Minimalist Loy Krathong

Why jostle for space with the crowds on busy Loy Krathong night, when you can float your own boat at home?

Maiyuu and I tried something new last night. Rather than join the crowds on Pra Ram 3, the closest revelling spot to our home, we conducted our own candle-lit ceremony in the bathtub.

While families and young couples cast their candle-lit banana boats into the Chao Phraya River, we decided to stay indoors and do it privately instead.

About 9.30pm, Maiyuu went out to buy two krathong. ‘Have you taken a shower yet?’ he asked. ‘Do it now, because we need to use the bath to float the krathong.’

I did as I was told. Half an hour later, we charged the bath, and lit the floats.

Maiyuu held his, the smaller one, momentarily to his head, and made a silent wish, presumably for good fortune in the year ahead. He cast it afloat.

I cast a silent wish for the boyfriend. ‘I wish you happiness in the year ahead,’ I thought as I held my float to my forehead.

I cast my boat in the bath to float about with its little brother, turned off the light, and kissed Maiyuu's head.

For Maiyuu, the romance of the moment passed quickly. As I sat watching the floats, Maiyuu inspected the wall. He had just bought a towel holder for the bathroom, and was figuring out where to place it.

The city puts on a fireworks display for Loy Krathong each year. Half an hour later, we stood on the balcony to watch as the firworks burst into the sky over Silom.

For us, Loy Krathong was quiet, but romantic nonetheless.

See blogger Nye Noona's explanation of Loy Krathong here.

Last year, I visited a canal close to our old place in Thon Buri to watch families set their leafy candle-lit boats into the river.

The year before, I mixed with kathoey, young gays and a bossy trader to float a krathong close to Mum’s shop in Pin Khlao.