December 8, 2021

My dearest,

I woke up with a sinking feeling in my heart. Even before I opened my eyes I knew today was the day. After our lunch together, I will head to the airport and fly back to our home.

But if home is wherever you are, then surely I’m flying away rather than flying back?

You seem to detect my sadness. You lean over and give me a hug, whisper to me, “I told sunrise about you…”

The sunrise is incredible here from our balcony. The orange hues searing the skyline of Bangkok (it’s the air pollution, you remind me), the gleaming panels of the tallest buildings, the long dark shadows they cast upon our bedroom’s walls.

After we brush our teeth together, you suggest we go upstairs. To the rooftop. It is chilly still. December and I have brought winter with me when I arrived last month. (Has it been a month already?)

The long tail of the BTS skytrain entering the station. A snail near the bushes, its own long tail of silver slime invisible in the morning light. The tiny people on the streets below, getting ready for work or out for a jog. The ants of Ari, our fellow insects we observe every morning together.

This time tomorrow, we will be swapping stories of our mornings via FaceTime. You will draw the vertical blinds here in Bangkok; I will draw our cream-coloured curtains in KL. You will spy the ants of Ari; I will tell you if I spot Krist and Singto, our lime butterflies flying around the birds-of-paradise blooms.

Knowing you, there is no way you can resist softly whispering, mischievously and mockingly, “I told sunrise about you…”

I can’t wait to hear those words. I can’t wait to see you again, my baby.

Yours, ever and always.