Actually, the apartment has no windows as such.
However, you have to pass under the bridge to get to it, and if you turn back - then, you can see this marvel of engineering called the Pra Ram VIII bridge, whose shape, to my romantic eye, resembles the full sails of a traditional wooden-hulled yacht.
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| Phra Ram VIII bridge on a sultry day |
It would be an exciting place to live, in the shadow of such an impressive structure, assuming you are not distracted by other things - such as how to pay the bills, and make ends meet.
Muss, who has a mane of soft, thick hair which falls down his back, turned up on a small motorbike to greet me. 'You are heavy,' he said, as we bumped and scraped along, on a wobbly two-minute journey to his place.
At this hour, few people were around. At sunset, the area under the bridge is a lively place, with foodstalls opening to busy trade from local crowds. From mid-evening, police close it off to keep out teenagers, who have taken to fighting each other there with knives.
Muss lives two floors up in a run-down apartment building. The entrance and stairwell were squalid, but he has done his best to make his own place look livable.
Muss, who has a mane of soft, thick hair which falls down his back, turned up on a small motorbike to greet me. 'You are heavy,' he said, as we bumped and scraped along, on a wobbly two-minute journey to his place.
At this hour, few people were around. At sunset, the area under the bridge is a lively place, with foodstalls opening to busy trade from local crowds. From mid-evening, police close it off to keep out teenagers, who have taken to fighting each other there with knives.
Muss lives two floors up in a run-down apartment building. The entrance and stairwell were squalid, but he has done his best to make his own place look livable.
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| Phra Ram VIII bridge at night |
Days before, Muss called and suggested we meet. Normally, we drink together at Mum's hole-in-the-wall shop in Thon Buri, which is 10 minutes from where he lives.
Once, Muss, who is straight, asked to spend the night at my place as my sleeping buddy. It was a strange request, as my place was further away from Mum's shop than his own.
Muss was exhausted, having slept just two hours the night before. However, sleep on this night was brief, and fitful. He suffered an allergic reaction to the air conditioning, which made his skin itch and kept waking him.
When he woke, my job was to scratch his back, to ease his discomfort.
Then he would sleep another five minutes, only to wake again, and ask for another scratch.
He tried sleeping on the bed, switched to sleeping on the floor, before returning to the bed again. He found one sleeping position that did feel comfortable, where he threw his legs over mine at right angles. That made it hard to sleep for me, but seemed to work for him.
His body was hot and feverish, and touch only made him hotter. However, when he rose the next day he felt better.
After he showered, I brushed his hair, and helped him dress. Muss wore black trousers, and a white shirt. As I brushed down his trousers, he stood close to me, his head bowed, hair hanging over his face.
He rocked himself gently while standing on the same spot.
'Were you able to sleep?' Muss asked me, just before he left.
I wasn't, but it was kind of him to ask. The condo felt cold and empty after he left.
Now, months later, he wanted to meet again. What did he want?
I took a look around his spartan apartment. My friend has put posters on the walls, and keeps the place looking tidy. He has his own wardrobe, and television, and in one corner of the room keeps his precious bass guitar, from which he earns his living to pay his way through music school.
Next to his bathroom is a door, which opens onto a small balcony. I stood outside while Muss hung up a few items of washing.
His neighbour, whose place is squeezed next to the balcony, raises a large gecko lizard, which he keeps in a large cage covered by tarpaulin. It hissed when it heard us, or did whatever geckos do.
'It wakes me up every morning without fail,' said Muss.
Muss had not eaten all day, so we decided to go for a meal. We chose a small restaurant and karaoke shop about five minutes away, with tables on the rooftop. We took one of the rooftop tables, where we could look at the night life passing by.
Muss has a pretty, sad little face, but on this night he looked more pensive than normal. I asked him what was wrong.
'Many things are on my mind - they always are at this time of year,' he said quietly.
His biggest problem was how to find this month's rent of B3,000 baht. Muss, who is from Esan, makes an impressive B500 baht a day playing bass guitar for a restaurant in Rangsit, but living expenses take up much of it. Transport costs alone suck up B200 a day.
He finds it hard to save, especially when his mother asks him to send money home, as she does occasionally.
'My parents live in the provinces. It's harder to find money out there. For me, B200 may not be much, but for them it can mean a lot.
'If I run out of money myself, then usually I can ask friends for help. But sometimes I do not want to bother them. I drink water, instead of eating, to fill myself up before bed.'
I took a closer look at Muss's face. From side on, I could see that he had indeed lost weight. He is not tall, but his body is small, weighing just 60kg.
'You must eat more,' I told him, but knew that sounded hollow.
'My biggest problem is actually lack of rest,' he said. 'I am hardly ever at home.
'I do not get the chance to exercise, because I have no time. One day it will all catch up with me. But I still have a young face, right?' he asked cheerfully.
When Muss comes down with the flu, it can stay with him for weeks - but no matter how sick he is, he must still go to work.
'They do not have a stand-in bass player, and anyway I need the money.'
When Muss and his band finish playing, he likes to order a few beers on stage. But after the show, he faces a long journey back to his place. Few buses are running at 2am, so he must hire a succession of motorcycle taxis. Sometimes, he cannot sleep until 3am or 4am - but at 7am he must rise regardless, to go to school.
Muss has six months left of a music degree at university, after which he will be qualified to teach music. As part of his course, he is also working as a teacher at a local school, to get first-hand experience before he graduates.
However, he is not keen on teaching, especially if he has to work for the government service. He would rather work freelance, which he admits himself is an unlikely prospect for a beginner.
'My dream would be to open a music shop, or a small eatery like this one, with a beer garden,' he said.
I asked Muss why he lives alone, and why I seldom see him in the company of friends his own age. 'In my work I tend to meet phu yay, or I mix with students from more senior years,' he said. 'I prefer to live alone because it gives me more freedom, even if I am not often there.'
Muss moved into his place under the bridge about three months ago, but has invited few student friends to visit him at home. In his free time, he likes to watch documentaries and follow the news.
Muss, 23, told me about his first visit to Bangkok, about eight years ago. He came to see a friend, but found it hard to make ends meet. For days, he roamed the streets like a vagrant, taking work wherever he could find it, including one short-lived job as a security guard patrolling Sanam Luang.
He slept on the landing outside his friend's place, as he had nowhere else. In the end, after taking a series of dead-end jobs, he had to call home, to ask his mother to send him money.
'I had not eaten, and it was my only way out. I felt so happy that Mum was able to step in and save me,' he said.
now, see part 2
He tried sleeping on the bed, switched to sleeping on the floor, before returning to the bed again. He found one sleeping position that did feel comfortable, where he threw his legs over mine at right angles. That made it hard to sleep for me, but seemed to work for him.
His body was hot and feverish, and touch only made him hotter. However, when he rose the next day he felt better.
After he showered, I brushed his hair, and helped him dress. Muss wore black trousers, and a white shirt. As I brushed down his trousers, he stood close to me, his head bowed, hair hanging over his face.
He rocked himself gently while standing on the same spot.
'Were you able to sleep?' Muss asked me, just before he left.
I wasn't, but it was kind of him to ask. The condo felt cold and empty after he left.
Now, months later, he wanted to meet again. What did he want?
I took a look around his spartan apartment. My friend has put posters on the walls, and keeps the place looking tidy. He has his own wardrobe, and television, and in one corner of the room keeps his precious bass guitar, from which he earns his living to pay his way through music school.
Next to his bathroom is a door, which opens onto a small balcony. I stood outside while Muss hung up a few items of washing.
His neighbour, whose place is squeezed next to the balcony, raises a large gecko lizard, which he keeps in a large cage covered by tarpaulin. It hissed when it heard us, or did whatever geckos do.
'It wakes me up every morning without fail,' said Muss.
Muss had not eaten all day, so we decided to go for a meal. We chose a small restaurant and karaoke shop about five minutes away, with tables on the rooftop. We took one of the rooftop tables, where we could look at the night life passing by.
Muss has a pretty, sad little face, but on this night he looked more pensive than normal. I asked him what was wrong.
'Many things are on my mind - they always are at this time of year,' he said quietly.
His biggest problem was how to find this month's rent of B3,000 baht. Muss, who is from Esan, makes an impressive B500 baht a day playing bass guitar for a restaurant in Rangsit, but living expenses take up much of it. Transport costs alone suck up B200 a day.
He finds it hard to save, especially when his mother asks him to send money home, as she does occasionally.
'My parents live in the provinces. It's harder to find money out there. For me, B200 may not be much, but for them it can mean a lot.
'If I run out of money myself, then usually I can ask friends for help. But sometimes I do not want to bother them. I drink water, instead of eating, to fill myself up before bed.'
I took a closer look at Muss's face. From side on, I could see that he had indeed lost weight. He is not tall, but his body is small, weighing just 60kg.
'You must eat more,' I told him, but knew that sounded hollow.
'My biggest problem is actually lack of rest,' he said. 'I am hardly ever at home.
'I do not get the chance to exercise, because I have no time. One day it will all catch up with me. But I still have a young face, right?' he asked cheerfully.
When Muss comes down with the flu, it can stay with him for weeks - but no matter how sick he is, he must still go to work.
'They do not have a stand-in bass player, and anyway I need the money.'
When Muss and his band finish playing, he likes to order a few beers on stage. But after the show, he faces a long journey back to his place. Few buses are running at 2am, so he must hire a succession of motorcycle taxis. Sometimes, he cannot sleep until 3am or 4am - but at 7am he must rise regardless, to go to school.
Muss has six months left of a music degree at university, after which he will be qualified to teach music. As part of his course, he is also working as a teacher at a local school, to get first-hand experience before he graduates.
However, he is not keen on teaching, especially if he has to work for the government service. He would rather work freelance, which he admits himself is an unlikely prospect for a beginner.
'My dream would be to open a music shop, or a small eatery like this one, with a beer garden,' he said.
I asked Muss why he lives alone, and why I seldom see him in the company of friends his own age. 'In my work I tend to meet phu yay, or I mix with students from more senior years,' he said. 'I prefer to live alone because it gives me more freedom, even if I am not often there.'
Muss moved into his place under the bridge about three months ago, but has invited few student friends to visit him at home. In his free time, he likes to watch documentaries and follow the news.
Muss, 23, told me about his first visit to Bangkok, about eight years ago. He came to see a friend, but found it hard to make ends meet. For days, he roamed the streets like a vagrant, taking work wherever he could find it, including one short-lived job as a security guard patrolling Sanam Luang.
He slept on the landing outside his friend's place, as he had nowhere else. In the end, after taking a series of dead-end jobs, he had to call home, to ask his mother to send him money.
'I had not eaten, and it was my only way out. I felt so happy that Mum was able to step in and save me,' he said.
now, see part 2
What's he do, take taxis to Rangsit and back everyday? They have a bus, and he's a night time player... maybe he should move to Rangsit and save the money. 15,000B is not a salary any Thai should be losing weight on.
ReplyDeleteI agree, he is relatively well paid, and on the face of it I don't know why he cannot manage better.
ReplyDeleteI suspect one problem is that he has to fit too much into his day.