Dear Bangkok,This is our anniversary issue. We’re 11. Eleven years spent lurking in your shadow, loving you, hating you, wishing you cleaned up your act, wishing you’d take notice, wishing you’d learn how to fix a proper drink (at least you’ve managed that last one). Yeah, sure, you’re sexy, good in bed, not very picky; you like to party, you’re pretty uncomplicated... But you’re not that hot. You’ve developed some nasty fine-particle halitosis over the years and some serious transit issues (BTS included) that have become pretty embarrassing. Even your airport is all clogged up, now.And let’s talk about your mental health: the whole red-yellow schizophrenia. We thought that was all better. But we’ve heard you’ve been listening to your fascist uncle and angry auntie again? Come on, don’t get involved. You’re better than that.You’re also starting to lose your flavor. You want to act all hi-so. You’ve thrown out your old night markets to get more malls, your neighborhood movie theaters for 4D cineplexes, your noodle shops in favor of nail spas. We actually preferred the old you—when spaghetti pla kem was your idea of international food.You’re not exactly a cheap date anymore either. Even Yingluck says you need to take it easy with the B45 khao gaeng; this isn’t the Four Seasons after all (she would know). But you don’t care. You’re all about wine bistros, molecular cocktails and air-conditioned terraces. If it isn’t a themed mall with a lighthouse, if it doesn’t have truffle foam on top and if it isn’t big in Japan, you’re not interested. Unfortunately our salaries just can’t keep up with your expensive newfound tastes.So yeah, this being our birthday, this letter is us asking for another date. Just don’t bring your family issues, don’t take us to a community mall and don’t end it over a slice of honey toast. We still love you, Bangkok, but would some noodles in Chinatown be OK with you?