Two years in Bangkok and a dusting of complacency settles on the city; sights shrink, food smells falter, wonders wane. A monk at the bus stop no longer brings a thrill and soda drunk from plastic bags becomes mundane. Street-side portraits of the king and queen tarnish in their golden frames. Spirit houses fade like ghosts. Is it hot? I hadn’t noticed.
Out of nowhere, a visitor’s cries stir the dust. "Look at that traffic!" “Oh, what a smell!” Market spices jar me awake. Buzzing tuk-tuks and candy colored taxis drive back into focus. Yellow mangoes, pink dragon fruits, and crimson chilies bloom from the shadows. I taste pad thai in the air. My mouth waters once again.
The fresh eyes have polished my perception as a street sweeper’s broom loosens layers of dozy acceptance. A pounding construction site rebuilds my awareness. I see the leafy streets like the first days of my arrival. Excitement returns with the beauty of expat life.