My favorite place to be is the balcony off my room. I pull the plastic chair from my desk and prop my feet up on one of the horizontal bars. If I plan to be out here long I bring a folded towel from my room so the seat is not as hard. I come out with the intent to read, write, or listen to music. But in the end I find myself preoccupied with everything that is going on below me. I’m usually here in the late afternoon. At about 4 it’s just me, the old lady sitting in front of her house, and the birds. The birds keep themselves busy, flying from roof top to roof top and arguing over their different spots. In a short someone from the house across the will slide a plate of food under the gate for the birds. They’ll all swoop down and crowd around the dish, fighting for a place. But inevitably the plate will get upset and the food will be spread out over the ground. Then the busy body birds will move around, bobbing their heads and picking up as much food as they can. This is why they don’t go far; they know they will be fed at some point if they just stay near by. They fly from place to place, from the ground to the trees to over my head. Sometimes, when I am really still and lost in thought, a bird will come and land on the balcony wall. I’ll realize I have company and end up frightening the bird away.
If I am out here till 5 I’ll hear the neighbor practicing their violin. The classical music mixes with the birds’ songs and the Thai conversations. Each takes turns dominating the noise. A bird will land close by or someone will laugh louder than the people around them. Occasionally a car or bike horn will honk, announcing that they are there to pick someone up. The horn is an unwelcome interruption to the rest of the noise around me. It is load and intrusive. Cars and bikes move freely on this street. They are not as fast or assertive here as they are on the main streets. The bikes do not whip around cars and trucks do not push into lanes where there is no room. They move around each with more ease.
It is the weekend now, and the two sisters from across the street have taken out their badminton rackets. They are standing in the road and hitting a birdie back and forth. The littler girls who live on this street have taken out their bikes and are peddling around in front of the adults. Sometimes one will get in the way of a passing car, only to move away quickly at the sound of their name being yelled. A parent will shake their head disapprovingly, and then go back to their conversation. Even the kids from my house have ventured out past the gate, playing with the other kids and walking round the construction sight near the end of the road. One of them sees me; they all stop and start waving their arms yelling “face, face.” My waving back seems to encourage them to get louder. Finally they get bored and go back to playing.
The streets lights are on now, and my stomach is getting louder. I’ve been out here for hours. I have fried noodles and soup waiting for me in the kitchen down stairs, and I’m considering opening the apple juice I bought yesterday. It’s time to close up shop and go in.
Catch you on the flip side.
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