouldn’t leave the apartment.” A wave of exhaustion washed over him. Then, his son’s small, worried voice, “Dad, come home soon.”
He downed the last of his lukewarm beer, the metallic tang a poor substitute for the comfort he craved. Four hours. Four hours of navigating gridlocked streets, a sea of bewildered faces, and the lingering fear of aftershocks. He’d found a moment’s respite in Lumpini Park, washing the grime from his face with the city’s provided water, but the fatigue was a heavy cloak.
Light trucks and passenger cars lined the park’s perimeter, their drivers offering rides to weary evacuees. He knew his apartment was far, a journey that would stretch into the early hours. He was fed up with the chaos, with the uncertainty, with the sheer, aching weariness. The suspension of public transport, the closed train lines, and the fear-tinged instructions from the apartment manager had turned his city into a hostile maze.
Yet, a strange, unexpected feeling stirred within him. As he sat on the pavement, the city’s artificial lights blurring into a hazy glow, a flicker of something akin to nostalgia ignited. He remembered his youth, a time of wandering through North Africa, a backpacker with no map, no plan, just the open road and the kindness of strangers.
He remembered the villages, the faces, the simple joy of traversing unfamiliar landscapes. The memory was a stark contrast to the concrete jungle now surrounding him, but the essence was the same: a journey, a challenge, a test of resilience. The situation, though born of disaster, held a strange echo of that long-ago freedom.
He thought of the collapsed State Audit Office near the Krung Thep Aphiwat Central Terminal, a stark reminder of the quake’s power, and of his family, huddled in their car, waiting for him. The transport minister’s announcement of increased boat trips and the makeshift shuttle services from Suvarnabhumi were distant, irrelevant to his foot-bound journey.
“Something like tonight isn’t so bad,” he murmured to himself, a mantra against the rising tide of despair. He rose, his legs heavy, his feet aching, and began to walk again. The city, in its disarray, was his road now, and he, a weary traveler, would follow it home.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
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