The title of this Beetle's song rang in my ear as I was trying to come up with the name of this blog entry.
Last night was the most quiet one in Bangkok that I could remember. Bangkok was under curfew from 20.00 to 6.00 this morning. I was on the 10th floor, and the area that I live is one of the major night-life areas. Seeing the street this deserted was eerily gloomy.
Yesterday started out with a more relaxed atmosphere than the days before as it appeared that the government and the red-shirted protesters might resume their negotiation. My yoga studio even reopened. When I was about to be done with my practice, we were told to rush and leave as the studio would be closed. I left for my apartment building in Ratchada. As I was working on my paper, I followed the news on the Internet and TV.
In the early afternoon, the red-shirt leaders turned themselves in. What followed were series of arson, looting, tire burning in many places around downtown Bangkok, and hearts broken. Some town halls in the upcountry were also burned down. The extent and the randomness of the destruction bewildered me.
Am I saddened? Not exactly. It's more like I am stunned that this could happen at all in Bangkok, one of the most fun city, and that it was done by Thai people who were thought to be easy going, peaceful and compromising.
What happened is like a slap on my face, to wake up and witness impermanence. I have always taken our ways of lives for granted: convenience, safety, reliability. I fool myself in trusting that it will always remain there or get better and better. The vulnerability of modern living just dawned on me when I was stuck in Brussels for four days because of the Icelandic volcano eruption. Now, I was reminded how dependent and helpless I am, even when I'm in my own homeland.
I got this from the ลานธรรม web board: When there is nothing that we can do, at least we can be aware of ourselves.
Last night was the most quiet one in Bangkok that I could remember. Bangkok was under curfew from 20.00 to 6.00 this morning. I was on the 10th floor, and the area that I live is one of the major night-life areas. Seeing the street this deserted was eerily gloomy.
Yesterday started out with a more relaxed atmosphere than the days before as it appeared that the government and the red-shirted protesters might resume their negotiation. My yoga studio even reopened. When I was about to be done with my practice, we were told to rush and leave as the studio would be closed. I left for my apartment building in Ratchada. As I was working on my paper, I followed the news on the Internet and TV.
In the early afternoon, the red-shirt leaders turned themselves in. What followed were series of arson, looting, tire burning in many places around downtown Bangkok, and hearts broken. Some town halls in the upcountry were also burned down. The extent and the randomness of the destruction bewildered me.
Am I saddened? Not exactly. It's more like I am stunned that this could happen at all in Bangkok, one of the most fun city, and that it was done by Thai people who were thought to be easy going, peaceful and compromising.
What happened is like a slap on my face, to wake up and witness impermanence. I have always taken our ways of lives for granted: convenience, safety, reliability. I fool myself in trusting that it will always remain there or get better and better. The vulnerability of modern living just dawned on me when I was stuck in Brussels for four days because of the Icelandic volcano eruption. Now, I was reminded how dependent and helpless I am, even when I'm in my own homeland.
I got this from the ลานธรรม web board: When there is nothing that we can do, at least we can be aware of ourselves.
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