The Accountant (2016)

I recall sitting at a restaurant in a mall, slurping up a bowl of noodles. One hand holding chopsticks, the other my IPhone. It was a Tuesday night, and the place was almost empty as I remember it. I was scrolling through Facebook, as you do, thinking about what I was going to do the next day. I put down the phone to finish the bowl, but then felt a change in the atmosphere. The mall was nearly empty, which made it quiet – but it was as if it had gotten even quieter. I thought I heard a slight sniffle, I heard some muttering from the restaurant workers.

As I dreaded the worst, I pulled up my phone again, opened up Facebook, and saw a live stream of hundreds, if not thousands, of people; crying and mourning in front of the hospital where our King had been the past few years. I read the text above the livestream which proclaimed that the King of Thailand had died. 

Surreal, the first word that comes to mind. To experience an end on an era like this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity. After paying the bill, I walked outside to see a sea of commuters flowing towards the subway entrance, every single one of them with their heads down and their eyes glued to their phones. Standing on top of the steps and seeing a sea of strangers most likely watching the same livestream as me felt like witnessing history. I gave myself a moment to feel the night wind against my skin, because I knew that a day like this would probably never come again in my life. The air was thick with sorrow; I could feel it, the calamity was almost tangible.

Two days later, I went to the cinema with my father. We entered the mall dressed in black, I was wearing a polo shirt and long pants. Very soon after the king’s passing, the government announced that everyone would have to wear somber colors in the coming days, weeks, and months. In other countries this might be frowned upon, but in Thailand this is perfectly normal. Before watching the film, we walked around the department store. Already they were capitalizing on the recent tragedy. We passed piles of black shirts, skirts, and all other manner of clothing, all attached with significant discounts — it was almost comical. The mall was nearly empty, it seemed no one was in the mood for shopping now, except for dark clothing of course.

As we walked to the theater; I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Here we were, enjoying ourselves after an undoubtedly monumental tragedy. But at least I knew that we could pay respects with the customary anthem before the movie. I saw a young couple who also looked rather remorseful, as if they were committing some kind of embarrassing crime. The cinema also had most of its lights turned off in light of the tragedy, which made it even worse. It was as if they were mocking us, telling us that we were indulging in our hedonistic pleasures despite the tragic stand still that the country was currently undergoing.

We entered the cinema and took our seats. Like the mall, it too was nearly empty, except for us and some other sorry people. The usual previews and advertisements began. I was looking forward to the film, but it seemed like the biggest emotional impact would instead be from what was going to undeniably come before it. Soon enough, the cue card faded onto the screen, telling us to stand up and pay respects to the king; something which I had been seeing for as long as I could remember. I could feel my body shaking as I stood up from the seat. My heart rate increased, I didn’t want it to, but couldn’t help it. The anthem started playing, and the usual animated slideshow depicting his achievements began. Usually I considered this part of the cinema going experience a chore. Something I wasn’t so keen on (who is after they’ve settled into their cushioned seats?) but still did out of respect of course. But now, seeing the pictures of him, with the anthem which I’d heard countless times playing in front of me, I couldn’t help but a feel an immense sense of pride.

In my eighteen years of living on this earth, I had not grasped the true magnitude of his impact on our country until that moment in the cinema, the day after his death. It was only when he was gone that I realized the extent of his legacy. I could feel the tears welling up inside of me, an immense pressure pushing against my face. I held them back, not wanting to embarrass myself. I stood as straight as I could, not wanting to disappoint. Now more than ever, I felt a profound sense of patriotism and obligation, to what or whom I don’t know; but the feeling was undeniable. King Rama 9 was someone who had reigned for 70 years and had contributed his life to his country. Someone who was undeniably great, in every sense of the word. My eyes focused, and my expression was solemn and steadfast, I would’ve saluted if I could.  As the chorus and orchestra swelled I felt my entire body react, as if a deep warm fire had been started within me. My chest weighed heavy and my eyes watered slightly as I struggled to hold back the tide of my emotions.  
Then suddenly, it was over; and the screen dimmed to black as the voices of the chorus faded away. We slumped back into our seats, silent. I certainly wasn’t ready for the film, which I had completely forgot about.

The anthem had not only nearly brought me to tears, but had also served as a catalyst for a sense of patriotism which I had never felt before in my life. It was a truly unique event, surreal in the sense that something that used to be so mundane had turned into a cathartic, sublime, and profound experience. Because it not only acted as a reminder of his monumental achievements, but also signified the end of an era. A historical event, a remarkable experience.

That would indeed, be the last time that I saw an anthem commemorating King Rama 9 in the cinema. I went overseas for two months, then found on my return to the cinema in Thailand, that the visuals had been changed to commemorate King Rama 9’s successor, King Rama 10. A sign that despite his death, life goes on, and as a new dawn arrives, the country must remain resolute.

Long Live the King.

Matt, Bangkok