It’s 7pm on New Year’s Eve in Mae Sot and I can’t bring myself to write down even one feeble dot point on what 2013 has taught me, or what I hope for 2014, or which recycled resolutions I’m going to pick out of the rubble of the dying year, and I’m trying very hard to squeeze in a 15-minute pre-party nap so my head doesn’t fall off after one Singha beer – but instead of a list, will mark this infernal (but still somehow ethereal…) ritualistic blip on the Gregorian calendar with a photoessay.
One morning when I was stuck in my lonely funk last month I found myself at the SAW orphanage sitting outside in the diluted sunshine of a South East Asian cold season while these boys ran up and down the front with their kites constructed out of newspaper and plastic bags, giggling and weaving in and out of the washing line.
For a few moments I forgot all about my HIV woes and was transported back to the weightless, bursting exuberance of childhood.
I was also reminded about how ridiculous it is to buy kids expensive ready-made crap. Think this is the height of fun, even for adults.