Chapter Text
2021
The Thai swimming team shuffled onto the plane like a school group at the end of a great summer camp, tired but happy. Their efforts in Hanoi had been successful; they'd taken out 21 medals in the pool and placed third overall, and now they were heading home. Most of the athletes were keen to get a few hours’ sleep before they arrived to a big noisy welcome at Suvarnabhumi Airport, so they settled in quickly with headphones and lap rugs to get some shut-eye.
Making his way through the cabin, NuNew paused at Jenjira’s seat to give her upper arm a squeeze. She'd taken the gold medal in women's 50m freestyle - the same as his own specialty. “Well done”, he said with a small smile before he quickly moved on to his seat. Jenjira winced as she watched his retreating back.
At his seat, Yim, the team physio and his best friend, grabbed his bag from him and stowed it in the overhead locker, then they both sat down. NuNew twisted in his seat to retrieve his seatbelt, letting out a quiet yelp and jerking backwards as pain shot through his shoulder again.
“Here, let me…” Yim murmured, reaching across to fasten the seatbelt for him. NuNew grimaced, carefully repositioning his arm in the nylon sling. He didn't want the team to know how bad it was. Not right now, when they were in high spirits and deserved to enjoy the payoff of their hard work.
But it was. Bad.
Like, career ending bad.
He'd been working towards gold at the 31st SEA Games since he was 14, and had good chances of winning medals in both the 50 and 100m freestyle. But it ended in disaster in the 100m qualifying round when he felt a tear and a searing pain rip through his shoulder. Emergency doctors confirmed what he already knew and dreaded; it was his rotator cuff again.
This was the third time he'd had a left rotator cuff injury. It was a common problem for swimmers. Recovery was tough and long, and despite some good wins throughout his career, he'd already missed a few major competitions because of this. A third injury meant a chronic problem, an ongoing vulnerability, and a risk to his future quality of life if he were to keep swimming competitively. He closed his eyes against the pain, feeling sick.
Yim reached over and placed his hand over NuNew's right wrist, giving it a small squeeze. “You ok? Need some more medicine?”
NuNew winced and nodded at him. Yim checked his watch to confirm that another dose was due, then quickly snapped some pills out of his pouch, noting the dose down in his phone.
NuNew swallowed the pills and leaned his head back against the headrest, looking sidelong at Yim. “Khop khun, krub” he said quietly, then closed his eyes, shutting everything out. He knew Yim wanted to comfort him, but he didn't want to talk anymore. The two of them and Max, the team coach, had done all of the talking last night after they'd heard back from the specialist.
There wasn't much more to say.
NuNew would again go into many months of rehabilitation, but this time he wouldn't be putting the team uniform back on.
There would be no more competing.
Who was he without swimming? The prospect threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady, but his thoughts kept falling back into the same shitty loop:
All those years of 4am starts… What was it all for?...
What now?.... Apart from a whole lot of painful physio again.
He grimaced, wanting to cry, wanting to shout and punch something, but instead he sat stiffly in his seat, trying not to combust. Trying not to spiral.
Around him, the cabin settled into slumber but NuNew couldn't sleep. Last night had been the same too, and he felt foggy and agitated.
Hoping for a distraction, he carefully reached for the in-flight magazine, being mindful not to wake Yim who was dozing beside him. He flipped the pages awkwardly over his sling, seeing the same old stuff; ads for high-end jewellers, pricey temple tours and Phuket packages aimed at foreign tourists.
He was just about to close it and put it back when a headline caught his eye:
LOSS - An integral part of the human experience.
The article highlighted an upcoming exhibition at an art gallery in Dusit, which centred around Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’ theory on the stages of grieving, something NuNew vaguely recalled learning about in high school. The artworks in the exhibition represented these stages. He paused at one depicting Anger: a charcoal drawing of a man, head thrown back, neck tense, yelling at the sky. His eyes and facial features were obscured by smoke, like that of a hundred cheap-quality candles, pointing straight up as though his thoughts and very being were consumed by his anger. It hit too close to home at the moment, and NuNew quickly turned the page before his own anger could grow any further.
He refocused on the new page before him. A black and white photograph representing Loneliness. In it, a man stood gazing at a framed photograph on the wall, of a woman in a mini dress, open kaftan and cowboy boots, laughing and kicking up dirt against a desert sky. It’s full of life, and the contrast is striking between that picture and the man who is observing her. He stands with his back to the camera, in a wrinkled white tank top. His head is turned slightly towards the picture, his long eyelashes silhouetted against the wall behind him. Just visible, the track of a tear drying on his cheek. He's beautiful and broken.
NuNew felt himself gasp at the beauty and the heartache inside the picture. He leaned forward and read the small caption.
‘Artist Zee Pruk Panich’s autobiographical work ‘Desert’ depicts the loneliness of losing someone who has been an integral part of his life. Panich’s wife Sylvie Waraha Panich, herself a renowned ceramic artist, succumbed to motor neurone disease in 2019 after a difficult battle. This is Panich’s first exhibited work since his wife's passing.’
NuNew leaned back, tracing the tear track with his thumb. Something about this picture pulled him out of his own situation and into, what was it …compassion? …yearning?
He thought about what it would be like to have a love like this… and to lose a love like this.
With his heart heavy for this man and his thumb still on the photograph, NuNew finally fell asleep.