This will be the most sentimental piece I have ever written.
Big cities always carry a distinct narrative that serves both romance and melancholy at once. Considering that I walk past hundreds of people daily — thousands on some days — why is the idea of isolation, of loneliness, of whatever word we use to describe the disconnection between one another, still so profound?
Especially on the matter of romantic relationships.
When it comes to love, I am far from the best person to speak intelligently about it. I do not even know what that would mean. But something that happened three days ago might have brought me closer to the layers of meaning behind the term.
A rainy Thursday evening in Bangkok. Traffic jammed, as ever. A street called Song Wat — which is really a thing here right now, for tourists and locals both: the old-world neighbourhood, the cultural heritage, and the recent pop of cafés, restaurants, and creative spaces. A new area to explore.
The occasion was the grand opening of a new brand by a well-known friend, who had invited me.
It was fascinating. Very unusual, and distinct from the events I am familiar with — most of mine are menswear, design, classic-culture circles. To be exposed to a contemporary, more fashion-forward scene was a genuine shift.
I still kept my own register, of course. My obsession with tailoring, in the form of a Polo Ralph Lauren double-breasted blazer as a layering piece — though this time over a white T-shirt and white jeans, with Cuban-heel boots instead of the conventional preppy lookbook.
There were many interesting people there. People I would rarely have the context to speak with. I met plenty.
But no one compared to a young woman — very bright, very attentive — who walked the length of the store with her iPad. Clearly working the event in some capacity.
I saw her sit down for the first time in the inner part of the store, and had the chance to open with:
“Love your style. Very working-woman vibe.”
She laughed.
Teased me about the line for a while. And the rest of that half hour was a continuous exchange of respect, of ease, of stories from both sides.
Then reality arrived, in the form of a glance at my watch and the knowledge that I had to get back to editing a film.
As you may guess — it felt too bad to end the encounter like that. So I asked for her Instagram. Followed her. She followed back. Everything perfect on paper.
Until that night, after the work was done, when I found out that she was already with someone.
And once again, the city gave me its usual response:
“Patrick. This is Bangkok. What did you expect?”
This is more times than I can count now. A very strong connection at the first encounter, in real life — and a reality harsh enough that it could not care less how perfect the moment was.
Which is understandable. Timing rarely arranges itself for anyone’s convenience, and the people worth wanting are, almost by definition, already wanted.
That is the reality of it in 2026, I suppose.
The thing is — no matter how well your life is going, there remains something you cannot control.
What happened three days ago is one good example.
And what did I do afterwards?
I returned to the medium called cinema. Considering that cinema is a way of understanding the worldview someone else holds on the same subject — the writer’s, the director’s — and how they want you to experience it.
But this time it was not the nostalgic fantasy of old Hollywood. Nor an existential piece from a European auteur of the 1960s.
Something contemporary. And surprisingly, the messages there made me accept the harsh truth of it better than any of the old canon would have.
First, the film Roger Ebert described as “sweet, funny, and observant” — Swingers (1996). Which reminded me that all the gloom comes from the inside. That it comes from your own mind, and does not necessarily mean you are what your mind says you are.
Then Past Lives (2023), which I consider very faithful to Celine Song. And which arrived with a simpler and heavier idea: “Timing is crucial to a relationship. And it is unbearable that you cannot control it.”
Watching both, in a single day, after finding out the unpleasant reality — it gave me a kind of clarity.
Not in a hopeful romantic way. Not in a pessimistic one either.
Just a reminder of the reality of life, and of the nature of a big city. That it is normal to be hit by the timing factor. That it hurts a little when you find a rare individual you want to know more about, and find them unavailable, and have to shut off any further interaction.
And that it is also fine to feel it. And to continue doing it anyway.
Because that is part of being human, is it not?
The evidence that one still has the thing called a heart. And the feelings that come with it.