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The aftermath of a 6 day chess tournament is never pretty. I was slumped in the seat, waiting

for the plane to take off. It was a 2 hour flight to Bangkok from Kuala Lumpur.

I had made the rather stupid decision to take two flights: one from Johor Bahru to Kuala Lumpur, then another from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok, what I didn’t realize was that Johor was right on the border of Singapore (which is a tiny island), so I could’ve just taken a car to Singapore’s international airport: Changi, then a flight from there to Bangkok – but I guess you learn from your mistakes.

This was my second flight of the day. Upon departing the hotel at 4:30AM, I missed my first flight (they had rescheduled it), and had to book a new one. After flying to Kuala Lumpur, I spent 3 hours in KLIA (Kuala Lumpur international airport), waiting for the last flight to Bangkok.

But finally, I was going home. 

A woman was sitting next to me, I had noticed that she was the mother of a family, they were split up, the father and the two daughters were sitting on the other side of the aisle, and the mother was stuck on the right side with me.

I had noticed the family before when boarding the plane as they spoke with distinct American accents - you tend to notice such things when you’re in any country that’s not the
United States.  

I took out my iPad and began going over variations in my favorite openings. The mother took notice:
“You play?” she asked in a friendly manner. I answered "yes," in my usual monotone voice.

“My daughter plays too” she said, gesturing towards her daughter sitting on the other side of
the aisle.

“Really?”

“Yes, she plays with me.”

Then I asked her whether her daughter had a FIDE rating.

“What’s that?”

“A World Chess Federation rating”

“No, she doesn’t, do you?”

“Yes”

“Hey Tina, he plays chess!”

The daughter’s head popped out from behind her sister and uttered an enthusiastic: “Really!?”

“Yeah, he’s ranked by the world chess federation!”

They then engaged in the usual familial rapport about whether to switch seats, there was some scuffling, but then before I knew it the daughter was sitting next to me.

“So you play chess?” she asked.

“Yeah, competitively” I said tiredly.

We ended up playing several games on the iPad. She was a beginner, so whenever she made a serious error I would let her take it back and suggest to her that she had a better move. During our last game I let her take back almost every move until the point where I was losing, so I stopped letting her take back moves after that.

After we stopped playing, she asked me: “Do you remember the first flight you took?”

Seeing as the current one was my seventeenth flight of the year, I was rather confused, “No, I must have been… one or something, how about you?”

“Yeah, this year!”

I was shocked, then asked how she got around before.

With a smile, “we…just drove.”

Then I asked her if she had ever been to any other countries. She said this was the first time she'd been out of the United States. She told me that in their layover in Japan, she was shocked by how the signs were in a different language.

They were from Fort Wayne, Indiana. Coincidentally, my American relatives were from Indiana as well, specifically North Manchester, which I later found out to be only 56 Kilometers or so from Fort Wayne.

We discussed many things - she was in her last year of high school, and had been accepted to Purdue University, where she would be studying biomedical engineering.

It was enlightening to see the differences in our lives: she spent her summers working at a “place where they make satellites,” and said that all the money that she made went back to her family to support her. In contrast, I spent my summers traveling to Europe and relaxing at home.

I asked her why her family was travelling to Asia all of a sudden, she said it was to visit her father’s relatives in Singapore.

“Why are you going to Thailand?”

“My mother used to live there, also my step sister lives in Pattaya”

I was even more amazed, since Pattaya was like my second home.

“You’ll… find it interesting” I said, not eager to tell her about the numerous Go-go bars and prostitutes that were characteristic of Pattaya.

As I was amazed that she’d never flown before, she was amazed that I’d never had a job.

“Things are different in Thailand” I told her, then went on to explain about how the pay was astronomically low and that the social stratum was vastly more defined than in the United States.

It was an enlightening conversation. I could not have expected meeting such a person on a flight between Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok.

As the landing gear began to come out, she asked her mother what the sound was.
As the cabin rumbled and shook as the wheels met the tarmac - she closed her eyes and appeared visibly anxious, a humorous contrast to me, who was still speaking with her casually.

As the seat belt sign switched off and we began to retrieve our bags from the overhead compartments, I asked her what her name was:

“Tina.”

“Matthew,” I said as I shook her hand. “If you ever want to play chess online, there’s a website called chess.com, you can get an account for free, my username is sco-ish.”

“What is it?”

“sco-ish, S, C, O, hyphen, I, S, H”

She nodded enthusiastically.

I last saw her on the walkway standing with her father and sister, waiting for the mother presumably. I waved at her: “Bye Tina.”

“Bye!” she said.

It wasn’t until many weeks later that I came to deeply regret not exchanging more details. In a world where it is so easy to connect with people, it was a mistake not to at least get an E-Mail or Facebook, or even a surname, and all she had from me was my chess.com username.

What are the chances I would end up sitting with her? Had her mother decided not to move, had I been smarter and booked a direct flight from Singapore to Bangkok, had I decided to book a different time or a different seat, had I decided not to play in that chess tournament in Malaysia, had my university not been one of the few ones to start winter break early (Nov 17), had she not played chess, had she not at that specific time been travelling out of the country for the first time in her life - seven chances to lead to this meeting. 

Maybe I’m just over-dramatizing things, I’ve always been a sucker for those melancholic moments in life.

But Tina, if you’re out there and see this, then perhaps we can meet again – here’s to those exceptionally rare moments in life when we meet such great people by pure chance.

P.S. I hope you get that chess.com account!

Year in Review

As the last hours of 2017 draw to a close, I feel an intense need to write down my final thoughts on the year before it ends forever. 

At the beginning of 2017, I wrote down a sticky note on my desktop computer, listing down 16 resolutions for it.
I won't post that here as most of them were not accomplished, but I imagine that is usually the case. 

But I can say that 2017 was the best year of my life, it really was a unique, special year for me, and for many reasons. 

I began 2017 as a gap year. After being rejected from all my universities in 2016 (after a lackluster High School career), I had reapplied to five of them (with another one included), and was in the same situation as I was in last year. 

But this was different of course, last year I was preoccupied with completing the International Baccalaureate program, this year I had a stupid amount of free time. 

I planned to play chess.

I had made a vow to myself at the beginning of 2017, that I would work on chess harder than I've ever worked on anything in my life, and that I would prove that hard work pays off - something which I'd never done during high school.

So I trained everyday. I worked on all three aspects of the game, the opening, the middle-game, and the endgame. I supplemented this with physical exercise, by running at the park every week. 

With so much free time, I could finally dedicate myself 100% to something which I was passionate about. In a way, it was like I was conducting an experiment on myself, an experiment to test my mental fortitude and to see how far I could go in something which I was fully committed to. 

In my first standard chess game tournaments of the year, I did not perform well. I lost rating points, and spoiled many winning positions. I lost the Thailand Junior Chess Championship by a hair string, and also butchered a winning position against a strong International Master from the Philippines. 

But these events, although painful, made me stronger. I took a different attitude towards chess, I did not place so much pressure on myself, and focused on identifying my weak points and analyzing my losses. 

The results came. I placed high in the rankings of the next few tournaments I played in, and defeated some strong players. I achieved third place in the qualification for the Asian Indoor Games Rapid portion, and in doing so, unwittingly qualified to train with the Thai national team, which was being coached by a strong Grandmaster (GM) from Armenia.

I didn't qualify to play for the national team (which I wouldn't have been able to play for anyways as the tournament would be during my university term) but qualified to be a 'reserve' player, which meant that I could train with the team, but just couldn't accompany them to Turkmenistan for the competition.

But it was more than enough. My experience training with the eminent Grandmaster proved to be invaluable to both my chess skills and my character. 

He emphasized the importance of physical exercise as a way to clear our minds of frustration, not only in chess, but also in life. At the end of each day of training we would go for a run, followed by some push ups and planks.
He also taught me the importance of happiness, and that we must pursue what makes us happy or else there is no point (cliched I know, but for a reason). It was also amazing to see someone who was so accomplished with such a humble attitude, and if someone met him they would think that he was a healthy, carefree individual with a positive outlook on life, and not one of the best chess players on earth. 

In training with him, I crossed the 2000 rating barrier in chess, something which I had never done before. 

But you've probably already stopped reading, so let me wrap it up.

In 2017 I:

1. Made the most money I had ever made (only through chess)
2. Achieved an all time high FIDE (World Chess Federation) rating
3. Entered the top 10 of Thailand (for chess) for the first time in my life
4. Got to train with a world class chess Grandmaster for 3 months
5. Defeated the highest rated chess player who I've beaten. 
5. Traveled to 5 countries in 3 different continents. 
6. Flew 19 times
7. Got into a University! 
8. Started a film blog
9. Read 4 books (not counting chess and Uni books)
10. Learnt how to drive
11. Affirmed to myself my grit and ability to work hard, as well as empirically confirmed that hard work pays off (and in the best way possible in my case)

And the beautiful thing is that I never expected anything like this. I just started the year off with a simple motto - that I would work like I'd never worked before. Through my experiences this year, I've achieved a level of confidence and self belief that I've never had in my life, and most importantly, I am fulfilled, and in retrospect, am euphoric over what an eventful gap year I've had.

Thank you to my family and friends for making this a great one.

I look forward to 2018.

- Matt, Bangkok

Winter Break

I am currently sitting at the Miyakori Coffee shop on the 5th floor of Johor Bahru City Square, having just finished playing the final round of the Johor International Open Chess tournament. I did OK, I scored 5/9 against a majority rated over 2200 opposition. Having not seriously practiced any chess for nearly 4 months, I think that’s pretty decent. 

It was a little jarring, at the beginning of the tournament I was concerned with minimizing my rating damage, but it turns out that by the end of my tournament tour I gained a net total of 4 rating points. 

One shouldn’t care about the rating anyways, but I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t satisfying to see that plus.

There were the usual signs of rust - visualizing positions incorrectly, forgetting opening lines, and blundering pieces (this happened to me twice against low rated players). But I am glad to say that I overcame this with strong performances when they were needed, the necessary mental resolve, and a newfound confidence - thanks to the invaluable experience which I gained from training with Grandmaster Avetik Grigoryan.

I did lie a little when I said that I wouldn’t care if I lost to someone born in 2000 something - since I did, and it did not feel good, but there’s a silver lining to everything, since I performed well by the end of the tournament. 

So now comes Christmas, and the chance to pass my driving test, be with my family, and to watch Star Wars!

I fly back to Savannah, Georgia on the 5th of January 2018. I look forward to meeting new people, living my second existence as a college filmmaker, and running forward on the moving walkway that is life. 

Back (Always) in the Grind

SCAD's (The Savannah College of Art & Design) winter break began Nov 17, that's incredibly fast for a university to begin its winter break. 

It was a long time to get here, a 4 hour bus ride to Atlanta, followed by a 14 hour flight over the polar ice caps to Incheon, then a 5 hr flight to Bangkok.

So here I am.

With the Thailand Team Championship starting tomorrow. 

I won't lie, I'm a little bit scared, since I haven't really practiced for over 4 months.

Going to an arts school and playing chess is a little strange, since they are such distinct activities. 

At SCAD, I was concerned with whether my drawing had a realistic qualities and whether I had used the MLA citation format properly. 

Now, my priorities are fixing the holes in my black repertoire vs 1.d4.

I will admit, my interest in the game waned somewhat. The weekly meetings at the local Savannah chess club (which I am eternally grateful for) were great to maintain my OTB (over the board) strength, but still, playing 5 minute blitz can't compare to playing competitively in rated tournaments.

But I shouldn't be scared. I should be excited, excited for the fact that I will get to indulge in a mentally stimulating, unprecedentedly complex board game.
No, my ego has been destroyed and rebuilt too many times for me to worry about losing to somebody born in 2000-something, there are bigger things in life to worry about.

I initially saw this return to the game as going 'back to the grind', but then I thought, aren't we always in the grind? 

Once we realize that, we can be free from the programming of 'working' and 'relaxing'. 

There is no such thing.

Life is a perpetual grind. 

Lets go. 

8 Answers for the Liebster Award (for Wordpress)

1. Do you believe in ghosts?
No, but I wouldn't spend a single night in the Amityville house.

2. What is your least favourite colour?
If I had to pick I'd say Brown

3. Describe where you’d be in 10 years.
Creating something that I am passionate about

4. How important is exercise to you?
Very, I always feel horrible when I don't get enough of it.

5. What is your relationship with food?
Love it, when it's consumed in a a reasonable matter of course

6. What is your preferred social media platform?
YouTube (does that count?)

7. Why do you blog?
To practice my writing/grammatical skills, and to develop my own voice.

8. What motivates you to get up everyday?
It's the hunger, the hunger for the interminable possibilities of life, and the refusal to accept a vapid existence

The Bartender

The air is thick with the scent of cigarettes. He is no stranger to it, it is a typical aroma in this town.

The pianist on the small platform at the end of the room plays a slow, rhythmic piece. His notes are punctuated by the laughter of a group of businessmen huddled in the corner, cracking jokes amongst each other as they take lengthy puffs from their Embassy Filters.  

He rubs the surface of the oak bar with a linen cloth, wiping away the random drops of liquor leftover from the glasses of earlier clients. Over a white shirt he wears a black vest and a red tie, his hair is slicked back, and his composure is firm.  

Two old timers sit at opposite ends of the bar. One of them gets up and leaves a crumpled dollar bill, glass nearly empty.

 

He takes the bill and empties the left-over gin, then proceeds to wipe the glass clean with a linen cloth.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a figure approaching the bar. He turns to see a woman wearing a dark business suit. Her eyes are rimmed with stress. 

“What will it be?” He asks her as he rubs the glass dry. 

“Make it a screwdriver” she says as she takes a seat at the bar. 

He nods and places the now dry glass back onto the shelf. 

He grabs a new, narrow one, and fills it two thirds of the way up with ice cubes. He adds an ounce of Smirnoff and tops it off with a flush of fresh orange juice.  He stirs it healthily, then places it on a thin plate and brings it over to her.

“Enjoy," he says. 

“Thank you.” 

She stirs it a little bit more and takes a small sip, then lets out a soft sigh.

She continues to take minute sips from the glass, then pulls out a cigarette and searches for her lighter. 

“Ma’am?” He asks her as he slides one out from his breast pocket.

“Thanks.”

As he leans over to flick on the flame, he notices that she has on a thin layer of lipstick with a pair of round, dark earrings. There is a string of grey amidst her hair.

“Long day?” he asks as he pulls back. 

She smiles a little as she takes a lengthy drag from her filter. 

“You get used to it,” a small pause, “and you?”

 Her voice is tired but undeniably firm, it carries the ring of one which has been honed through countless hours of sycophantic corporate interactions.

He picks up a dry glass to wipe it. “The usual, a little quiet this time of the year.”

She nods, then turns to face the pianist, who has moved on to Gershwin’s Embraceable You. 

Her eyes reflect the pensive notes that begin to play out. One arm rests on the oak bar, and the other hangs off the edge of her chair. She lets the cigarette dangle between her fingers, he notices a diamond ring.

Maniacal laughter erupts from the corner; he turns to see the businessmen doubled over, banging on the table as their gaping mouths inhale the thick smoke of their cigarettes. 

They fade out of focus as he sees her head lean forward ever so slightly, as if drawn in by the music. 

Her shoulders loosen up, her eyes slowly slide shut.

The dim, warm light gives her contemplative face a statuesque touch. 

Amidst the stench of processed tobacco, he notices something – 

a sweet smell, like a luscious vapor which has sliced through the smoke. 

He follows the scent until it rests, undeniably, on her.

He puts the dry glass back into its place.

He hesitates for a second.

Then, as if forced by an invisible hand, he places his fist firmly on the polished, oak bar.

His vest stretches slightly as he leans forward towards her.

He closes his eyes and breathes in.

It is honey with a tinge of cinnamon, topped off with a trace of melted vanilla. It carries a warmth to it, like a fire being kindled in a cozy cabin in the snowy wilderness.

The sounds of the bar have faded away, the darkness is punctuated by a sole stream of light on the two of them.

As the scent flows through him, he sees a house in the countryside, far from the polluted tendrils of the city. 

He sees children running in the wheat fields as the setting sun floods the sky with a dazzling orange.

He sees smiling.

He sees a beaut—

He hears clapping.

He opens his eyes.

His vest loosens as he takes his clenched fist off the polished oak.

The darkness disappears, and the sounds of the bar fade back in.

The pianist plays out the last remaining notes of his piece, then whispers: "thank you," to the businessmen who are clapping their hands as they nod with approval.

He picks up the dry glass to continue wiping it. 

Her eyes slowly open as she raises her head to take one final puff from her cigarette, then she turns to face him. 

The ends of her lips go up lightly in an affable fashion, it is almost a smile. He returns the favor.

He watches her as she exits the hotel. As she disappears through the revolving doors, he picks up the linen cloth, wets it ever so slightly under the sink, then proceeds to wipe down the oak bar.

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