Going Back, Not Same Same

My story starts where it ended over a year ago with a submission I wrote to Stick: It was a sappy tale of feelings that were brought on by the lingering mental illness I suffered as one of the clinically sick!

After months of writing, receiving pictures of her through email, and making periodic calls to my sweet and sexy nymph, the fizz seemed to be leaving the soda. Her pleas for money, to come to visit for Songkran, Loy Katong, and to celebrate the King's birthday were wearing on me. Her professions of you the only one for me or I no go with man now, only boom-boom with you now were flattering but untrue. Over time the emails slowly subsided, and soon there were none.

So now the dilemma – a return trip planned, do I go to Boesche and attempt to see her again? Is she even there anymore? And if so, will it be the near the same?

Stick's advice to my first submission (and prophetic it was) Stickman's thoughts: Don't see her again! No good can come of it….and anyway, she will likely have found someone else by the time you get back.

I arrive at the new airport, still undecided literally a year after my last visit. The car whisks me to Pattaya for a stay on Soi 7. (On a side note, it is crazy to stay here, the first night you are a rock star, 10 days later you are a scum butterfly – interesting dynamic change.)

After two days in Pattaya doing what makes it so great, the time presents itself to enter into the Convent Garden club. Memories flood over me as I make the walk through those doors. A sense of nervousness, anticipation, and I had pee so it was a good excuse if she wasn’t working there anymore. Ten steps in and recognition by a few of the servers, and they recognize me (an amazing trait that Thais carry in their DNA or just a by-product of working at the bars and go-go clubs?) Like some communication ritual of many earth species, a commotion occurs, a Farang whisperer technique that sends signals through the smoke filled, techno blasting club to alert my girl that I am here. Now 15 steps into the club, a figure makes way from the back of the main dancing stage to the front and my name of course is called.

It is her. The moment has arrived a year in the making. I am saturated in sentimentality.

She grabs me and hugs me like I am her savior. Kisses me and holds me so tightly like she doesn’t want to let go again. The thing I notice is that she has lost at least 10 – 15 lbs. She must be 90 lbs at most. Her English is better, she is still pretty, but her eyes are a bit wild. My first impression is damn she is skinny and I think she is definitely on drugs. My guess is yaba.

As you can imagine, the story gets sad quickly. A change for the worse physically and mentally, I feel like I am holding a bag of bones that night literally and figuratively. She orders a lot of food, but she eats little. I mainly see it in her personality and her eyes. I have never seen a person with eyes that couldn’t stay still. The next morning she tells me that she needs 4000 baht to get her room. She asks that I advance money for tonight to her. I agree somewhat suspiciously.

That night the walk through those doors at Convent Garden were quite different. She was not there when I arrived at 9:30 PM. I asked where she was and they called her. She shows up in some mood that was really scary. Apparently she had a debt to pay and she then asked that I advance her 1000 baht to pay this debt. It was really a strange feeling as her creditor loomed over this conversation. I said that I wouldn’t pay this debt as it wasn’t mine. We left on her motorbike and ended up at her new room. I must say that it was sparse at best. We rode to my hotel and she said she wasn’t up for having sex and just wanted to sleep. The game was over at this moment. I did ensure that I had one last shot the next morning – I do have my priorities somewhat straight. Interestingly, she asks me for money, I was quick to note that I had pre-paid for this evening. I helped her round up her things; I did give her 1000 baht to pay her debt and 375 baht for food. I walked her down to her motorbike, she knew my intentions, and she was gone. I worry only that she will be dead soon with her current state (whatever and however she is living life).

I feel like the person I so glowingly referenced in my first submission was dead.

So, one afternoon of mourning, and then back to the hunt!

Stick, you called it right. You can’t go back!

Stickman's thoughts:

It's all rather sad really. This is the huge downside to the industry. While some of the girls find love and happiness, a good number do not – and they end up like your friend. Very sad.