(im)possible dreams

a queer Thai film, and hope

In Thailand, I went to see Toey Thai Baan. My partner and I got accustomed to cinema Wednesdays in Chiang Mai, a weekly highlight, and this was the first (and only) non-English film we watched whilst there.

When I left the screening, I jotted down something incomprehensible about possible/impossible dreams. While sorting through my Notes app the other day, I was taken back to that August moment, and how the film left me with a surprised, aching heart.

The characters had never left their village, and they dreamt of Japan. They made their dream a goal, intending to save up and see sakura in full blossom.

As the tight-knit group began to accept that Japan was simply unaffordable, they made a plan to see Thailand’s version instead, despite the trees not being in bloom. It was to be their first time leaving their area. At the end of their road trip (which had its dramatic moment, of course), the friends sat together in a row, looking outwards. When they opened their eyes… they all saw stunning, pink cherry blossom.

A second camera shot of the landscape showed that they only saw this in their minds, but it was clear this was their reality. It led me to think a lot about possibilities, and dreams, and limits that do or do not exist. How love of all kinds continuously travels beyond limits, time and time again. The memory loss reveal of the protagonist only sharpened these wonderings, as day-to-day, his reality was not one his friends shared in. They lived a different version of events, their minds not hazy. Yet, who gets to decide what’s real in someone’s mind?

Toey Thai Baan was about self-identifying ladyboys – characters with wit and charm and passion, whom many would shun. One was naive in the face of financial abuse, desperately hoping to be loved by his “boyfriend” – someone solely taking advantage of him. In my reality, cruelty like that of the financial abuser doesn’t make any sense, yet in earth’s reality, many people think it does make sense because their selfishness and apathy wins.

In my reality, queerness is beautiful. Trans people are loved, drag queens are superstars, lesbians and bi women dance together. I touch and taste this reality in cities and dance floors and parades across the globe, and it’s tangible. That’s not everyone’s reality though, sadly – when I think about it, it didn’t even used to be mine. I was once an ignorant child who didn’t know herself well enough – didn’t have the language or courage to love queerly, loudly or proudly.

My reality changed for the better, and I live with a lot of hope that other realities will change too. Some say we look silly, holding onto hope as things fall apart – but hope holds my sanity in its hands, daily. And I let it, gratefully.

Things that once seemed impossible, exist. Things that sometimes feel impossible now, absolutely can exist.

When I watch a film about friendship – and their combined hope is stronger than the still-green trees – I understand that life is about so much more than what I can see and understand at present. And forgive me for returning to my love of words, because if you know me, you know that I so often do – but language is a huge part of that phenomenon. Look at what we can do with words, after all.

Words can take me back to memories born in Thailand. When I write travel journal entries, words allow me to bring others there too. Words can be translated so I understand parts of other cultures. Words make fictional universes that provide craved escapes.

Words can make us see cherry blossom trees. Words can give us hope. Because of words, you know that to me, those examples mean the same thing.

Sometimes hope is a film you easily might not have seen, a book you might not have read, a person you might not have spoken to.

Aren’t you glad you did?

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More from Thailand:

bakery postcards

The Whole Point