Work Work

Another day at the shop. I did not put on makeup today. I did not do my hair. I just tied it up, threw on my black top, and opened the doors. Some days are like that. Not every day is a photo shoot. Most days are just work.

I run a small place here in Chiang Rai. It is not glamorous. There are clothes hanging everywhere and plants that I keep meaning to water more often. But it is mine. I built it myself and that means something to me. Nobody handed me anything.

The north of Thailand is different from Bangkok. It is slower. People know each other. The mountains are always there in the background, and the air is cooler, especially in the mornings. I came here years ago and I never left. The city was too much for me. Too fast, too loud, too many people who do not see you.

Here people see me. The woman at the noodle cart next door calls me Phicha and brings me food when I forget to eat. The old man who gets his shirts pressed every Tuesday asks about my day. It is small, but it is real.

I took a photo at work today because someone asked me to. I was not dressed up. I was just being myself. I think that is the version of me I like the most anyway.