My Love for Old Things

I felt in love with ancient Thai mythology as soon as I was introduced to it—I was perhaps nine or ten. These myths had their roots in Hindu mythology; the characters and the stories were adopted by Thai people, much it the same way, I imagine, that Greek mythology was adopted by the Romans. The works were written in a form of an epic poem, but I was much too young to read such works; instead I would beg my parents to buy me the children books that presented these works in an easy form appropriate for children. I enjoyed these stories, most of which were about adventures, wars, and sex, just as much as I did the illustrations. The giant with ten heads, the monkey with diamond-studded tongue, and the large-breasted mermaid were some of the characters I still remember. I even had figurines of some of these characters, and a book of illustrations of these characters was among one of my most cherished possession. I remember being surprised to learn that many found such exciting works to be a bore, and that not everybody was as captivated by these tales and characters as I was. Later I developed a sense of pride in my old soul and my unique appreciation for these dying works.

I don’t remember when the strong affection for these works left me, but by the time I moved to the US I didn’t really have any longing for them. However, I later discovered that my willingness to embrace great arts from the past had never ceased. I began to develop a fascination for old architectures and cultures of the West. As a choir singer in high school, I was quick to embrace classical music, opera, and Broadway musicals from the early decades of the 20th century—the latter may not be considered in the same category as the formers, but nonetheless they were born in the times before mine. It was also in high school that I was introduced to Shakespeare and literature of the 19th century, which soon became lifelong pursuits. Subsequently I chose English as a major in college, after which I was exposed to ancient mythology of the West. It was then that I remembered my long forgotten friends—the giant, monkey and mermaid—with whom I had spent so much of my childhood. I don’t know much about them now, and to find them again seems too troublesome a task. But it is the recollection of where I had come from, and to see the trace of how I had become who I am, is a rewarding result of self-reflection.