I've been here for a week now. In England.
It's very different in this country – especially the weather. I have been finding myself having to wear more clothes than I have before in my life, it's restrictive.
It is September, beginning of the school year. I have a scholarship at a Sixth Form in a town near London, for sport. Renting a flat near the school, I have been coming to this place for the last few days and have not yet gotten used to it. The mornings are freezing, but the afternoons are warm, it irritates me. The others seem fine; they just wear hoodies and take them off later in the day – but then there's me, in my coat, resisting the urge to put a scarf on.
I say 'they' as though they are some foul creatures, which they're not. My classmates have been good to me so far. Despite being a little wary of me at first, it didn't take them long to bombard me with questions about Thailand, or Tokyo, as someone had asked, before being hit over the head by their friend. They're funny, in an odd way, yet I hesitate to talk to them. I may be an outgoing person, but I admit I am nervous.
I am sat in the Common Room, currently. I have a free period and I'm gazing somewhat blankly at a biology textbook. Opposite me is one of my classmates, Jack, who is updating his blog on his phone.
We bonded over that, running.
"Bell's about to go," he says, glancing at the clock and sliding his phone into his pocket. I nod, not sure how to respond. How do you reply to such an observation?
"Hey, Ae," he says, and I look up. "How're you coping?" He asks, turning his eyes toward me but not making contact.
"Um, okay thanks." I say back.
"Sweet," he responds.
Our relationship follows this formula. He asks me how I am and I tell him I'm fine. I can tell he's not entirely sure about me yet, but I appreciate his efforts to make me feel welcome, even if they're inevitably awkward.
The bell rings, in five short bursts, and I gather my book and head toward the door. I pause. I turn and wait for Jack who reluctantly leaves his chair, stuffing his hands into his jacket and taking lead. Still unsure of where I'm going in this school, I like to follow, not direct.
As soon as we leave the Sixth Form centre, we are bombarded with noise – children as young as eleven running around and screaming for what appears to be no reason, older students in groups walking more calmly, glaring at the smaller ones as they barge past them, gossiping wildly about the latest drama. I understand most of what they say, but the speed at which they talk and particular phrases sometimes go over my head. They intrigue me somehow; it's sort of like being in a zoo... but it's a school.
We walk in and out of corridors, passing between open space and building before reaching our science class room. I gaze out onto the field, looking with longing at the football pitch – no matter the country, a football pitch is a football pitch, and that was where I wanted to be. Even on a grey day such as this, I longed to go to it. Football is a universal language, or so they say.
Entering the class, I sit between Jack and a girl. I can't remember her name but she's nice enough. When we first met, she punched me on the shoulder and I panicked, I thought she hated me already. However, as I found out, 'that's just how she is'. The lesson starts and the teacher calls the register, checking the pronunciation of my name for the nth time. You'd think, it being literally two letters long, that it would be relatively easy to figure out, but wonders never cease.
The content itself is not hard, and the teacher speaks clearly. The class environment is very different here, less formal. It's odd, but it's not bad. I don't say anything unless to answer a question, aside from the couple of times Jack turns to me to see if I'm 'okay'.
Later in the lesson, during an independent activity, the girl swivels in her chair to face me, distracting me from my diagram.
"You doin' alright, Ae?" She asks, cheerfully.
"Yes," I reply, nodding as I speak, "everyone keeps asking me that."
"Yeah, well, it'd be rude just to leave you hanging, right? Especially being the only Thai kid, 'y'know?"
All of her sentences seem to end in a question. I've noticed that about people here. Despite that, what she says is true; I am the only Thai student here. Seeing the names such as "Samuel", "Leah", "Zak" and "Caitlyn" scratched into the table surface is a great reminder of that.
My mind casts itself back to Thailand, particularly to my best friend, Pond. He's a complete asshole, but I still miss him and his idiocy and I'm sure he'd be quick to immortalise his name on this piece of wood, too. Even though I've only been gone for a week, I can't help but feel a bit homesick.
Then, Jack taps me on the shoulder. I look up and he points to the door.
"Sir wants to talk to you," he says.
Sure enough, the head of Sixth Form is at the door, his typical smile on his face.
"Raquel," the teacher remarks, "I hope that's not a phone I can see in your hand."
Ah, that was her name: Raquel. She slides the phone into her pocket, sheepishly.
"No, Sir. I don't know what you're talking about. You don't see a phone do you, Ae?" She nudges me playfully in the shoulder. Unsure of what to do, I just smile and laugh awkwardly.
"Don't bother him, thank you very much. At least he's getting on with his work... unlike some of you." He looks to a group of boys sat around a table in the corner of the class, who snicker amongst themselves. I still can't distinguish them from each other as they all seem to wear the same track suit to school every day and keep their hoods firmly over their heads. This Sixth Form doesn't have a dress code – I feel as though one day I will walk in to the Common Room and see someone wearing pyjamas. It wouldn't surprise me.
"Anyway, Ae, can you come with me please?" The teacher pulls me from my thoughts and I stand to follow him, sliding my bag over my shoulder. Once we are in the corridor, that smells faintly of chemicals, he crosses his arms.
"So?" He asks expectantly, "how's it all going? Are you settling in well?"
I feel I may scream. Not this question again.
"I am doing well, Sir, thank you." I smile, mostly genuinely but I don't know if that's because I'm amused at the repetition of this stupid question or whether I am actually 'well'.
"That's good to hear. Your teachers have been telling me that you're getting on well in lessons. I'm glad to hear it, Ae. There's a thing or two that the rest of your peers could learn from you." He speaks genuinely, turning his heel on the floor, a scuffing noise filling the quiet hallway.
I rub the back of my head, slightly embarrassed.
"You must be wondering why I've dragged you all the way out here when you could be having fun learning biology," he continues. This man likes to talk. "Well, tomorrow, we have a new student arriving."
I nod, vaguely. What has this got to do with me? I barely know this school.
"Would you like to know where he's from?" The teacher continues, almost excitedly.
I pull slightly at my bag straps, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He unfolds his arms, clasping his hands before separating them, as though by magic, some miracle had happened.
"Thailand!".
I stare, blankly for a moment. Then, I smile. Someone from Thailand? This was... unexpected.
"His name is Pete – which doesn't sound overly Thai to me but what do I know? I'm sure you'll both get on swimmingly, and I hope you're both able to ease each other into English society. I know we're all a bit weird but you'll get used to it soon, I promise. Come to my office tomorrow morning to meet him. Now get back in there and do some biology!"
He gives me a thumbs up as I tell him I'll be there. Honestly, he confuses me. One minute he's disciplining people and the next he's acting like my best friend.
The bell rings, suddenly, and the surrounding classroom doors open as streams of kids burst into the corridor. Sadly, my 'fun' lesson of biology will not be continued. As usual, they are screaming and shouting, flinging the corridor doors open with more force than necessary. Jack appears next to me, gesturing to go, and I follow him back to the Common Room. It's lunch time.
I spend the remaining hours of school talking with Jack; actually talking, not simply exchanging pleasantries. I initiated the conversation, by asking him what he was eating. He told me he was vegan, and gave me a small speech on animal rights. While I had not much interest in the topic (mainly because I was watching someone eating fried chicken in of the corner of my eye), I enjoyed seeing him come to life, instead of just asking me if I was okay. He's charismatic. Quite quiet, but able to carry himself well. That shouldn't surprise me, I suppose, he's Head Boy.
Gradually, our conversation moved to sport. We discussed football for a while before I told him about Pete. While neither of us knew anything about him, he seemed happy for me, his blue eyes shining a little. I feel, in many respects, that this time talking really established our friendship. I felt my shoulders relax into the chair, and I didn't feel inclined to have my nose in a textbook, but to be more of myself. It was casual, almost pleasant.
I talked of Thailand for a bit, joking about the difference in weather. He laughed. The English seem to take some sort of pride in having bad weather.
"You know," he says to me, "you're actually funny. I was beginning to think that you didn't like me."
I shake my head as we both stand to leave. Our conversation had lasted the whole of lunch and fifth period. I am grateful for it, though.
"I had been thinking the exact same thing," I laugh, and he offers to walk me to reception. I politely decline, pretty sure I remember where it is. He nods, waving slightly as he walks in the opposite direction to his sixth period lesson.
Exiting the school, I feel lighter than I had done coming in. The last few days had been difficult, I admit, but things were starting to look up. As I walk home, I take in my surroundings; the mess or neat keeping of people's front gardens, the number plates on cars, the sway of the trees in the breeze, the slightly chilled air entering my nose and mouth.
It's only a ten-minute journey, and soon I arrive at the small block of flats. It's nothing special, but perfectly decent to live in. My neighbours keep to themselves and all I hear of them is the shutting of doors, the odd hoover from the room above and the not-so-infrequent row. Punching the pin into the main door, I push it open and shiver a little as the cold air hits me. This is the biggest thing I hate about English buildings – the heating in houses is rarely on.
I unlock my flat, on the second floor, (of which there are four), take off my shoes and pad into the front room. Sinking into the sofa, I sigh. I take my phone from my pocket, checking the time: 3pm.
Suddenly, a phone calls through, I roll my eyes and smile.
"What is it?" I ask jokingly, slipping comfortably into my mother tongue, and Pond laughs.
"How are you, my English brother? Found a girlfriend yet?"
I wish I could throw something at him.
"Asshole, shut up. Shouldn't you be asleep?" I say, unimpressed.
"Ae! It's only 10pm. I'm a big boy, I can handle my own sleeping schedule, thanks! Seriously though, you still haven't told me how hot the English girls are – I want to know!"
"You know full well that that's not why I came here, and, if I'm honest, I haven't really been paying attention to them."
"How," he pauses, "how have you not been paying attention!? Come on, Ae, open your eyes and join the rest of mankind!."
"Have you considered that not everyone is a perverted asshole such as you? I'll never be as obsessed with sex as you are. Find another hobby, asshole." I speak with mock anger, though there is truth in my words. I have never been sexually attracted to another person, and I don't intend to go looking to now. I have other priorities.
He sighs dramatically, and I know he's dropped the subject. He asks me about my day, and I tell him about my progress with Jack and my studies. He sounds pleased for me, and despite his idiotic nature, I am glad to be able to talk comfortably with someone, and not be overly conscious of my words. However, Pond is somewhat of a wannabe socialite, and I know all he really wants to know is the gossip.
"There's a new kid starting tomorrow... he's Thai." I say.
"Oh my God! Really!? Finally Ae will have a wingman to get a girlfriend, I'm so happy for you."
"Pond! Can you please shut the fuck up! I really wish I could smack you right now."
"Alright, alright, alright! No need to be so aggressive. So what's his name?"
"Pete." My answer is short, concise, unsatisfying.
Pond waits for a moment, clearly expecting more than just 'Pete'.
"Err, okay. Well, that's not a lot to go off. Shame he isn't a girl, you two could have been a sweet couple. Oh well, looks like you'll be stuck with some boring guy called 'Pete'." He speaks with true sorrow, mourning his lost fantasy of Ae with his girlfriend. A terrible shame, in his opinion.
The idea of Pete being 'boring' actually panics me a little. What if he actually was and I do find myself still alone? I fake an indifferent tone.
"Fuck off, Pond, I'm going to do work now. Go to bed." I tell him, waiting for his usual, obnoxious 'bye' before hanging up. I sink down in the sofa and lean my head of the back of it, staring up at the ceiling. My mind is playing a game of dress-up, creating multiple images of Pete, various versions that I may find myself facing tomorrow. After a few minutes, I slap myself in the face. Not too hard, but hard enough to drag me out of this useless exercise.
I get up and walk to my desk in the corner of my small living area, which is connected to a kitchenette. Sitting at it, I open a maths textbook. At least numbers are still the same.
Around 7pm, once I have finished catching up on my school work, I make myself a quick dinner before heading for the shower. I relish the hot water and remain in the steam-enclosed room for longer than necessary, watching the water trickle down my legs and arms. It was then that I realised that the word 'Pete' had been lingering in the back of my head all evening. I scrub my face, as though washing the word away. I've been here a week and my desperation for familiarity is already so strong.
"Get a grip, Ae. I'm sure he'll be fine. Maybe he'll like football, too. We'll be more like each other than I think. Get over yourself."
I lecture myself as I leave the shower, quickly adoring my pyjamas before the cold creeps in again. Diving into bed, I take deep breaths before reaching for my clock and setting the alarm for 4am, not 6am.
I plan to run tomorrow. I need to clear my head.
But oh how blissfully unaware I was of the storm that was to come.