Real Estate Fable EP.2: Near the Train but Far from a Good Life

Real Estate Fable EP.2:

Near the Train... but Far from a Good Life.
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Korn worked in IT,
at a private company in Asok.
Life was finally taking shape —
his salary rising,
bonus twice a year.
.
Friends began buying houses,
booking condos.
He, meanwhile, still rented a worn-out room
in an old building at Inthamara.
The same wooden wardrobe,
the same air conditioner that needed a tap before it worked.
Now in his thirties,
he started asking himself:
“When will I finally have a home of my own?”
.
The answer came one weekend
at a housing and condo expo.
A booth caught his eye —
a brand-new condo near the end of the Purple Line,
three minutes from the station,
“Best deal of the year! Fully furnished!
100% loan! Easy pay — only 7,900 baht/month!”
.
“Salary 32,000? You can get approved!”
“Prices will rise in three years, guaranteed!”
“This is your golden timing!”
the sales rep said confidently.
.
He flipped through the brochure,
seeing the high-rise view,
the train line stretching into the horizon,
and in the reflection of the glass
he saw himself —
sipping coffee on the balcony of his future.
.
He visited the site once,
then booked immediately.
The condo was still under construction,
but his heart was already moved in.
.
He thought —
even if it’s far from work,
at least it’s near the train.
That should be convenient enough.
.
The transfer day came faster than expected.
New room. Fresh paint.
Furnished, cozy, seventh floor.
He took a photo of the key
and posted on Facebook:
“First home in my life… started from zero, and here I am.”
.
Likes flooded in.
Comments overflowed with congratulations.
His mother called,
“I’m proud of you, son — our first home.”
For the first time,
he felt like a real adult.
.
Life in the new condo felt like a dream —
quiet, clean, the smell of new tiles.
The guards smiled,
neighbors polite.
Everything perfect.
.
For two weeks.
Then silence crept in.
.
The nearest food shop was 1.8 kilometers away.
No market. No 7-Eleven. No food stalls.
To eat, he had to ride his bike out
or wait for Grab drivers who often got lost.
.
Every day became a routine of survival.
Train rides in rush hour —
standing shoulder to shoulder,
too tight to breathe.
His body tired,
but his heart kept whispering,
“Hang in there — this is your home.”
.
Six months later, a shock.
The company moved —
from Asok to Bangna.
He had to move with the team.
.
Now, his daily route stretched nine more stations,
15 more minutes on the train,
plus a motorcycle ride at the end.
Almost four hours of commuting every day.
.
He woke at 5:30.
Returned at nearly 9 p.m.
His train fare alone hit 3,000 baht a month.
Bills stacked up.
Dinner became instant noodles and boiled eggs.
.
He started to think —
maybe renting near work
would make more sense.
.
A year passed.
The once-proud condo
became just a place to sleep.
The new bed
was just furniture.
.
The kitchen,
with its untouched microwave,
had no crumbs,
no leftovers —
just still air
and a lamp left on overnight.
.
Korn began to wonder:
“Am I living in my own home,
or trapped in the illusion of ownership?”
.
The condo remained spotless —
the extractor hood still shiny,
the sofa still wrapped in plastic —
but he’d already moved out,
renting a small room in Udomsuk.
.
Tiny room. No view. No luxury.
But only 30 minutes to work.
Rent 5,800 baht including utilities —
cheaper than his mortgage and train fare combined.
.
He woke at 7 instead of 5:30.
Had rice porridge from Aunt Daeng’s stall,
coffee in a plastic bag for 25 baht.
No train change. No crowds.
No racing for train doors.
.
Life, somehow, felt lighter.
.
But the debt remained —
debt from a condo he rarely lived in,
debt from a dream he hadn’t yet woken from.
.
Every payday,
a chunk of his salary vanished to the bank.
Outstanding balance: 1.79 million.
Four years in,
he’d paid 280,000 in interest,
but the principal dropped less than 100,000.
.
He tried selling,
but market prices had fallen.
Buyers said softly,
“Nice view, but no shops nearby.”
“Bit too far.”
“Can you lower the price?”
.
He knew “lower” meant a six-digit loss.
If he didn’t sell,
he’d keep paying
for a room no one lived in.
.
He tried renting it out —
below his mortgage payment.
One tenant left water leaking,
the floor bubbled — repair cost nearly 20,000.
.
Each move-out meant cleaning,
maintenance fees, inspection.
It was exhausting —
far more than just being a renter.
.
One night,
he sat on his small balcony,
drinking a can of beer.
Facebook popped up a memory —
his “first home” post.
The likes.
The “Congrats!”
The “You’ve made it!”
.
He laughed softly.
Laughed at the old version of himself.
Laughed at that word — ownership.
Because that pride
was the very thing keeping him stuck.
.
Today, Korn isn’t debt-free.
He hasn’t sold his condo.
He hasn’t made a fortune.
But he’s stopped lying to himself.
.
He admits he was wrong —
rushed into it,
believed the marketing too easily,
fell for the image in his head.
Now he tells others:
“If you’re not ready, just rent first.”
“Stability doesn’t start with owning a home —
it starts with owning your life.”
.
Not everyone should buy property before thirty.
Not every condo near the train is a good deal.
And not every asset
is truly an asset —
sometimes, it’s a debt we invited in ourselves.
.
This story doesn’t end
because Korn paid off his loan,
but because he paid off
the debt inside his mind.
.
He stopped carrying the belief
that owning a home means success.
.
Sometimes,
real success isn’t about having a home —
but not needing to run away from the one you live in.
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