January 4, 2022

My dearest,

It feels like a lifetime ago. When we would meet up at the MRT station at the end of our work day.

You would walk up the two levels from the platforms (direction: Phahon Yonthin towards Sukhumvit), I would walk down from our condo, past the occasional pop-ups outside the station and down past the grungy hipster barbershop and white lights of the Lawson konbini.

We would meet at Rocket X before asking each other the same question: What’s for dinner?

Would it be Thai tonight? Some spicy somtum at the Isaan eatery at the basement of Esplanade, not watered down for tourists?

Or would we walk to the next station to Central Rama 9 (more likely having met at that station instead) for some seafood at Laem Charoen? Trying to differentiate between the water spinach and the water mimosa. Being disappointed half the time when they ran out of the deep-fried seabass with fresh bird’s eye chillies you wanted.

Or would we give up the ghost and simply eat at Rocket X? Deciding between the pesto chicken pasta or the quinoa salad? (The portions aren’t huge; why not both?)

What matters is that we will walk home together, continuing to discuss our day in happy, thrilled tones — as though what has taken place in the hours between you leaving for office (us exchanging goodbye kisses) and reuniting at the end of the day (how swiftly or slowly depending on how many trains you’d have to wait for before boarding) is the most exciting thing in the world, and of course it is, for us.

Only for us, true. But only for us is all that matters.

I tease you about how you’ve misheard the name of the station as Suwulluladam. I tell you that it’s Sūn Watthana Tham.

No, you counter, it’s Suwulluladam.

Sūn Watthana Tham, I say.

Suwulluladam.

Sūn Watthana Tham.

Suwulluladam, this time with the cheekiest, most cheerful grin.

Suwulluladam, I concede. You’re right of course. You always are.

Just like the day you chose me, and I chose you. And all the days before that. And the days after. And all the days yet to come.

You grimace. You tell me I’m delusional.

It’s a fact, I say.

Self-delusional. How can anyone be so self-delusional?

It’s a fact, I croon. Fact, fact, fact. Just like how it’s Suwulluladam, not Sūn Watthana Tham. if only for us.

Only for us. The two of us.

Yours, ever and always.