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Photo by Benjamin Talon

The Defenestrations
Chapter 2
by Allan Carreon

Part 1

He thought he was dead.

Two seconds later, he realized he was thinking, so he was probably not dead.

Iñigo leapt to his feet, a throbbing mass of pain, then saw his phone was damaged. How the hell was he going to stream now? His 934,903 followers would be disappointed.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, swiping up on his phone. To his surprise, it flickered on. It had sustained a large crack on the screen but otherwise was still recording. What luck. Not only had he survived falling out a window, so had his brand-new iPhone.

He would ask for a new one from a sponsor tomorrow, he decided. Right now, he had to get back to his fans.

“Sorry for that, guys,” he spoke into his phone. He stared into the void from where his viewers gazed back. “Lost my balance. I swear, this ugly building in Prag…” He trailed off as he looked around him.

This was not Prague.

Did I actually die after all?

A 30-ish Asian woman walked past him, staring quizzically. “Sawasdee kha,” she said.

Towering over Iñigo was a temple. It looked as though he had fallen out of it, but there was no window. There was only a fading portal closing near the roof, and it seemed to taunt him. A short distance away, there was another temple busy with tourists. Around them were rolling greens and ponds.

Iñigo knew this place. He’d been here before.

He was in Thailand.

“I… I’ll get back to you guys,” he spoke into his camera then finished his live stream.

Photo by Benjamin Talon

Part 2

How he ended up in Thailand, Iñigo had no idea. The last time he was here, it was with his family.

The summer after his father fell out of his office window, his mother took him and his sisters on a package tour of Thailand. Bored with his mother and sisters, their endless shopping, dining, and temple tours, he sought other entertainment.

That was when Iñigo started vlogging. The moment he set foot at the Grand Palace and started streaming himself live, and random strangers started tuning in to praise him, he knew it was his duty to broadcast himself to an audience.

Nature bored him; he preferred vlogging about Bangkok’s wild night life. The one nature thing he liked was an elephant sanctuary where he leapt on the back of a rescued calf. Amidst protests from caretakers and tourists, Iñigo rode the wailing elephant on Facebook Live. He was forcibly removed by several burly Thais.

It was the first time Iñigo got a taste of online bashing – oh, the whiny social justice warriors – but it was also when he became viral. The stunt got him a hundred thousand reactions: likes, loves, and a ton of angry reacts. He was shared half a million times.

Famous or infamous, he didn’t care. He did more silly stunts for his followers. He began getting freebies. He was getting so many X-deals that he put off getting a normal job.

He was now Iñigo Villa-Real: influencer.

Photo by Allan Carreon

Part 3

Now, inexplicably back in Thailand, Iñigo tried to reach his friends – but his phone refused to cooperate. Calls and messages would not go through. His passport was back in his hotel room in Prague, and it did not occur to him to find the Philippine Embassy. His credit card did not work, either.

Nothing worked except his phone camera and his Instagram Live.

He hitched a ride with a Peruvian tour group (where was Peruvia, he wondered) to the nearest city. At dusk he was lingering around a temple when an old monk approached him.

“Sawasdee khrap, Khun Iñigo.” How did the monk know his name? And did he just call him crap? “You will find answers in Wat Rong Khun, the White Temple of Chiang Rai.” Then the monk walked away.

So Iñigo found himself on the four-hour bus ride to Chiang Rai. He had used his charms on an elderly British woman near the bus terminal to get a ticket. This trip was probably a wild goose chase, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He did not care for the view outside the window. All trees and mountains looked the same to him. Surrounded by nature’s splendor, he preferred to watch his own Instagram Live. It was there, all of it. Stepping backwards into the Prague window. A blur of motion as he tumbled down. Darkness as his phone landed on its face. The twin pagodas. His bewildered face.

And the online comments scrolling upwards.

“OMG he feeeeell someone help!!!”
“Iñaki!”
“cool story, bro”
“grabe! tegi na yata!”
“Yeah, right. Looks fake.”
“pa-peymus ampotah!”
“Shout out naman dyan, kuya!”

Pathetic, but he couldn’t comment back. Nothing worked on his phone.

Except his camera and his Instagram Live.

And he now had even more followers.

Photo by Benjamin Talon

Part 4

It was midnight when Inigo arrived at the White Temple, and it was closed.

Outside, he noticed a white cat sitting there like a little prince. It turned to look at him, and it had the most unusual blue eyes. It held his gaze, daring him to look away. He could not. “You made it,” someone said beside him, startling him. It was the same old monk. “The artist Chalermchai Kositpipat built this place in 1997. It’s as old as you. Come!” Too stunned to say anything, Iñigo followed the monk. He did, out of habit, pull out his phone and start broadcasting on Instagram. The cat walked with them.

The monk went on talking in Thailandish or whatever, and he didn’t know what else to do but trail after him.

They crossed a gleaming bridge over a lake to the White Temple. “This is the Bridge of the Cycle of Rebirth,” the monk said. Iñigo had a nagging feeling he had met this monk before. As they crossed, the monk whispered, “Neung, song, sam…” The white cat purred. “And this is the Gate of Heaven.” They were now at the entrance, which was flanked by two stone creatures. “Death and Rahu guard it.” Iñigo hurried inside. “Your shoes, please! And recording is not allowed inside,” the monk hollered.

Iñigo ignored him. “I’m in Wat something, Chiang Rai’s apparently famous White Temple.” Iñigo smiled for his viewers. “Photography is normally not allowed, but I got an exclusive tour!” The walls were lined with murals of Buddhist images interspersed with Superman, Hello Kitty, Bin Laden, and Freddy Krueger, all entangled in some bizarre battle between good and evil over a landscape of nuclear warfare and oil spills.

Part 5

Iñigo ended his broadcast. The monk was waiting outside, a smirk on his face. The cat led them away, strolling down a path lined with trees hung with sculptures of decapitated heads. They stopped in front of a golden building.

Hong naam?” the monk asked.

Toilet?” Iñigo replied. A restroom? A golden restroom?

The monk laughed. Ka. The building is a toilet. But let’s go upstairs. Khun Chalermchai has quarters there.

It was dark on the second floor. Iñigo tried to find a light switch to no avail. The cat leapt onto the sill of a window where moonlight shone through. Iñigo walked over and peeked outside. The small buildings surrounding the White Temple seemed to breathe. “There’s no one here,” Iñigo said. The cat meowed, making itself comfortable on the sill.

Do you know why this building is gold when it houses toilets?

The monk’s face seemed to shift in the moonlight.

Because it reflects a fundamental human truth.

The monk’s face was now inches from his. Iñigo leaned back against the window as the monk looked deep into Iñigo’s eyes, as though he were searching for a soul.

That unquenchable human desire for material things is fit for nothing but the loo.

Iñigo felt the monk’s hand on his chest just as recognition struck. The white cat with the blue eyes hissed.

“That you may seem golden outside…”

It was the tour guide in Prague.

“But inside you’re really just a piece of shit.”

And with a shove, the monk sent Inigo flying out the window.

* * * * *

What happens next?
A. Inigo lands in another country
B. Inigo has to make his way on his own.

Next week: Chapter 2B (in which Inigo died) by Roni Matienzo.