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It took Tofu a year to realise that he was bored.
Of course, it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the brief moments he shared with Phi Nut. He still got to feel the warmth of Phi Nut’s hugs as he slept. He still got to witness Phi Nut’s adorably focused face when writing his drama scripts. He sometime even got to listen to Phi Nut’s laugh echoing from the kitchen downstairs.
It was enough, Tofu had told himself. All he needed was to be close to Phi Nut. This was enough.
But as time went by, Phi Nut stopped talking to him as much. Phi Nut used to chat to Tofu everyday—about his work, about Gen and Song, about Mae’s dementia. And Tofu’s heart would swell as he listened, the smile that tugged hard at the corners of his lips constrained in the teddy bear’s nonchalant face. Occasionally, Phi Nut would hold Tofu’s furry paw or rub at Tofu’s ear, and Tofu could almost pretend they were back at the beach, just two people in love, chatting.
After a few months, Phi Nut’s daily talks reduced to a few times a week. The talks got shorter too, sometimes only consisting of a brief grumble about work before Phi Nut went into the shower. That was okay, Tofu told himself. Humans led such complex, colourful lives, filled with a multitude of things. Phi Nut couldn’t be expected to remember to constantly speak to a motionless teddy bear everyday.
But Tofu had so much he yearned to know. How was Khun Saen doing in prison? How was his wife? Were Gen and Song getting along? What about Prib’s girlfriend? Even—how are things with Tatarn?
It was very unusual behaviour, the bolster scolded Tofu. He was a teddy bear again, so he shouldn’t feel curious. He shouldn’t be thinking so much.
But the haziness, dullish thoughts that had occupied Tofu’s mind before he turned into a human refused to return. He still felt like a human. He still wanted to go out into the sunshine, wanted to feel the rain, wanted to taste ice-cream just one more time.
He tried not to grumble about it too much to the other furnitures, but eventually, they stopped talking to him as much too.
Please, Tofu prayed to whatever higher power there was. Please let me have teddy bear thoughts again. Let me stop thinking and wishing.
If there was a higher power, they didn’t listen.
In year two, Tatarn moved in. It made things a lot more interesting, and Tofu delighted in seeing Phi Nut’s shy smiles when Tatarn poked his head through the door, or Phi Nut’s blushes when Tatarn leaned in close over the laptop. The stress lines around Phi Nut’s eyes from looking after his Mae seemed to lessen, and the house seemed filled with laughter again. In the evenings, the scent of deliciously fried pork would waft up to Tofu’s black-threaded nose. And at night, Tofu would spend hours just following the motions of Tatarn’s paintbrush on his canvas.
But Phi Nut stopped hugging Tofu while he slept.
It hurt more than Tofu could even bring himself to admit. He hadn’t realised just how much he cherished those cuddles in bed. Even as a teddy bear, feeling Phi Nut’s heart beating behind him had made the whole world seem bright. He’d look forward to those hugs every day.
But now, Tofu could only watch from the hard chair as Phi Nut wrapped his arms around Tatarn’s waist and nestled his head in the crook of Tatarn’s neck. Tatarn always reciprocated those hugs too, pulling Phi Nut close to him and brushing a kiss atop Phi Nut’s hair before falling asleep.
Tofu couldn’t begrudge Tatarn’s presence. It only made sense for Phi Nut’s long-term boyfriend to move in after all. And at the end of the day, Tofu was only a teddy bear, so just watching Phi Nut’s happiness should be enough for him.
But instead, each kiss Tatarn and Phi Nut shared made Tofu feel like someone was tearing out his stuffed cotton innards. Memories flitted through Tofu’s mind, of the sweet, sweet kisses Phi Nut had pressed onto his then-human lips. Tofu found himself replaying those memories again and again, but they were never enough. Not when Phi Nut giggled and wrenched Tatarn into a hard kiss by the stairs. Not when Tatarn pushed Phi Nut against the cupboard, bracketed him in with his arms and suckled on Phi Nut’s neck. Not when that night, Phi Nut and Tatarn fell into bed, and Tofu watched Phi Nut writhe in pleasure under Tatarn’s skilled hands and mouth.
That night, as Phi Nut’s breathy moans and Tatarn’s grunts filled the room, as the bed banged repeatedly into the wall, as the sheets got completely messed up, Tofu started wondering if this was what humans called hell.
The next morning, when Phi Nut extricated himself from Tatarn’s embrace and walked towards the bathroom, he caught sight of Tofu. His mouth fell open and sheer guilt wracked his face. Tears spilling down his cheeks, he slowly picked Tofu up and squeezed him into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Phi Nut’s sobs were broken. “I’m sorry—I forgot to—I should have—I’m so sorry, Tofu.”
It was the first hug in a matter of weeks. Tofu wanted to comfort Phi Nut, wanted to wrap his arms around Phi Nut’s frame and tell him it was okay. He was just a teddy bear—there was no need to be conscious of his feelings. From above the curve of Phi Nut’s shoulder, Tofu could see Tatarn waking up with a confused frown.
After that, Phi Nut was incredibly careful. For the first few weeks, he even refused Tatarn’s kisses in front of Tofu. One time, as Tatarn’s hands started to wander in bed, Phi Nut had yelled at him and stormed off. Tatarn rushed after him. They must have talked it out because when Tofu saw them next, they were back to being an affectionate, happy couple. Tofu was glad. He didn’t want Phi Nut’s relationship to be ruined just because of him.
From then on, Tofu was moved to the downstairs hall's couch. The change of scenery was nice, and it meant that he got to speak to the couch and the slippers again, who perhaps of Mae’s age, held more interesting conversations. He also got to see Kuenchai and be the recipient of Mae’s soft hugs while Phi Nut was at work. He noticed that a lot of Tatarn’s paintings had taken space on the walls too.
It was nice, but Tofu knew this was the beginning of the end. Phi Nut was making a choice to put Tatarn first, as he should. His time for Tofu, almost sparse, would be even less.
But that was okay, Tofu thought as he watched Tatarn chase Phi Nut upstairs with a booming laugh. Phi Nut was happy.
Even if Tofu wasn’t.
And the years slipped by. Once in a while, Phi Nut would hug Tofu and murmur how much he missed him, sometimes with a choked sob. But most of the time, Phi Nut was too busy—with work, with Tatarn and with Mae.
Especially with Mae.
In the living room, Tofu watched Mae’s decline from a woman at least capable of making her son lunch to someone trapped in their own head, unable to function by herself. Phi Nut started working from home to cook her meals and ensure that she didn’t hurt herself. He had to feed her, help her walk and even bathe her, as a parent would bathe their child. The day Mae stopped recognising Phi Nut, it rained so heavily that Tofu worried the roof would fall down. Phi Nut hadn’t reacted, but Tofu heard his sobs from the bedroom.
Tofu ached to help. Ached to make the situation better. But human lives were full of sadness, and even if he’d been human, Tofu wondered if he could have done anything to stop Alzheimer’s from wearing down Mae’s mind and body.
She died at hospital. Tofu only found out when Phi Nut returned, his eyes red and voice shaking as he scooped Tofu into his arms.
“Mae’s gone, Tofu. She’s gone.”
Tofu had never felt such a terrible loss. It felt as though he was back in that casket, burning alive. When Phi Nut wailed into his fur, Tofu wanted to cry too.
In the weeks that followed, Phi Nut barely ate. He wandered around the house like a zombie. But of course, his friends came to help. Despite everything, Tofu was glad to see Gen again, looking much older, but his voice no less kind and firm. Song and Prib came too, and Tatarn was there, every step of the way. He arranged Mae’s funeral himself, forced Phi Nut to eat, and hugged Phi Nut when he cried.
Tofu wished he could be human again. Just for a few seconds. To bow his head to Tatarn and say thank you.
Kuenchai died a few years later. The dog had been getting slower, his barks getting quieter and his naps getting longer. Phi Nut had noticed and discussed with Tatarn about taking Kuenchai to the vets.
“He’s an old boy now,” Phi Nut had said, fondly petting Kuenchair’s head. “Almost thirteen. Better get him checked out.”
The day before the vet’s appointment, when the house was empty, Kuenchai climbed onto the couch, panting hard. He rested his head on Tofu’s furry leg and gazed up at him.
Good luck, Tofu willed the old dog. Good luck for wherever you’re going next. Thank you for being my friend.
The dog blinked at him with such love once, twice, then stilled.
When Phi Nut came home to find Kuenchai’s cold body, he didn’t cry. Instead, he cradled Kuenchai in his arms, leaned his head against Tofu’s chest and hummed a long, sad song.
Tatarn, Tofu had long decided, was perfect. He was caring, kind, talented and righteous. But it was his selflessness that caused most of the arguments between Phi Nut and him. Tatarn’s desire to participate in dangerous protests, the way he stood up against powerful companies and rallied the people against the discriminatory government rules, made him enemies. More than once, Phi Nut had begged him to tone it down, to stay safe, but Tatarn was adamant. With his art and together with the people, he wanted to make the world a better place.
Tofu could understand Tatarn. It was a noble cause—
But it was hard for Tofu to be on the side of righteousness when Phi Nut was screaming at Tatarn, “I’ve lost Tofu, I’ve lost Mae, I’ve lost Kuenchai! You’re everything I have! If anything happened to you—”
“Nut,” Tatarn tried to say.
But Phi Nut, far too emotional to listen to anything at that point, ran out of the house.
Tatarn sighed heavily. It’d been almost twenty years now since he’d moved in. But despite the wrinkles lining his eyes and mouth, he still made a handsome man. With another sigh, he sat on the couch and pulled Tofu onto his lap.
“The protest is for the equal marriage bill,” Tatarn said, looking into Tofu’s glassy eyes. “Why can’t he understand? If we make enough people stand on our side, the government will have to listen.”
Tofu would have shrugged if he could. He didn’t know the right answer. Just the other day, a gang of rowdies had ransacked the house looking for Tatarn to beat up. It was a dangerous game.
“Maybe I’ll draw back a little.” Tatarn nodded. “If Nut is this scared.” He frowned at Tofu. “He thinks you’re real, you know. He thinks you contain the spirit of his ex.”
Tofu grinned sheepishly, though his furry mouth stayed the same thin line.
Tatarn’s eyes turned thoughtful. “Well, if you are Tofu. If you’re really there…don’t worry. I’ll look after Nut.” He cocked his head. “And I’ll look after you too.” He hugged Tofu to his chest. “You’ll stay with us. Forever.”
Tatarn’s hug wasn’t as warm as Phi Nut’s but Tofu found that he liked it anyway.
When Phi Nut turned sixty, Tofu learned that Alzheimer’s ran in families.
He supposed he felt it first before he realised. His own thoughts had been getting hazier, almost akin to when he was a teddy bear. And he slept for longer too. Sometimes, days would pass before he woke up again.
Tatarn realised when he found Phi Nut gazing silently at the burning stove. With a curse he used the fire extinguisher and got rid of the flames. Then, he shook Phi Nut’s shoulders so hard that it tore a yelp from Phi Nut’s throat.
“Nut?” Tatarn asked, worry etched in each syllable. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been so out of it these days? How could you let the cooker burn just like that?”
Phi Nut jerked to alertness. “What? I—I don’t understand. I—I just didn’t realise.”
“We’re going to the hospital,” Tatarn said firmly. “Now.”
When they returned, they both sported grim faces and a handful of leaflets that Phi Nut threw onto the coffee table.
Tofu gazed at the nearest leaflet. ‘How to cope with early-onset Alzheimer’s.’
He wanted to ask ‘why’ but knew its futility.
So, he closed his eyes and went to sleep again.
Two years went by before the Phi Nut started forgetting who Tatarn was. He sometimes called Tatarn ‘Tofu’ and sometimes regressed back to his high school age, where he demanded Tatarn to leave the house before his father found out. Once Phi Nut even confused Tatarn for his father, and as Tatarn reached to fix his hair, he had flinched violently and curled up on the floor.
The heartbreak and helplessness on Tatarn’s face mirrored Tofu’s own.
As Phi Nut’s body became nothing but a bag of bones, as he flinched at the slightest bang or raised voice, and as Tatarn dropped all his projects to take care of him at home, Tofu’s heart continued to break. He gave what comfort he could. Phi Nut tended to hug him more these days. He’d whisper Tofu’s name over and over again, but didn’t speak much after.
Tofu slept again. When he woke up, another year had passed and Tatarn stood before him, his hair fully white and his face a mask of sorrow.
“It’s time, Tofu,” Tatarn whispered. “He was asking for you.”
Even if Tofu could speak, he didn’t think he would be strong enough to utter any words. A terrible heaviness dragged down his furry limbs and the pull to sleep again grew stronger with every second.
Tatarn took Tofu to a hospital bed, where Phi Nut was dwarfed by his bedsheets. He was frail, skeletal and his skin a grey tinge. Each breath seemed a strain, but he smiled upon seeing the teddy bear Tatarn carried.
“Tofu,” Phi Nut breathed.
Tatarn carefully placed Tofu onto Phi Nut’s chest. Tofu stared into Phi Nut’s squinting eyes.
“I love you,” Tofu wanted to say.
But Phi Nut’s eyes closed and his breathing stopped.
And Tofu ceased to be.
Tofu woke in a grand mansion that was eerily silent. The sky outside was a dark red and the clouds seemed to morph into faces.
“Well done, Tofu.”
Tofu startled to see the middle-aged man before him. He was tall and broad shouldered, and wore an old fashioned traditional Thai robe — something similar to the Thai dramas Tofu had seen set in the 1920s.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
“You are everywhere.” The man smiled. “And nowhere.”
Tofu frowned and cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Most souls don’t,” the man replied. “This is the void. The place where all souls visit before they move on. Though it looks different for each one.”
Tofu stared at the mansion’s grand staircase, the tapestries decorating the walls, and the chandeliers that flickered on and off. A memory tore through his head — chopping onions in the kitchen, scrubbing the stairs, mending the hole in the sofa.
“I’ve been here before,” Tofu murmured. Dimly, he realised that he was back in his human form.
“You were the kitchen boy here,” the man said. “Your name then was Arthit. Your mother called you that because you lit up her world.”
Tofu’s jaw dropped. “I was a human?”
“Of course.” The man grimaced. “You were a young man working here after your mother died of tuberculosis.”
Another memory wrenched through Tofu’s head of a handsome young man walking down the stairs, dressed in a regal suit, and his imperious gaze sharpening upon meeting Tofu’s eyes.
“Phi Nut,” Tofu gasped.
“His name then was Somsak,” the man said quietly. “You loved him. And he loved you. But of course, it had to be kept secret.”
Tofu remembered now. The hidden whispers in the corridors. The hidden kisses as he snuck into Phi Nut’s bedchambers. The way his stomach flipped whenever Phi Nut smiled.
And he remembered Phi Nut’s mother—the head of the household, the spitting image of Mae but with a cruel edge to her smile. He remembered how she’d ordered Phi Nut to marry. He remembered the jealousy that had twisted his gut as Phi Nut kissed his beautiful bride. He remembered Phi Nut’s apologies when they snuck into the forest later. He remembered Phi Nut’s mother gloating at his pain at watching the new happily married couple.
And he remembered the anger. The terrible anger that had drove him to grab his knife and—
Tofu gasped. His hands shook as he cupped his face. “No. No, how could I—”
“It was a past version of you,” the man said gently. “But yes, yours was a terrible, possessive love. You stabbed Somsak’s innocent wife out of jealousy and you killed Somsak’s mother out of hatred. You laughed when the guards killed you, and did not witness Somsak’s despair. Nor did you witness how he slit his own throat afterwards.”
Tears spilled down Tofu’s cheek. It felt as though he was recalling a dream of a dream. “I’m so sorry.”
“Karma dictates our fates,” the man continued. “Your soul was casted into an inanimate teddy bear to teach you that to love did not mean to possess. Nut’s mother reincarnated as his mother again. She was given a chance to fix her past prejudiced mistakes. Nut was reincarnated as a boy who would again struggle with his true identity. He was given a chance to demonstrate his courage and reveal who he is.”
“I don’t understand,” Tofu mumbled.
“We are not meant to understand,” the man said. “Your love in this life was pure and selfless. You have done well, Tofu. Now, you will be reborn.”
The mansion shuddered and began to crumble. Heavy blocks of cement rained down on Tofu’s head. The sky through the windows was now completely black.
“Wait!” Tofu cried out at the man, who looked serene as the mansion fell apart around them. “Phi Nut! Will Phi Nut be there? Will I get to be with Phi Nut?”
“That,” the man said with a wise smile, “will depend on your fate.”
The ground beneath Tofu disintegrated and he fell.
In 2090, a young couple welcomes their first child - a baby boy. His skin is fair, his hair black and his nose sharp. When he learns to walk, he starts babbling ‘Tofu, tofu’ so his parents name his Taohu after the restaurant where they first met.
Taohu blossoms into a handsome teenager, with a penchant for playing basketball. On Valentine’s Day, he is always the recipient of dozens of cards and chocolates as young girls and boys alike tries to catch his eye. He gets asked out on a date as least one a month, and it is always with a gentle smile that he refuses. When his friends tease him later, demanding to know the reason for his latest refusal, he simply shrugs.
Sometimes, he wonders the reason himself. He wonders why his chest feels empty. Why none of the boys or girls he meets seem to fit when he thinks of the word ‘love’. Why he dreams of ice cream and tossing hoops at the funfair and warm hugs with a stranger.
At seventeen year old, he welcomes a new baby brother. His parents ask him for a name, and as Taohu cradles the baby, he decides on ‘Tarn’. Somehow, it suits the baby. Tarn’s tiny fingers close around Taohu’s thumb, and Taohu promises his baby brother that he’d never let him get hurt.
Taohu is twenty when the world stops on the most random of days. He is late for his Engineering class and is sprinting across university, when he bumps hard into a boy coming out of the Communications department. They both go sprawling across the tiles.
“Watch it!” the boy remonstrates as he gathers his books and straightens up. “You engineers are never looking where you’re going.”
Taohu remains on his knees. His heart thumps hard against his ribcage and his hands won't stop trembling. All he can do is take in the boy’s frown and wonder why it is the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Hey." Concern grows on the boy's face. “Are you okay? Did you bang your head?”
“Ice cream,” Taohu blurts out. “Let me treat you to ice-cream as an apology.”
The boy snorts. He heaves his bagpack further up his shoulder, his teddy-bear keychain dangling. “What? I don’t even know you.”
Taohu scrambles to his feet, an odd elation buzzing through him. “My name is Taohu. Engineering.” He holds out his hand with baited breath.
The boy stares at his hand then at his face with a quizzical expression, before shaking his head with a short laugh. “You’re a weird one.” He takes the offered hand, his touch sending an electrical spark through Taohu. “My name is Nok. Communications.”
“Nok.” Taohu grins. “Nok, it’s so nice to meet you.”
“Ice cream,” Nok sniffs. “And not the cheap ones either.”
Taohu laughs. He swings an arm around Nok’s shoulders. “It’s a date.”