Blast from the Past

I had a bit of business in the town where Jip and I met way back when. It wasn’t urgent, but I enjoy any excuse to revisit the Cambodian border. I phoned a guy I’ve talked to maybe three times in the last 20 years, just to see if he wanted to make a day trip with me. He also worked there then, and I know he shares my nostalgic tendencies.

Before I could even voice my invitation, he said, “Dude, how you getting to the reunion this afternoon? You’re welcome to drive along with us.” Reunion?

Turned out that the former chief of the UN unit that oversaw the refugee camps was briefly back in Bangkok, and for only the second time ever, a get-together of old border hands had hastily been planned. Word hadn’t reached me, but the gods must have meant me to attend, considering the coincidence.

Although not many faces were familiar, striking up conversations was easy. The degrees of separation among people associated with the UN Border Relief Operation, as it was known, are generally three or less. Names and acronyms and exaggerations flowed freely.

We used to joke with each other in those days that we were “ruined for life.” In other words, having been touched by the refugees and their stories, we couldn’t look at our own lives and countries the same way again. We meant the phrase as a positive thing.

Indeed, nearly everyone I spoke with at the reunion had sought further ways to ruin themselves. Among the non-Thai at the event, many had continued to live and work in SE Asia after the camps closed, rather than return to Europe or the States or wherever. It seemed that none of us were strangers, even if we’d never met before.