I Left the Beach the Night Before the Tsunami. For Work. (Part 1)

A Korean ex-soldier, a latex shop in Thailand, and the thin line between ordinary days and disaster.

On December 26, 2004, a 9.1 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Sumatra triggered a tsunami that killed hundreds of thousands of people. I was 26 years old, working at a latex shop in Phuket, Thailand. I had left the beach the night before. For work.

After the Military For a while after my discharge from the army, there was nothing. I thought taking off the uniform would change things, but the only difference was no morning roll call. I had nothing to do. Nowhere to go. I hated it in the army, but without it, the days were strangely long. A month passed like that. Then my father called. “My friend’s son is running a business in Thailand. He needs people. Want to go?” Thailand. A country in the middle of a peninsula in Southeast Asia on the map. That was all I knew. “How old is he?” “Same as you.” Same age. Anyway, same age. “What kind of business?” “Latex.” Latex. Pillows, mattresses, things like that. Selling to tourists, he said. I said I’d go that evening. The reason wasn’t grand. I just needed a place to be. I needed money too. I didn’t even know exactly where Thailand was, but I figured there would be something if I went. If I learned anything in the army, it was that. Just go, and you’ll figure it out.

Phuket Spring 2004. I landed in Phuket. As soon as the plane door opened, the air changed. Hot, damp, mixed with a sweet smell. A smell I had never encountered in Korea. I couldn’t tell if it was flowers, fruit, or something rotting. It was just the smell of Thailand. Sweat broke out as soon as I stepped out of the airport. It was spring, but it was 35 degrees Celsius (95°F). The boss came to pick me up. Father’s friend’s son. My age. A bit shorter than me, face dark — either tanned or naturally so. We shook hands. “You here?” “I’m here.” That was the first greeting. Driving back, the boss explained. The shop’s name was KP Latex. A specialty shop inserted into tourist routes. Tour buses stop, passengers get off, look around, and buy. Main customers were honeymooners. “What are we selling?” “Baby pillows, mattresses, and 15-centimeter latex beds.” “15 centimeters?” “That’s the most expensive. Sell one of those, and your commission jumps.” The profit structure was simple. Sell and eat, or fail and starve. I didn’t think it was bad. After moving only on orders by rank in the military, getting paid exactly for what I did felt clean.

Peter On my first day, the staff looked me up and down. Thai staff. Two men, three women. They all looked older than me. They already knew I was the new Korean guy. One of them said something to me in Thai. The boss translated. “Asking your name.” “Yuna.” When the boss translated, they murmured among themselves. Then one smirked and said something else. The boss held back a laugh and translated. “They say Peter.” “Peter?” “In Thai, cockroach.” I paused. “Why?” “Your name, Yuna, sounds similar to cockroach in Thai.” The staff laughed. I laughed too. What could I say? I became a cockroach on my first day. From that day on, my name in the shop was Peter. Jerks.

Ying Ying In a corner of the shop was a small desk. The accountant’s seat. The girl sitting there was Ying Ying. Also called Chaim, but everyone called her Ying Ying. She looked two or three years younger than me. Quiet. Rarely spoke, just sat at her desk all day calculating or organizing papers. When our eyes met on the first day, she gave a slight bow. I bowed back. She didn’t know Korean, I didn’t know Thai. Basic English worked. But we didn’t need to talk much anyway. She handled numbers, I handled customers. Just someone in the same space every day.

Andy Tour guides came every day on buses. They brought tourists, and while the guests looked around, the guides helped sell. The more tourists they brought, the more they bought, the higher the guide’s commission. They were aggressive. One guide stood out. He looked completely foreign. Tall, with distinct Western features. I never thought he was Korean at first. But a name was embroidered on his shirt pocket. ANDY. I asked the boss. “What nationality is he?” “Korean.” “Really?” “Yeah. Arong is his Korean name. Been here a while.” He lived in a hotel in Phuket. Every day he left the hotel, guided tours, and went back. No separate house. The hotel was his home. I asked how he could live like that. “It’s comfortable. They clean, they give you food.” I had nothing to say to that.

The UN Grandpa The boss’s house was in a nice neighborhood. A gated community with guards. Foreigners and wealthy locals lived there. He gave me a room. It was quiet inside. Even quieter at night. Walking around the complex, I often saw elderly foreigners sitting in their yards or walking slowly. I ran into one of them frequently. Tall, white hair, deep eyes. At first, we just passed each other, but one day we met at a nearby pub. He spoke first. “Are you Korean?” It was English. I was surprised. “Yes.” “What are you doing here?” “Working. Latex shop.” He nodded and pointed to the seat next to him. That’s how we met. He was retired from the UN. Settled in Thailand after retirement. Why Thailand? Just because he liked it. “Every month, pension comes to my blue card. That’s enough.” After that, if we met at the pub, we drank beer together. We spoke in English. At first, I stumbled, searching for words. But after a few days, it changed. Thinking in English, speaking in English. One day, I even dreamed in English. I woke up and laughed. What was happening? He wasn’t a talkative man. We just sat, drank quietly, and parted ways. But strangely, it was comfortable.

The Knife That day was no different. After work, I went to a local restaurant I frequented. Dinner alone. I was completely used to Thai food by then. Didn’t even look at the menu. Just raised my hand and ordered the usual. The food came, and I started eating. Then the man sitting at the next table suddenly looked at me. “Are you Korean?” He was Thai, but spoke Korean. Slurred, but understandable. “Yes.” Before I even finished answering. He pulled a knife from inside his jacket. And thrust it toward my face. Reflexively, I leaned back. The tip of the knife grazed above my eyebrow. It stung. I touched it, and there was blood. The restaurant froze. The man shouted something in Thai. People stood up. The owner ran out. Someone called the police. Things settled down after the police arrived. I heard through an interpreter later. He said a Korean man stole his girlfriend. I had never seen the woman. Didn’t know her name. A complete stranger. The cut above my eyebrow was small. Didn’t need stitches. A few days later, it scabbed over. A faint scar remained. It was just something that happened.

Christmas Eve December arrived. December in Phuket was not December in Korea. Still hot and humid, but Christmas decorations hung on the streets. Tourists flooded in. Patong Beach, especially, was overflowing at the end of the year. On December 25th, I was in Patong. It was Christmas. The beach was packed. Foreign tourists, locals, all mixed together, excited. I was just in that atmosphere. In the evening, the boss called. “Tomorrow is the big Christmas rush. Let’s get the shop ready.” That single call. I left Patong. I prepared this and that. Changed displays, checked inventory, confirmed the tour bus schedules for the next day. I went home that night and slept.

The Morning of the 26th I woke up as usual. Washed up as usual, went to work as usual. When I opened the shop doors, something was wrong. The staff were looking outside. Ying Ying wasn’t at her desk; she was standing by the door. Everyone was looking at the sky. Helicopter sounds. Not one. Several. Flying low. Loud. Then I heard the screaming. “Molaw!!” (It’s coming!!) I didn’t know what it was at first. One person shouted, then two, then ten. People on the street started running. All in the same direction. Towards higher ground. The boss grabbed me. “Run.” “Why?” “Just run.” I ran. It was the highest hill in the neighborhood. Everyone went up there. People running, walking, carrying children. No one spoke to each other. We just ran. Standing on top of the hill, I looked back. Towards the sea. Far away, near the horizon, something was coming. A black wall. It wasn’t a wave. It was a wall. High and black, seeming slow, but definitely coming. Without a sound. Just coming. I stood there and watched it. Deep Impact. The scene in the movie where the comet hits the ocean. Back then, it was just a movie. Now it was right in front of my eyes. But it wasn’t a movie. It was reality. Next to me, someone was praying. In Thai. I didn’t know what it meant. I just knew it was a prayer. I did nothing. I just stood there and watched the black wall.

(To be continued in Part 2)