Reflections

Family, the dearly departed, and two years on from the beginnings of Creed Speech.

The month of April is always difficult for my family and I, as it marks the anniversaries of the deaths of both my Mother and Grandfather - a year apart, now almost twenty years ago. The decade that followed their deaths found me excessively binge drinking and drug addled in the city that never sleeps - Bangkok - whilst somehow functioning to hold down full-time employment along the way.

I can’t remember who said this to me after my Mother’s death, but someone said “you will never get over it, but in time, you will get used to it, and it will hurt less.” I thought that was brutal at the time. Now I understand.

It is very difficult to put a brave face on to try and celebrate how someone lived, rather than become consumed with how they died and why they were taken too soon. The aftermath of a close-family member bereavement in England, is characterised by annual phone calls on the anniversary of the death, or looking through old photo albums together with those of us still in the land of the living. If and when the stars rarely align, we may visit the gravestones of our loved ones together as a family, and lay down a wreathe of flowers in remembrance and respect.

I recently found myself traveling to Chantaburi with my wife, to join my Thai family for their annual remembrance of all of their dearly departed. It was a remarkable thing to behold, and very touching for me to even be invited along to witness such a loving and joyous day. Their (now mine too) huge family all coming together, to remember their dead. The farthest family member back who was remembered, was my wife’s great great grandfather. The first temple we visited had a beautiful, green foliage filled, tree-shaded burial plot. The ashes of the departed are sealed inside small pagoda-like structures, sometimes with both names and photos imprinted upon the marble, for all the family members laid to rest.

Gold paper flakes were arranged in a mosaic pattern by my wife and her cousins. Various Thai dishes, from whole cooked duck, to seafood, chicken, and rice, were all covered up and laid upon the ground at the foot of the headstone. The elders of the family then passed around lit incense sticks to each of us, which we held out in our hands, pressed together by our fingertips in a ‘wai’ position. The elders said a few words of remembrance, Buddhist chanting and asked for blessings for the family.

Then my wife’s father set up a camera tripod and we had a group photo (approximately 30 people), with everyone smiling and laughing, followed by a short video where we were asked to wave. I found it both hilarious and emotional. It was beautiful how upbeat everybody was; how much love could be felt amongst them all.

They made me feel a part of it. Not once did I feel like an outsider - being a foreigner - at such an auspicious family occasion. It also gave me pause for reflection and contemplation on how somber the aftermath of remembering the dead can be in England.

I had ironed long black trousers and a black shirt the previous morning in preparation, when my wife burst out laughing and said “come on it’s hot season, it is 40 degrees, you don’t need to wear that. Just wear shorts and a t-shirt.” And so I did. And so did everybody else! The women dress a little more conservatively, covering up their legs and arms - the men have it easy by comparison.

After we had paid our respects at the first temple, all of the food was gathered up and put back in our convoy of vehicles, before we headed to the next temple - to remember another great grandfather on the Chinese side of my wife’s family. Whilst also centered on Buddhism, the burial plot was different - a huge mound of earth, with the coffin buried beneath. The remembrance rituals are slightly different. Tens of colourful ribbons were laid atop the mound of earth, by the children of the family, as well as a liberal sprinkling of multi-coloured glittery paper flakes. The monks from the temple would later clear away all of this, after we had left - so I was told.

The food from before was once again laid on the ground beside the headstone next to the earth mound, ensuing a similar repeat of the incense sticks and the chanting, before more group photos were taken. We all retired to a shaded spot beside the temple, and the food was shared out and eaten, along with our new friends - the stray temple dogs, who came one-by-one for scraps.

It is amazing to me, that the entire family all make this trip, from all corners of Thailand, to be together to commemorate their dead, on the same day, each and every year. I find this to be truly wonderful.

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In the afternoon, we were invited to the farm belonging to my wife’s Aunts and Uncles. I had never traveled to such a rural part of Chantaburi before, far away from the city. It was so peaceful, quiet, and idyllic. The winding roads held stunning views on either side of green foothills, and dense forest as far as the eye can see. As we drove into the village, my wife had to very careful, maneuvering around sleeping dogs in the middle of the road, chickens sprinting out of their coops, as well as small children playing in the middle of it all.

We arrived at the farm during the hottest part of the day. Scorching heat, blazing sun, and baking heat. Our car crawled up the graveled driveway to the farm, passing by a small stream running below, parallel to the farmhouse. We were greeted by a very friendly golden retriever, and a beast of a Pitbull (he was actually tame and friendly too). To much hilarity, family members eagerly clamoured to choose their vehicle of choice for the picnic and farm tour. There were several dirt-bikes, old and beaten up with wear and tear. I piled into one of the cousin’s pick-up trucks, and we made our way down to the riverbank. A quaint, secluded picnic spot, with lots of natural shade. A small stone table and bench setup was to be our home for the next few hours.

Before the picnic kicked off, my father in law asked me to help with rebuilding the makeshift dam in the river below. Together with a couple of the teenaged cousins, the men descended the sharp dirt path drop between an entanglement of weeds and bracken, down, down to the water’s edge. We slowly, timidly, traversed the riverbed barefoot, to find larger rocks to place on the existing line of stones across the water, constructing the small dam. Leaving a gap in the centre of about 2 meters, my father in law explained that this dam will help to slow the flow of the water during the upcoming monsoon season, which would otherwise be quite destructive as the water level rises much higher, and flows at a furious pace during the heavy rains.

Content with our handiwork, we slid and stumbled our way back up the hilled embankment to rejoin the family group for a bountiful picnic. Everything was fresh -either from their fruit farm, their neighbour’s, or a local market. My favourite fruit is called ‘som-o’ in Thai (‘pomelo’ in English). It’s a bit like grapefruit, but sweet rather than bitter. My Thai family seem to enjoy feeding me as much as I like being fed! They always appear amazed at how much food I can put away, before someone jokingly interjects with a Thai expression that translates to “if you eat a lot, you will grow up very fast.”

Pomelo ‘som O’ fruit - comes in yellow or red. I think red is more delicious.

Once I was beginning to enter a quiet food-coma, the Aunties all got excited suggesting I try to ride one of the old motorbikes. Cue lots of whooping and laughing as I stalled the damned thing a hundred times, having not rode a manual-geared bike in about ten years. When I finally cracked it, my wife hopped on the back and we took a clunky, jerky motorbike ride up the mountainous road to see an impressive white temple, with giant buddha statues, golden lion gargoyles, and a lovely small botanical garden.

We wrapped up the afternoon with a tour of the fruit farm on the motorbikes. Plentiful Durian fruit hanging off trees by the kilogram, and a bit of fresh Chili hand-picking from their herb garden. Lovely.

What a weekend. How lucky I am.

The dam was behind the cameraman.

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When I wrote to mark the one year anniversary of this Substack in April 2023, I explained how this started as an outlet to keep me sane, and has now grown to be a hobby. After quitting my full time job in 2021, due to Covidian insanity and company fanaticism about the bioweapon injection, writing about all the different intersecting narratives consumed me. It almost bankrupted me too, as I burned through savings. Thankfully, my venture into freelance security consultancy has just about kept me ticking over since 2022. Barely.

This stack is about maximum reach. Which is why all content remains free for all readers, with nothing put behind a paywall, and nothing locked in archive. I understand why writers do have paywalls and paid content, because they want to make a living out of this. There are some excellent researchers and writers out there, exposing the lies and deceit in the world, to great effect. Power to them.

I turned on paid subscriptions in April 2023, and was overwhelmed by the positive response. Unfortunately, there was a strange problem with actually signing up to go paid. This was before Substack notes, so I couldn’t tag the support team. I found Substack support team email addresses and opened up a ticket to no avail with zero response. I asked Stripe - the payment processor, what the issue was and they said it was not their end, so must have been a Substack issue. After almost a month of trying to remedy this, and many kind readers commenting that they had tried again and again to go paid, I found a way to re-do the dreaded ‘KYC’ (know-your-customer) to ‘get verified’, by disabling the paid option and doing it again from scratch. The first time around, I had used my Thailand address and bank account with my UK passport. Maybe that’s why it got flagged and did not work. After I changed to use my UK correspondence address, UK bank account, and passport, it finally worked…

Although all of the people who had either tried to sign up to go paid, or made a pledge, vanished / got deleted from the pending paid subs.

I am delighted to have gotten my first few paid subscribers this year, along with generous crypto donations and virtual coffees bought- thank you thank you thank you!

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I used to get a great deal of anxiety whenever I posted something here in the early days. I would dwell on the whole point of it all. Whether I was just screaming into the void. Was I alone in not being perfectly adjusted to a sick society? Was I crazy for being sane in an insane world? Doubt. Despair. Second guessing myself. I thought about deleting this whole Substack many times.

Then slowly, from more subs, insightful comments from thoughtful and intelligent readers, and from finding other great writers, I started to dare to believe that I was not crazy. The journey from conspiracy theorist to conspiracy realist.

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As the world turns, the perpetrators of the global democide will burn.

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I will continue to write and to try and make sense of this mad world. I hope that you, dear reader, will continue to join me on this journey. There will be dark times ahead, yet there will also be light. It depends on where you want to look, and where your head and heart is at during any given moment. We will surely witness more atrocities, followed by greater revelations about the way our world works, leading to expanded human consciousness and a higher level of understanding. We will see faster moral decay throughout society.

We can also find goodness, good deeds, and people who have not yet given up on humanity.

Remember where to look.

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Nicholas Creed is a Bangkok based writer. All content is free for all readers, with nothing locked in archive that requires a paid subscription. Any support is greatly appreciated.

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