Imagine - One Enchanted Evening In Bangkok

[This is a piece I've previously posted elsewhere but it's a story that has a meaning for me (on a few levels), and it seems with things as they are in Thailand at present that maybe it's appropriate to re-publish it today. The video is dark, but the thought is light.]

It had been a busy couple of weeks in Thailand, and I was more than a little worn out the evening this occurred; a moment of focus that encapsulated the trip for me. You know how sometimes something happens that causes you to stop and say “perfect”; apt punctuation to a series of events that are drawing to a close? This is about one of those moments.

My travel partner hadn’t taken my cautions to heart about hydrating himself on his first trip to a hot tropical destination, and had spent the day in bed a couple of dozen floors above where we were now having dinner. He was still a bit wilted so we weren’t having our usual conversation, instead just enjoying the food and atmosphere of a place we wouldn’t normally indulge in, except on vacation.

Twenty feet away from us a local man stood at a microphone, acoustic guitar hanging around his neck, singing a variety of “dinner songs”; some in Thai, some in slightly stilted English he undoubtedly learned phonetically to entertain the hotel guests he was playing for. Nevertheless, he played earnestly and sang with a sincerity that comes from at least a basic understanding of the lyrics.

While going by the dessert portion of the buffet I realized he was sitting at a table taking a break, checking his cell phone and looking about the dining room at the people there. I reached for one of the quarter-folded 20 baht bills I keep in my shirt pocket for street folks, quick snacks, small tips and the likes, but thought better of it, and instead took out a 100 baht note.

He looked up as I approached his table and smiled. I smiled back, gave him a quick nod of approval and asked in Thai if he spoke any English. “Nit noy,” he smiled, holding up his thumb and index fingers, their tips a half inch apart to indicate “a little bit.” I used the usual “my Thai is weak” phrase back at him, but we were able to chat for a few minutes. I thanked him for his singing, handed him the 100 baht note and asked if he knew any songs by the Beatles, figuring from his repertoire so far that he might.

He asked why I was in Thailand, and I explained how it was the first visit for my friend who doesn’t care to travel much but that we were here visiting some students we sponsored. He asked a little more about that and I shared about it the best I could. Usually when someone asks me what I get out of the volunteer and charity work I enjoy so much I say “we can’t save the world, but we can save little pieces of it,” but that was difficult to get across this particular time. He understood enough to say “good heart” to me, and I thanked him for his thought. “I know Beatles,” he said, “I sing it for you.”

I went back to our table with my cake and coffee, and even though I didn’t expect it to be light enough or loud enough to capture for some reason took out my camera and was ready to record him when he again approached the microphone and started playing. It took more time than I’d have been allowed on “Name That Tune” but eventually I caught on that he was beginning to play John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

On December 8th, 1980, I’d returned home from work and was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV when news of Lennon’s death came on the screen. The evening news began soon afterwards, and someone had hastily assembled a collage of photos and behind them played “Imagine,” his haunting song of wishful hope. I cried then, and it gave me a chill again this evening; sitting in a foreign land, hearing a man with whom I’d been able to share the same simple idea.

“Same same, but different,” I thought to myself as he turned and looked at me while singing “You may say I’m a dreamer… but I’m not the only one.”

It was a moment there that I’ll always remember.