'Such a long time I've been waiting...for my turn to come around.'
Waiting
Thee Chaiyadej
Singer Thee knows what's it's like to to make sacrifices in the hope of a better life down the track - waiting for your turn to come around, as his song says above.
My friend 'Mum', as I call her, the owner of a streetside shop in Thon Buri who made the trek from Esan many years ago to raise her family in Bangkok, knows the feeling.
Mum turned up late for her interview last night. She was suffering period paid, and looked drawn and tired.
We chatted for 45 minutes. Towards the end, she started to enjoy it more, and was keen to offer her observations about the differences between Thais from the provinces, and those raised in Bangkok.
Two foreign students from a local university interviewed Mum for a rural development course. I acted as the translator, which was harder than I expected.
The students did not know much about Thai life, and their questions reflected it. I asked Mum a few things myself, based on what she has told me. Slowly, we pieced together a picture of a life. It is complicated, with its share of dreams, hopes, frustrations and disappointments.
The students, a young man and woman, asked about her life in Esan (the North East) before she moved to Bangkok 16 years ago. They asked why she came to Bangkok, and if she would like to go back. The girl scribbled notes, while the boy held a tape-recorder under Mum's nose.
She and her husband met in Esan. She came to Bangkok because her husband, then in the navy, had found work here.
The female student asked her if she had to give up her own job or career aspirations to accompany her husband to Bangkok. 'I was working for a company which supplied water to farmers, a mere company employee. My husband was in the government service, which has more security. I did not mind,' she said.
Eventually he quit the navy, and the two decided to open their shop together. 'It was a joint decision, and the business has done better than either of us hoped,' she said.
She expected she would have to spend another 10 years in Bangkok, but ultimately would like to return to her home province of Kalasin. 'I will have to wait for my son to graduate and find work first,' she said. 'We expect him to graduate with a bachelor's degree, at least.'
She does not know if she will open another business there. However, she likes the closeness of family life in the provinces. Family members live in their own houses but on the same plot of land, or close to each other. They see each other every day, though they may meet only for meals.
'In the West, some families only get together once a year. Thais are not like that. They live close to family all their lives. In my village, everyone knows each other, and are generous to people in need. The feeling is warm and close.
'In Bangkok, however, we live in a cramped apartment, and I do not know anybody,' she said.
Mum has no family in Bangkok, though occasionally her mother and younger sister pay a visit. Plenty of her customers are from Esan, some even from her home province. But if they are not family, it is not the same.
Mum says that she and her husband, who customers call Pa (Dad), are different from many Esan folk who move to Bangkok in that they have been here for years.
Many come as temporary workers, and return every year when they are needed on the farm. She and Pa, however, moved here for the long term - though she denies they settled or put down roots here, as that would imply they are here for good.
Mum and Pa run the shop alone. The shop never closes, so if one wants to go away, they have to call on another family member, such as Mum's younger sister, to step in.
When Mum goes back home, family members expect her to pay for meals and outings, because people earn higher incomes in Bangkok.
'In Bangkok, wages are higher, but so is the cost of living. Yet Thais who move here from the provinces are hard-working. They save money rather than spending everything they earn day by day. That also sets them apart from city folk,' she said.
Mum and Pa met when Mum was singing in nightclubs, and Pa was playing piano. Unprompted by the students, I asked Mum whether she felt sad about having to give up her interest in singing, to follow her husband to Bangkok.
'Don't tell them about that...that was just a short period in my life,' she insisted.
Mum has given up other things in the couple's quest for a better life in Bangkok - a sacrifice she has willingly made as she waits for her time to come around.
Some of the performing arts students who drink at her shop come from the same province as Mum. But while the boys speak in the Esan dialect, Mum sticks to central Thai. Once I asked her why she did not speak in Esan. I can't recall her answer now, but I suspect she has lost the confidence to use it.
'I understand everything they say, but I speak in central Thai,' she said.
Her son, Som, tried out a few manly sounding Esan words when he went home with Mum last time, so all is not lost.
A drama is airing on TV at the moment called Krungthep Ratree, which includes stage performances of Thai love songs from times past, by composer Eua Sunthornsanan (pictured), better known as Suntharaporn (สุนทราภรณ์), after the big band he formed in the 1940s.
He and the band composed more than 1000 songs, among them the song which plays on Songkran and Loy Krathong Day.
My friend 'Mum', as I call her, the owner of a streetside shop in Thon Buri who made the trek from Esan many years ago to raise her family in Bangkok, knows the feeling.
Mum turned up late for her interview last night. She was suffering period paid, and looked drawn and tired.
We chatted for 45 minutes. Towards the end, she started to enjoy it more, and was keen to offer her observations about the differences between Thais from the provinces, and those raised in Bangkok.
Two foreign students from a local university interviewed Mum for a rural development course. I acted as the translator, which was harder than I expected.
The students did not know much about Thai life, and their questions reflected it. I asked Mum a few things myself, based on what she has told me. Slowly, we pieced together a picture of a life. It is complicated, with its share of dreams, hopes, frustrations and disappointments.
The students, a young man and woman, asked about her life in Esan (the North East) before she moved to Bangkok 16 years ago. They asked why she came to Bangkok, and if she would like to go back. The girl scribbled notes, while the boy held a tape-recorder under Mum's nose.
She and her husband met in Esan. She came to Bangkok because her husband, then in the navy, had found work here.
The female student asked her if she had to give up her own job or career aspirations to accompany her husband to Bangkok. 'I was working for a company which supplied water to farmers, a mere company employee. My husband was in the government service, which has more security. I did not mind,' she said.
Eventually he quit the navy, and the two decided to open their shop together. 'It was a joint decision, and the business has done better than either of us hoped,' she said.
She expected she would have to spend another 10 years in Bangkok, but ultimately would like to return to her home province of Kalasin. 'I will have to wait for my son to graduate and find work first,' she said. 'We expect him to graduate with a bachelor's degree, at least.'
She does not know if she will open another business there. However, she likes the closeness of family life in the provinces. Family members live in their own houses but on the same plot of land, or close to each other. They see each other every day, though they may meet only for meals.
'In the West, some families only get together once a year. Thais are not like that. They live close to family all their lives. In my village, everyone knows each other, and are generous to people in need. The feeling is warm and close.
'In Bangkok, however, we live in a cramped apartment, and I do not know anybody,' she said.
Mum has no family in Bangkok, though occasionally her mother and younger sister pay a visit. Plenty of her customers are from Esan, some even from her home province. But if they are not family, it is not the same.
Mum says that she and her husband, who customers call Pa (Dad), are different from many Esan folk who move to Bangkok in that they have been here for years.
Many come as temporary workers, and return every year when they are needed on the farm. She and Pa, however, moved here for the long term - though she denies they settled or put down roots here, as that would imply they are here for good.
Mum and Pa run the shop alone. The shop never closes, so if one wants to go away, they have to call on another family member, such as Mum's younger sister, to step in.
When Mum goes back home, family members expect her to pay for meals and outings, because people earn higher incomes in Bangkok.
'In Bangkok, wages are higher, but so is the cost of living. Yet Thais who move here from the provinces are hard-working. They save money rather than spending everything they earn day by day. That also sets them apart from city folk,' she said.
Mum and Pa met when Mum was singing in nightclubs, and Pa was playing piano. Unprompted by the students, I asked Mum whether she felt sad about having to give up her interest in singing, to follow her husband to Bangkok.
'Don't tell them about that...that was just a short period in my life,' she insisted.
Mum has given up other things in the couple's quest for a better life in Bangkok - a sacrifice she has willingly made as she waits for her time to come around.
Some of the performing arts students who drink at her shop come from the same province as Mum. But while the boys speak in the Esan dialect, Mum sticks to central Thai. Once I asked her why she did not speak in Esan. I can't recall her answer now, but I suspect she has lost the confidence to use it.
'I understand everything they say, but I speak in central Thai,' she said.
Her son, Som, tried out a few manly sounding Esan words when he went home with Mum last time, so all is not lost.
A drama is airing on TV at the moment called Krungthep Ratree, which includes stage performances of Thai love songs from times past, by composer Eua Sunthornsanan (pictured), better known as Suntharaporn (สุนทราภรณ์), after the big band he formed in the 1940s.
The TV drama is named after one of his songs, which funnily enough was an ode to the beauty of Bangkok. I wonder if Mum's shares his high opinion of the place. The songs are dreamy, soft, and sad, and recall times long past.
Mum knows all the songs in the soundtrack, because she used to sing them on stage herself. Sometimes I overhear her singing them, from where she sits behind a desk overlooking her shop.
Next to her on the desk are two pictures from when she was young, including one where she is wearing a Thai traditional silk dress. Occasionally she picks them up and asks me if I still see any resemblance.
'Yes. It's you,' I say.
Thank you bkkdreamer, a nice and interesting story.
ReplyDeleteFryslân: Thank you for your comments. I hope you take the chance to listen to those old-style, big band Thai songs by Suntaraporn (see link in body of post). They are great for easing stress!
ReplyDeleteYou're right, "the songs are dreamy, soft, and sad" and have that 1940s feel about them. I wonder if Mum & Pa would consider reprising their musical act if someone wandered in with an electric piano.
ReplyDelete