A retrospective

Part Eight — An American Fahk …
A few years ago, during the small, seeming ray of light and hope that emerged during covid in-between Delta and Omicron, I took a chance at international travel, thinking the pandemic soon to be over.

I spent that Christmas with my Mom and sisters in Rancho Santa Margarita, California. I got a booster shot at the Pavilions grocery store pharmacy, and while there, I picked up a can of Pumpkin pie, which has sat in my cupboard until now.

So flash forward to now: It’s Christmas Eve, in Bangkok. A friend and I have decided to cook up the pumpkin pie. At last, real pumpkin pie!

Pumpkin Pie, or American-style pumpkin anything, is a rarity out here. True, there is pumpkin out here. (Fittingly known as Fahk Tong—the first part of which sounds close enough to Fuck for me to think it often enough.) and true the pumpkin is good for Tom Yums and other Thai dishes. But for Pumpkin Pie? Farang please. Give me real American pumpkin, or nothing.

Pumpkin Spice is also pretty rare here. True, I have heard it is a mix of nutmeg and cinnamon, and hardly even real Pumpkin. But still, hard to find at coffee shops or anywhere really. I guess there is a shortage of basic bitch white girls in Bangkok, aside from what you might find tattooed and tourist eyed wandering around Khao San or somewhere.

Man there are times, especially in Autumn, when the Kratongs are Loi-ing down the river and the air is crisp and cool, and those rains start pouring and the moniter lizards go a-crawling…on evenings like that, a good Pumpkin Spice would be a just reward for a hard day’s work.

But to find such a thing, such an American Fahk Tong, one must go to Sukhumvit or somewhere where there are some Farang-chic coffee shops and restaurants—and even then, on the oft chance one might find an American Fahk Tong Spice latte, even then, will it compare to the sorts you find in Southern California?

Perhaps some day it will. Today, I listen to the Christmas music and watch the cars buzz by, the motorbikes humming like dragonflies, the people going about their business on unknowable tasks.

Such a beautiful woman in brown camo-pants, in the Amazon cafe across from here! A Thai women—oh there I see, likely a boyfriend. Goodness, the whole family is out. Her face grimaces as I look at her, then she turns to her partner and motions for him to leave. She lingers on the precipice of the soi between us. I can’t help but look at her ass in those camo-pants. Then she darts to a cab with her beau, and she is gone.

I am reminded of this past month. The woman I am most enamoured with, in my daily life, appears to be taken as well. But it has been like this for so long, and no doubt, if her boyfriend put her through what she puts me through for existing, he’d have been gone a long time ago. That is a relationship of entropy in the making. I smile, and sip my Lemon tea.

Another woman walks in. She’s dyed her hair blonde, this petite Thai woman. Big red glasses, a face that could melt a hundred hearts. She notices me looking over. Rather than sit anywhere near me, she lingers by the entrance. When her coffee arrives, she glances back once, then leaves. A fellow she knew, or perhaps thinks she knows, waves to her, and she waves back. She passes me by the window, her eyes making no contact, but looking from the corners as people do. “Is that farang still checking me out?” Well yes I was. But I’m quite busy.

I’ll be making pumpkin pie shortly.

Brendan Shusterman

Brendan Shusterman is an Author, Poet, and Illustrator living in Bangkok, Thailand. Some of his works include the poetry collections The Ninth Room, Hobgoblins of a Little Mind, and 31 Poems for an Orphic October. His latest publication, The Shopping Cart Serenade, was over ten years in the making and was published last February. He’d like you to read all his work, preferably over coffee, tea, and donuts. His books can perhaps be most easily procured through Amazon.

Home » Authors » Brendan Shusterman » Seven Years in Thailand — 8