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After 8 years in Bangkok, my father will finally be returning home for good in September. I must have visited him at least 20 times, but it always astounds me to hear this secretive, reticient person speak Thai, let alone speak at all.

I went up with 2 friends, one old and one new, and we enjoyed ourselves adequately, despite the fact that clubbing was disappointing, food was mediocre, and prices have all gone up. It rained every day, and a thunderstorm prevented us from having drinks on the 60th storey rooftop of Vertigo on the final night.

We decided to stay in and watch HBO. Halfway through Strange Days I got up and let myself into the adjoining apartment where my father stayed. I found him sleeping on his bed still in trousers and shirt, and I was gripped by sadness for this man who has spent almost every weekend of the last 8 years shuttling between Bangkok and Singapore; weeks spent in this riverfront apartment alone.

Bangkok has come to lose its hospitality and charm. It has become almost like Singapore. To my father, these 2 cities have totally merged and become interchangeable - he wanders through both in an inarticulate daze, like a defence against madness. I'm glad he's finally coming home. Perhaps he will one day teach me to speak Thai. But knowing him, the language and the memories will be hidden behind a wall of silence. Knowing him, perhaps it will be best to simply forget.