Steel Needles, Old Ghosts
Li(c)king Life
I made it. My one overstuffed suitcase and I have officially relocated to Hanoi. The past few months felt like having my tongue stuck to a 9V battery. Remember doing that as a kid? That metallic zing wasn’t exactly pleasant or horrible, but it definitely felt like something you weren’t supposed to do and that’s basically been my life lately.
There’s a soft thunderstorm rolling over Hanoi right now, perfect for a Sunday afternoon spent looking back at the last two weeks of zigzagging across SE Asia. Bangkok, Khanom, Ho Chi Minh City, and now, finally, Hanoi.
In Bangkok, I crashed with my friend Charlee Sodpraset. Charlee is one of those people you’re instantly glad to know: a Thai artist who helped shape the country’s contemporary art scene and who owns a guesthouse that feels like it’s frozen in the 90s in the most charming, lived in way. The Artist’s Place is full of mismatched chairs, every wall is covered in paintings, and a quiet energy that makes you want to stay a little longer.
While I stayed there, Charlee and I spent quiet afternoons working on letters to his son, who lives in the US. His son left Thailand when he was 2 and is now 49, and it’s clear Charlee is trying to rebuild a relationship he knows he’s missed out on for decades. Translating his words and helping him send them across the world, I found myself thinking about my own father. I never really knew him growing up, and he passed away over thirty years ago. There were moments, sitting across from Charlee, when I felt like I was glimpsing the other side of a father-son story I’d always wished I could have lived myself. In helping Charlee find words of love, regret, and hope for his son, I realized I was also finding a bit of forgiveness for my own father. Even though he’s been gone for so long, I felt a quiet sense of peace and understanding settling in, like I could finally let go of old hurt and see both him and myself with a little more compassion.
I also spent some time with Jim, yes, the same Jim I’ve mentioned before, armed with cameras, empty stomachs and curiosity we explored the neighborhoods and temples.
I finally went ahead with getting a larger Sak Yant, my first one in twenty years. It felt like the perfect moment for something meaningful.
These tattoos are more than just ink; they’re symbols of protection, strength, and intention. The Ajarn uses a long steel rod, and the process is an odd mix of meditative focus and trying desperately not to flinch. I chose this design to help me step into the future with less fear, loosen my grip on old habits, and maybe avoid a few of those metaphorical ice cream cone disasters along the way.
After Bangkok, I made my way south to Khanom to meet up with VM, an old film school friend. We hadn’t seen each other in 20 years, but it felt like picking up right where we left off. We spent the days driving around, swapping stories, soaking in the quiet and eating the best crab fried rice in the world. It’s funny how life works I’ve never thought of myself as a beach person, but Khanom’s long empty stretches of sand have a way of winning you over.
Back in BKK, I started diving deeper into the world of Thai Buddhist amulets. There’s a whole universe wrapped up in these small pieces of metal and clay stories of monks, temples, and blessings that promise everything from protection to prosperity.
One night, I casually mentioned my new fascination to Charlee. He warned me about the amulet markets, saying most are fakes sold to unsuspecting tourists. I nodded, went out to get dinner, and when I came back, there were five amulets lined up on the table where I always sit for our night time chats. Charlee looked at me with a quiet smile and said, “Pick one. You choose.”
I can’t explain how much that moment meant. I chose an amulet of Luang Phor Ngern, a monk known for bringing good fortune and protection. Here’s the gist of it:
Luang Phor Ngern, Bang Khlan
Edition: Building the Sermon Hall, 2533 BE (1990 CE)
Wat Tha Po Nuea, Taphan Hin District, Phichit Province
Amulets like these are more than souvenirs. They’re small reminders of the people and places that shape you.
Then came a whirlwind 48 hours in Ho Chi Minh City, where I caught up with friends from my TEFL program and picked up my luggage from JM, fellow pirate who’d been kind enough to store it. Things got interesting fast. I had what my friend JM calls the ice cream cone effect: you think everything’s great, then suddenly it’s all on the floor. That has been the experience in HCMC, after returning to my accommodations after a night of laughs, pho and avocado smoothies I quickly became aware that there was no toilet paper or soap in my place. Luckily a box of Kleenex and a bum gun will get you every time.
Since arriving in Hanoi, I’ve felt a shift. Whether it’s superstition or simply the power of focusing on something positive, the amulet and Sak Yant have helped me put my energy into what I can control instead of spiraling over what I can’t.
One of my favorite moments from this adventure so far was sitting in Khanom with VM, sharing a pipe and good conversation. It had been months since I’d felt that relaxed. Naturally, when I got back to Bangkok, I bought a tin of tobacco. Now that I’m in Hanoi, I’m hunting for the perfect vintage pipe to enjoy on my future patio.
Tomorrow I’ll start looking for a permanent place. A big patio, quiet street, and a bit of character are top of my list. I’d love for you to come visit someday, sit on the patio with me, and watch the world go by over a coffee and maybe a pipe.
LOVE & LIGHT
MM
See you soon I suspect for that balcony time