Step One. Believe in your heart that home is where you make it, but be prepared to accept that home is where current migration laws permit you to be.
October 2019
For my last ever morning in Ko Dao - a place I once called my favourite in Earth, I'm genuinely surprised when I look back on it and can only remember three things about it: Rain, an English gentleman in a Wrestlemania shirt and a phone call from my uncle that had something to do with an address and something to do with a typhoon.
The first event on the list had been going on for days, but the last two happened in quick succession at around 10:15 in the morning. I know this because I was staring at the time on my work computer, hoping and praying my 10:30am break would come around before I called a past hotel guest who I was having a tense email exchange with an outright See You Next Tuesday. Said customer had contacted The Pink Moon Resort to dispute a minibar charge four weeks after the fact, their only defense to the three different kinds of documentation the hotel kept for this exact purpose being, to paraphrase: " I'm just not a red wine drinker."
Before I could begin to type my fifth "Unfortunately, The Pink Moon Resort…" of the morning, a cacophony of men's yells took my focus off the computer and to the left side of the lobby. A short corridor - peach in colour and palm-adorned, much like the rest of resort - connected the space to a pair of brass elevators. Emerging from one of were four guests who, while I had not seen with my own two eyes before that moment, I was well aware of nonetheless.
Ung, my only co-worker who could speak conversational English and therefore my pseudo-bestie, had warned me of a group of men from England who had visited Ko Dao for a "stag weekend". Since I worked the 6am to 2pm shift at the front desk, Ung worked the 2pm to 10pm shift and therefore had the pleasure of dealing with, among other things, the near-record twelve noise complaints the group had amassed in their three-day stay, the 'mystery-colour' vomit they were strongly suspected to have left behind in the pool area and a bold-faced "Where are the local brothels?" front desk inquiry on their first night here.
And how did I know that these particular men exiting the elevator were the famous four? Because at that point I had pieced together that the screams they were emitting were, in fact, a loud chant that Ung had also relayed to me a couple of afternoons beforehand:
"COCKS OUT FOR THAILAND! COCKS OUT FOR THAILAND!"
Rama, my boss, poked his head out of a back room and we could only share an eye-roll. The man did not have an excellent grasp on English, but I had an eye-opening conversation with him one day about the four kinds of insufferable tourists: The honeymooners, the retired, the school finishers and the bachelors - this group of course falling into the final category. The man leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms, clearly indicating that he was keeping an eye on the men as they checked out. While he was a short, stubby guy who went to the mainland for church two times a week, I nodded towards Rama in appreciation.
Clenching my jaw, I stared intently at the "Unfortunately, the Pink Moon Resort…" on my monitor until the four were in front of us, the chant reaching an unbearable crescendo. I forced customer service smile as the men slowly quieted down, shaking each other's shoulders and heads. I could not help but share another brief look with Rama - he had employed an 'it's better if they just terrorise us on the island than the general population of Thailand' attitude for as long as he had run this business, but I seriously wondered if these were the guests that had finally broke him.
"Are you guys looking to check out?" I interjected over the group's jeers. Instead of anybody giving me a straight answer, the noises to each other only got louder again.
"It's a fookin' yank, boys!" One voice yelped above the others mockingly.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job-
One man stepped forward. Apart from the others, I could notice the giant Wrestlemania 2000 print on his t-shirt, as well as the West Ham United tattoo and the missing incisor. Granted, those latter features didn't make my heart begin to beat fast in my chest.
It was him.
Now, I cannot stress enough how awesome I thought Ko Dao was. I loved the beach. I loved how friendly the locals had always treated me. I loved how easily I could get by whilst only knowing 'pig' Thai, according to Ung. I loved my job (when I was not being swamped by obnoxious British tourists and minibar thieves). But, most importantly, I loved how I could probably live the rest of my life here and never again be reminded of everything that had happened to me. Nobody there knew who I was, I was entire half world away from anyone that did, and I had assumed that encountering anything to do with the people that raised me was an impossibility. Until that moment, of course.
He was in the upper right corner of the t-shirt, a menacing look on his face (hell, probably the most friendly glance I would ever receive from the guy again). The whole gimmick going into that Wrestlemania was that it was all the McMahons against each other - Stephanie being in his corner, Shane being in Big Show's corner, Linda being in Mick Foley's corner and Vince being in the Rock's corner. Ironically enough, this 'storyline' really wasn't that far from the truth - as Stephanie had just told her family that she was pregnant with a baby she intended to keep and everyone had differing opinions on why that was a frankly horrific idea.
With that baby now working in a Thai resort, earning roughly nine bucks a day and wanting nothing to do with her, I can't exactly say I blame them.
"Nah, love, it's just good to hear someone who can speak proper English."
The Englishman's casual racism ripped me from the emotional rabbit hole I had fallen down and, with a gentle shake of the head, I put my customer service smile back on and looked back up at his face.
"Well, this is Thailand." I muttered.
"Whot' wos that?"
"I said, how was your stay in Thailand?"
"Well, the wevuh' was a bit shite but it was still well brill, wasn't it, lads?"
The man turned his head to face his friends, his head nodding furiously as his tongue went in the gap where his missing incisor would have been. The group began to cheer furiously again.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job-
"I just need a name." I interjected again.
I don't recall what the man told me. Something along the lines of Stephen or Daniel or James. What I do remember, however, is that my eyes drifted back to the shirt some time after I started typing on the computer. This time, the man noticed.
"Ya a fan?" He asked, both his index fingers going to the material.
"I used to be." I replied. It was the genuine truth; I loved going to events more than anything else in the world when I was a kid.
"Aw, yeah, who was ya favrit'?"
I simply stared at Stephen or Daniel or James for a moment, unexpectedly caught off-guard by the simple question. I figured there was no point in lying to this stranger or changing the subject, so I was open and honest.
"Triple H, I-I guess."
"Him? Yeah, he's alright. What about all the drama wiv' him, the missus and the kid? Ya heard all about that?"
"I mean, I've seen people talk about it online and stuff." I answered meekly. I had a reason to lie now.
"I tell you wot, if my future missus did something like that to me, I'd-"
"Sorry. I'm just going to need each of your room keys." I interrupted.
"Uh yeah. Oi, lads! Who hasn't lost their keys?" Stephen or Daniel or James hollered.
I would have found their humor in it if I wasn't the one who'd been delegated the job of going to the creepy key cutter on Ko Dao every time we lost some. Thankfully, through some kind of miracle - as, again, they had been the group to leave swathes of vomit by the pool and request prostitutes on their first night here, every key could be accounted for.
"So, in total…" I begun.
For the first time, Stephen or Daniel or James stopped looking at me like there was some kind of joke stapled on my forehead. Not a total surprise since I had seen senior tourists start vicious altercations over their final bills.
"Thirty thousand eight hundred baht, which comes to around seven hundred pounds, assuming that's what we're paying with today."
All his friends seemed to act distracted by something else and, eventually, Stephen or Daniel or James stepped forward, credit card in hand. It only made sense that they were terrible friends as well as terrible hotel guests.
"Thank you so much, guys! Please come again!" It was technically hotel policy to tell people that, but I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't still trying to distract myself from mindlessly staring at the Wrestlemania shirt.
"Ah, maybe wiv' the missus next time."
"Hmm, I guess there's somebody for everybody." I muttered under my breath.
"Whot?"
"I said, there's something here for everybody!"
Stephen or Daniel or James only nodded at me before finally heading towards an exit, him and his friends graciously treating us to the chant one last time. Once the group had entered a waiting taxi, I let out the sigh of a lifetime before looking back at Rama.
The man could only shake his head and shrug in quick succession.
"Mobile phone ring while you check him out." Rama said simply. Still not the best at playing 'the pronoun game' after almost a year of working for him, it took me a moment to realise he was referring to my mobile phone.
"It wasn't my grandpa, was it?" At that point, the man had been trying to convince me for months to come back to America. His tactics had ranged all the way from from bigotry ("don't you get sick of being surrounded by Asians all the time?") to good, old-fashioned Irish guilt ("You're killing your grandmother, did you know that?!). As a matter of fact, his latest strategy was offering me a cushy job as a backstage interviewer; a move I found so ridiculous that I was currently taking a break from any contact with him.
Rama shook his head, "Looked like uncle." He replied.
I softly smiled. Uncle Shane had been the one I had had the least tumultuous relationship with at this point in my life. I could still talk to him and feel some semblance of warmth and familiarity
"Can I call him back?" I found myself asking.
Rama thought for a moment before nodding his head, stepping forward to man the front desk whilst I entered the back room. My phone stuck out the top of my khaki-coloured tote - a hasty buy in Bangkok after I had flung my Givenchy handbag into the ocean during a fit of tears after I remembered that it was given to me by my mother - and I immediately retrieved it.
"HELLO?! DID I DO THE MATH RIGHT? DID I CALL YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY AND NOT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?" The phone sounded after barely a single ring.
"Yeah, Shane, you called me at 10am. I'm not sleeping this time. Only problem is I'm in the middle of a shift at work."
"Oh, sorry about that, kiddo. I'll make this quick. How's it going?"
"Been better. Just checked out a group of British tourists who, let's see, called me a "fookin yank" and were so threatening that my boss felt the need to supervise me whilst checking them out. OH! And one of them was wearing a Wrestlemania shirt, so I'm definitely taking it as a sign to remain far away from all of you, no offence."
"You could also take it as a sign that there's something calling you home?"
"Ooo, signs from the universe… I'll have to relay that tactic to Grandpa so he can use it in the future. So, anyway, what's your business?"
"I just need your address again."
"Oh god, you're not going to try and send me another peace offering from my mother, are you?"
"No, Marissa and I both agreed that that was… inappropriate. Anyway, no, we were in Boston the other week and Rogan found a postcard he wants to give to you. He says he doesn't want you to forget what America looks like."
I couldn't help but smile. My little cousins had no concept of how much I actually did want to forget what America even looked like, quite frankly, but I loved them and of course I wanted to get postcards from them.
"Aw, that's really cute. Yeah, its official address is 12 Sathon Road, Ko Dao, 84285… with Thailand at the end of course."
"Okay, yep, got it." Shane replied, "And I just thought I'd confirm, you're not actually going to forgot what this country looks like, right? Ari, tell me you're at least going to come home for Christmas this year."
"I… um…" I trailed off, "Can we maybe talk about that later?"
"Yeah, alright." Shane said after a brief silence.
"Look, Shane, I should go. I've got to work, remember?"
"Okay, kiddo. Hey, before I go, just be careful over there? I saw something about this 'typhoon' that's going over Southeast Asia on the Today Show this morning. Seems kinda dangerous."
"I'm at a resort on an island that's basically marketed completely towards white tourists, Shane. I hate to break it you, but a militia would have a tough time breaking us. Let alone a storm. Everything'll be okay."
"Well, if you say so. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
"Okay."
"Love you, kiddo. Just call me if you're in trouble."
"Love you too, Uncle Shane. Will do."
I hung up the phone and went straight back to my desk, shaking my head a little at Shane's concern.
"Hey, Rama!" I called out, "Are we just going to tape the windows and put all the pool furniture away like we did last time?!"
They were evacuating Ko Dao by four in the afternoon.
The rain was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my entire life. The downpour was relentless; so fierce that the land seemed like a grey, watery blur. It reminded me of a trip I took to Niagara Falls with my mom when I was little, and how I stared at the never-ending rush of water trying to imagine what it would be like if a person could stand directly under it. If only I could call 8-year-old me and say: "One day, on an island just off Phuket in Thailand, it's going to feel like you're standing under it."
The large amounts of water had also created swathes of mud and sludge. In the end, that had been the reason Ko Dao was evacuated; tiny islands tended not to stand a chance against mudslides. The mere idea of being trapped under such a thing, possibly never to be found again, made me feel ill. So, to distract myself, I pretended like I was a soldier from a movie, trodding through the slush-covered terrain in the third act - though actual soldiers were not made to wear giant, transparent raincoats and hold the person in front and behind them's hands like a preschooler.
The winds hadn't picked up yet, but the navy that had arrived to evacuate said they would within the hour. With the mud and the wind, the thought crossed my mind that maybe the Pink Moon wouldn't even be standing by the time I returned, but I quickly brushed it off.
It took hell to get me there in the first place, surely it would take hell for me to not come back.
"This isn't hell. It's just a storm. Just a bad storm." I muttered to myself.
Still, once I was on a boat towards safety, I found myself making calls. My uncle, right after he was finished doing his so-called "hate to say I told you so" dance, asked if I needed anything. I asked him how could I possibly need anything from him since my grandpa, who I had called two minutes prior, had offered me a cool $2000 and a seat on the next flight to America from Phuket. We laughed and laughed until there was fear in mine that I couldn't quite explain.
"It'll be okay, kid."
"I-um, what's Mom's number again? I blocked it from my phone and now I can't… I can't… I can't remember."
"Shhhh. Shhhh. I'll text it to you, alright? Do you want me to call her first and warn her you're going to call?"
"N-no. It's fine. I just… I-I have to go."
I quickly hung up the phone and took a few deep breaths. My chest felt so heavy all of a sudden; if they were letting anybody out of the cabin of the boat, I would have happily gone out in the typhoon just to get some air. I frantically covered my eyes before my tears were too obvious.
I just wanted to go home, but home was suddenly so unrecognizable that I had unexpectedly started to yearn for my old one.
The sudden ping from my phone told me that I had received my mom's number. I didn't know where she was or what the chances of her answering an unknown number at the crack of dawn were, but something was willing me to try. So, I copied her number into the keypad and there I was - trying to have a teary conversation with a woman I hadn't so much as spoken a word to in over a year.
The phone rang three times before I heard a short click.
"Hello?"
Nope.
If both of us were different people, maybe I would have felt comfort at the sound of my mother's voice - hell, who wouldn't in the middle of a violent storm? But, when I heard that greeting, the terror that rushed through my veins was replaced by the painfully familiar feeling of anger and disgust.
I had pulled the phone away from my ear so quickly that it almost sprung out of my hand when I hung up. I rushed to turn it off just in case she tried to call me back, and, when I turned it on again after the boat reached the mainland, I made sure to block the number all over again.
I would receive no comfort from this woman; not because she could not give it, but because I physically could not accept it.
I spent the night in the hallway of a community center in Phuket with nothing but my tote bag and the clothes on my back. I kept on telling myself that I had lived through moments that were much, much worse. But regardless of what was actually true and what I was just telling myself to feel better, I didn't get much sleep at all.
In the morning, people were being accounted for. The rain was still coming in, but the worst was all over and the authorities could begin to travel to shelters to work out who was not officially missing.
I hadn't even realised I'd left my passport on Ko Dao until I heard from a group of tourists that people would need ID endorsed by the Thai police. In these kinds of situations, only that - and not my expired, American driver's license I still carried around - would suffice.
"I forgot to get my passport when I left Ko Dao, but I work on the resort there. My name's Ariette Tallulah Levesque. L-E-V-E-S-Q-U-E." I gently explained to two police officers going around the room taking details. God, it had been so long since I last had to spell that name out loud.
"You need to go to a US embassy or consulate now. You need a replacement." One said.
"No, you don't understand. I haven't lost it. It's- It's probably sitting under about a foot of mud." The stories I had heard already about how Ko Dao had fended against the typhoon weren't pretty, "But I know exactly where it is!"
"Doesn't matter. It is an offense to travel without one in Thailand. You need to go to the capital and see somebody at your respective country's embassy immediately and organize new identification."
"Sir, respectfully, I am not going to Bangkok for something that's not even lost."
"You can voluntarily go to the capital or be fined, taken into custody and escorted there."
"… On second thought, I might be open to going to Bangkok."
I had never been a huge fan of the city and its narrow streets and endless crowds of people, but this mandated trip really solidified my contempt towards Bangkok. The only saving grace was that it was a sunny day - the typhoon had dissipated before it even reached the city and it had not received so much as a drizzle of rain. If I wasn't pissed about having to visit the US embassy with hours' notice (in clothes I had been in since yesterday, mind you), I would've felt revitalised.
The thought crossed my head to call my grandpa, but I doubted a man that actively wanted me to leave the country would be any help at all, regardless of how much influence he had.
"Ariette Lev-esk."
"It's pronounced Lev-ek."
"Oh, sorry about that, come and take a seat."
I stood up with my khaki tote, now a little mud-caked, and walked over to a man sitting at a mahogany desk, adorned with a little U.S flag sticking upwards. It was one of many in a terracotta-coloured hall.
"So I see we've got a lost passport problem?" He said as I sat down.
"According to the Thai authorities." I replied gruffly.
"Well, it is law to carry your passport on you at all-"
"Yes, I got about five different lectures from five different policemen over this." I sighed, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration.
"I see. Let me just enter your details."
I stared at nothing in particular as the embassy man typed away on his computer. However, after several minutes, I couldn't help but notice the clicking of keys begin to slow.
"Hmm. Miss Levesque?"
I glanced back at the man mid-thumbnail-chew - a nervous habit from school that I had long assumed I'd shaken until that moment.
"You came in to Thailand on September 9th 2018, correct?"
"Yes." I remembered the day well; the excitement, the sadness, the anger, the relief, the terror…
"And you came here on a 12-month-visa, correct?"
"I did."
Back when I first arrived in Asia, I felt that 12 months out of America was all the time I needed to clear my head, but, as time went on, the thought of going home only seemed less and less desirable. A part of me figured I could just stay on Ko Dao for the rest of my life, working at the one hotel. Grow old, be a little lonely, deal with tourists until I keeled over dead at the front desk. Hell, it seemed much better than what would be waiting for me back in the States.
"Miss Levesque, are you aware that your visa expired over a month ago?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I've been meaning to come to Bangkok to renew it." Lie. If I was meaning to stay on Ko Dao for the rest of my life as nothing but a hotel attendant who just so happened to speak English, even so much as going to Bangkok would be off-the-radar.
"Ma'am, I'm afraid you can't just renew a visa here."
"Oh, okay? Do I need to go to a government building? Or a consulate somewhere else?"
"No, this process is not like that." The embassy man paused, humming as if he had news he was reluctant to share.
"Well, what do I need to do?" I sighed, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.
"Miss Levesque, you need to leave this country immediately and restart the visa application process in the United States."
My head shot back to the embassy man, eyes wide and breathing immediately jerked. Surely this had to be some kind of a joke? Surely I wasn't about to shafted from the only country I had called home in over a year?
"You cannot be serious." I uttered.
"Completely." The embassy man added on.
I think maybe I would have cried right there at the desk if this whole situation had not been thrust upon me so quickly. In the meantime, I managed to muster pointing a shaky hand at myself, a single thumb poking out.
"Am I being deported?"
The embassy man only sighed and gave me the slightest shrug.
"Essentially, yes."
There was a long silence. I just sat there in shock - just one day ago, I was serving obnoxious tourists like a certified pro and laughing with my boss over what formation should duck tape go over windows, and now I was being deported like Pablo fucking Escobar?
After a few more seconds of total quiet, I took in a slow breath.
I said it would take hell to keep me from Ko Dao, and by now it occurred to me that hell might as well have arrived. Not in the form of a violent storm like I was afraid of, but in the form of an American bureaucrat in Thailand, telling me gently that my time here was up.
"I think I need to call my grandpa."