Dear Archie,

We’ve hardly spoken for over a year, but I was in Bangkok in March. The city you’re living in—it made me feel close to you.

I went cycling on Bang Krachao. Clambering up the little bird-watching tower, I heard a bird squeal from nearby trees; it sounded just like the birds on my island in Hong Kong. They’re doing their rendition outside my window again, as I write this. It makes me wonder all the more how you are. It’s been three years since your move from Yangon. Do you still feel contempt for living in Bangkok?

Every time I’m in that city, I feel like a parched rock tossed into cool, soothing water. I’ve been frequenting Bangkok for almost a decade now, for various activities and more recently for work related to Myanmar, but this time I went for something more light-hearted—the farewell concert of HYBS, the Thai duo we’d talked about. They’d actually had to add an extra show. Those of us who didn’t manage to secure a ticket for the original show clamoured on social media and they answered!

Were you there too, by any chance? It was a sizable venue after all. I was standing in the front-right corner of the hall; it was close enough, with an almost sideways view of the stage, surrounded by young faces beaming enthusiastically. Most of them were holding drinks, swinging their arms and hips, chattering cheerfully in Thai, Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, Tagalog and more languages I couldn’t place, mixed with the occasional shrill laugh. Others sat on the floor, surveying the stage and ceiling, squinting at their phones and waiting for the show to start. I stood, pulled by the gravity of the knowledge that this was a goodbye show. I worried about crying during some of the songs and looking out of place.

A couple of years ago, short slice-of-life WeChat clips of a Thai duo, with captions like “THIS is what summer feels like”, “Makes me wanna go travel” or “Check out this heavenly Thai band NOW”, went viral. The members of HYBS were often shown outdoors, James Alyn Wee wearing his signature dark shades and Karn Kasidej with his unmistakable smile. The band was swiftly embraced in China. Exquisite looks, good jokes and real talent will go a long way at most times, but were particularly welcome during repeated grim lockdowns. I’d known since then that I wanted to see them live.

Listening to their song, “Dancing with My Phone”, gave me shivers when I was living in Frankfurt and longing, as always, to move to Southeast Asia, particularly Bangkok. I’d sometimes find myself sitting in front of my computer, staring at the music video shot on Bangkok’s nocturnal streets, blocking out the outside world and conjuring up memories of spicy, shrimpy papaya salad with chicken feet and mango sticky rice from Sukhumvit sois. Beyond these tastes and smells, I’d also be mentally transported to the damp tropical nights in which people strolled, observed, thought and savoured—sweating but also living. It brought infinite comfort to my Asian heart, swimming bewilderingly around bread, cheese and potato salad in the chilly central European weather, where the prospect of feeling at home seemed unlikely.

I guess I also feel a thrill about the rise of T-pop, increasingly comparable to K-pop and J-pop, certainly in recent years. Big-shot musicians from East Asia, albeit excellent, have dominated for too long and eclipsed their southern counterparts, if you ask me. HYBS’s music transcends borders and presents a precious addition that contributes to reconfiguring this slightly one-way street. This was apparent in all the different languages spoken in that dusky concert hall—fans must have flown from Hong Kong, Beijing, Tokyo, Jakarta, Manila and more, landing with the same sense of cheer and excitement. I’m not so eloquent on what being Asian means, given how broad a term it is, but at the HYBS concert I thought I caught a glimpse of what it could be.

Of course, I’m biassed, but the rush of gratification I feel is real when I encounter HYBS’s songs anywhere in the world: “Prettiest to Me” at a gathering in the Swedish woods where the night was tenderly white, “Would You Mind” during a languid afternoon at a university bookstore in Shenzhen, “Dancing with My Phone” (this song really made it big!) at a surfer- and yogi-laden rooftop bar in Weligama, Sri Lanka, and “Tip Toe” in a small café in Penang while I waited for a sugar apple shake. In that last instance, I couldn’t help but start to dance, my companion looking away in embarrassment and the café staff stifling their smiles.

I really hope you made it to the show too, Archie. You’d agree that they were truly worth the wait, the acclamation and frenzy. HYBS made a lovely entrance, singing with the audience as we did with them. When they started the band, Karn said, they hadn’t expected to be so popular—yet they still solemnly reaffirmed their decision to leave. The atmosphere shifted from exhilarating to sentimental, from sentimental to warmly hopeful. Scraps of garish paper were ejected towards the ceiling, but came back down on to hair and shoulders… and into my drink, too. I didn’t bother to pick it out.

I’m sure musicians, artists and writers from the region will keep making art for trans-Asian audiences to laugh, cry and love with them. Even though HYBS has said goodbye, there’ll be others who will continue to depict how people love in this region we call home, with the same endogenous and ever so endearing touch. I feel like, in Asia, we get shy about merely saying hello, even as we want to pack all the love we can give and send it through the wind, flying to the windows of our loved ones to ask the question, Would you mind if I call you my home?

I’m still uncomfortable with the idea of having a static, pre-defined ‘home’ in life, and the heteronormative implications of prejudice, conformity and assimilation that seems to suggest. But I adore the home HYBS sing about, a home—a place that isn’t biologically determined, but something one makes in people or places on their own. If I could make a place my home, it’d be Bangkok. I didn’t want to tell you that I see the city that way; perhaps I dared not. People flood in for different reasons, and our paths only crossed because of my passing through and your fleeing. You were so cruelly witty about how shopping malls in Bangkok are an anaesthetic for societal problems. I laughed along, but don’t I want Bangkok in superficial and escapist ways too? In the past decade, during my trips to the city, such malls have been key to letting me bring what I love about Bangkok to my life elsewhere.

My first ever trip abroad had been to Bangkok; before, I’d only experienced this tropical neighbour country via soap operas on TV. Oh, there’s cuisine beyond Sichuan cuisine, I’d thought on my first overseas encounter, there are different trends, thoughts and shapes, there’s a whole world beyond China. It was a respite, not bound by the rules and norms I’d grown up with, even though it had its own set of rules and norms. Everything started from there—the hunger to know more and more, to be fascinated, to empathise and cry alongside, to dedicate a life to. It brought my path to yours, eventually.

Your cynical voice and crooning grievances about many things in Bangkok still stick in my mind. You were missing Yangon. I, too, dream of going back there one day, but in my heart Bangkok will always stand as a lighthouse and, secretly, a home. I’m lucky that the friends who have remained in this city are a most inspiring bunch. They’re always angry, always vigilant, never forgetting or forgiving injustice. They do things that I’m often too cowardly to do myself, and their existence means returning to Bangkok after three years disrupted by Covid-19 gives me such solace. I’d like to see home as made up of an accepting community with shared regards, shared pulses—things I missed in other places. Visiting Bangkok thus feels like a massive homecoming, not just because I know which exact soi off Convent Road to enter to find the neighbourhood street tailor, or which bit of the BTS ride between Siam and Rachathewi requires holding on tightly to maintain my balance, but because there are people like you, people who still care about what’s going on in Myanmar, even from afar.

This is why I keep going back. I still have so much to do in Bangkok, so much to see. But this is just my confession; me talking, you keeping to yourself. By the way—maybe you’ve noticed—shoots of grass are sprouting on the empty land on your street! Hopefully they’ll be something to look at, when you miss the verdance of Yangon.

Thoughts and wishes,

Your friend

• Tags: Free to read, Peixuan Xie, Thailand