I am tired, I’m in physiological state of muscular tension and extremely exhausted.
I feel like I’m moving in slow motion and everything around me moving so fast. My mind wandering to somewhere else.. To Patong Beach drinking pina colada and watch babes sun bathing. God! I love skin!.. Or drink Heineken And watch gal dancing at Banana Disco.. Talk to the stranger then suddenly they become my best friend ever! (You know who you are, and I'll love both of you to death!) We have a lot of good time together,having meaningful conversation on the beach, have few beers and we laugh for no reason when take a walk along the Bang La road and watch free agogo. For the first time in my life since along time ago.. I feel… happy. And now, I’m addicted to that feeling. Cos, happiness feel- pretty damn good! I’ll give up the world to get that feeling back. Or I just wanna go back to Koh Samet, the birth place of Thai most famous epic poem Phra' Aphai Mani by Sunthorn Phu. Eat 'plameuk neung manao' and drinking Singha beer at Hat Saai Kaew, and get drunk like hell. Make friend with stranger, and dance on the beach at full moon party while drinking Vodka-Redbull. Time is meaningless, misery dissipates and disappear in the wind of Gulf of Thailand. All you can feel is happiness, all you can hear is laughter, and you wish that, that moment could last forever.
But right now, I am here. In a restaurant of 200 seaters and I'm stuck! And, there’s all pressure cos everyone hovering around me to do something or yell more. I am happy to play my part. Be like a wife who can nag 24/7!! Cos, chefs are control freaks. With Victorinox in your hand, you feel unstoppable. There’s no fear, there’s no pain. You’re 10 feet tall and bullet proof. Then suddenly I hate all this, all that perfection, all that beautiful control, just fall to crap.
Where’s the passion goes? I used to love crazy night like this. The heat, the screaming, the willpower, the discipline and the swearing! Sometime, when the things really heat up, we swear in five different native language, Thai, Lao, Khmer, Thai Kedah and Kelantan. Despite our own diversity, we were united behind the stove by our devotion to our 'great thing', the beauty of food, our desire to bring it to its most graceful form. Cooking has always brings euphoria to my soul. As a five persons team we used to put out 200 covers a night. We were so tightly choreograph, that entire evening, it's was just a flow of movement. As we walked out the door after work that night we would be so pumped- it was great natural high. We had few beer and laugh about it, chivalrily celebrate our victory! I used to love this, come to work everyday in awe of the creations that come from my hand; to watch the magic happen in front my eyes, to allow myself to be seduced by every smell that leave the wok and mortar compete for my attention. Cooking used to be my artful expression of love. Through my creation, people eyes light up. It's definitely a form of art for me to express myself that way, a very brief form of art. The writer has his book, the painter has his painting, but the chef only have only the memory of the creation and the smile of guest. Time has no meaning, relationships is a myth, parties are wishful thinking. Suddenly, I hate all of this crap. Like I fall out of love, like my body stop produce adrenaline.
Maybe I should leave. Just quit! Walk away.. 11 years of 13 long hours in the kitchen is much more miserable than you think. (And the pay is suck too). Maybe, I should decide, not to resist any more. I could quit but here's the thing, I love this battle field. And above all, I'm a Siamese boy, I won't give up! I will สู้ให้สมสักศรีลูกผู้ชาย!
