Outside my window, roofs with mildewed tiles, a mile of jumbled black power lines, coconut palms and topical evergreens sway in the sometimes breeze.
Birds chorus at dusk before handing over to the cricket’s symphony or the frogs after the rain.
There is banging and clattering of dishes being washed in the outdoor restaurant below. Voices chatter. Thai words I don’t understand. It sounds cheerful.
Motorbikes rev sporadically but the main road traffic is surprisingly hushed. A lone dog barks at someone or something passing by.
Today I saw a Russian woman learning to ride a motorbike down a small Soi*. I know she is Russian. She wears tight white pants and heels in a puddled street. She is dangerously wobbly and seems confused by the throttle. I hope she changes her mind.
In between the trees, I see patches of sea. Chalong Bay. Sometimes it’s blue but mostly cloudy green. Occasionally a ute or pink passenger truck races along the long length of the pier that leads to the dive boats. At night it lights up like a colourful fluorescent runway with distinct sections of changing colours, pink to purple, blue to green and back again.
Every morning, as soon as I awake, I separate my pale blue-grey drapes to greet the waking day. This morning I squinted through the blinding silver glare as a sky half coated in cloud reflected the rising sun. At dusk, I sat and watched as the long stretch of porcelain blue broke through the dark rain swept clouds. My Nana used to say “If there’s enough blue sky to make a man’s pair of pants, it’s going to be a nice day.” There was enough blue although I didn’t think it was the right colour to chase the rain away. But Nana was right. Even though she’s not here, she is still right.
My favourite ritual is at night. After I’ve turned out the lights and before I climb into bed to sleep, I part my drapes, open my window, stick out my head and stare up at the night sky. Sometimes it’s covered in cloud but mostly it twinkles stars. Sometimes a handful, sometimes more than I could ever count. Science can explain them but I still stare up at them and wonder: How many are there? How long have they been there? Who or what made them? The answers I don’t care for, or need. I just like to stare outside my window with wonder at this world.
* Soi is the Thai word for street
Outside my window, Chalong, Phuket, Thailand