Nervous driver/cook, skinny-leg jeans

‘When is the last time you were behind the wheel of a car?’ asked my father, pointing at the family vehicle.

‘More than two years ago,’ I admitted.

The last time was on a previous visit to see my parents. I drove their car on the dirt roads around a large historical park and picnic area close to home, with Dad in the passenger seat.

Dad gets me to try out driving when I am staying with them because it is the only chance I get to exercise whatever remains of my driving skills.

In Thailand, I do not own a car. In the past nine years, I have probably driven a vehicle for no longer than half an hour in total, and always when I am overseas with my parents.

Here, I get about in taxis, or friends take me.

My parents want me to keep up my driving skills, as one day I might return to the West to live. There, I would have to be more independent. In my last life I owned a car and drove regularly.

‘Would you like to have a go?’ he asked.

I climbed in behind the wheel, while Dad took the passenger seat.

I should join a reality show on mastering real-life challenges. The previous night, I tried cooking a meal, again for the first time in more than two years.

It’s not nerve-wracking; it’s just depressing, realising how much I have forgotten, and how lacking in confidence I had become. Once, I cooked regularly.

This time, Mum was my instructor.

Just as Dad is worried about whether I can still recall how to drive, Mum is concerned that in the Land of Smiles, I rarely make food.

In Bangkok, cooked Thai food is available for sale on the streets. I no longer have to provide for my own needs. Apart from that, boyfriend Maiyuu enjoys cooking, so I rarely feel the need to pick up a saucepan or chop up a clove of garlic myself.

‘Let me make dinner tonight. I want to give you a break,' I said.

‘What do you want to make?’ Mum asked.

‘Well...whatever you like, as I might need your help,’ I said.

We made a lamb chop casserole, made from one of Mum’s recipes, which she had inherited from her own mother years before.

She assembled the meat and vegetables on the bench, found the fry pan and saucepans, and lit the gas.

‘When you cut the onions, look out for your eyes,’ said Mum helpfully.

The evening meal was a success, though most of the credit has to go to my mother, who had planned the meal the evening before, and knew we had everything we needed to make it.

‘This is delicious,’ said Mum approvingly.

‘Really, it was all your work,’ I replied.

That was just the warming-up exercise in showing me how much I have forgotten since I left the West for Thailand. Next day, as I say, I was to dust off a few skills outside home, as Dad attempted to show me how to drive.

Behind the wheel, I started the engine, but the gear would not shift from parking mode.

‘How do you get the thing to move?’

‘Put your foot on the brake. It releases the gear,’ he said.

We crawled down the driveway, and on to the road outside, which was deserted.

I drove for 50m, when double lines suddenly appeared on the road.

‘This doesn’t feel good. The lines in the middle make my lane feel too narrow,’ I said.

Dad had asked if I wanted to take the car down the road to fill up with petrol. I decided against, as I might have to share the road with other vehicles. Avoiding other cars might be too hard.

Dad suggested it might be time for him to take over.

He didn’t bother praising my driving, because both of us knew I was no good.

Mum, however, provided words of comfort, as she too feels uncomfortable on the road.

‘When I drive, Dad gets feels just an anxious,’ she said.

‘Will you try cooking when you get back to Bangkok?’

‘I will have to ask the Master of the Kitchen,’ I said, referring to Maiyuu.

Back in Bangkok, I asked Maiyuu if he would let me cook for us occasionally.

I used to enjoy cooking simple evening meals when I lived in the West. I reckon I could get those old feelings back again, I told myself.

In any event, I owe it to myself and my parents to try, right?

‘If you cooked, I’d have to spend all my time cleaning up the mess,’ said Maiyuu.

The next day, I tried again.

‘Can I cook?’ I asked.

‘Unless you are a chef of professional standard, access to the kitchen is forbidden!’ he declared.

I will have to save my enthusiasm for cooking for future visits to my parents.

My visits overseas provide an escape from the narrow, at times suffocating life I live in exciting Bangkok.

I am like a child, learning how to take first steps in the adult world again. My poor parents are having to show me how to do things again which they long ago must have hoped I had mastered, such as chopping up the vegetables.

Despite that, my parents and I enjoy each other’s company more as we get older. We should make the most of the opportunity while we can.

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The skinny low-rise look

Low-rise jeans which cling to the hips and the legs are popular with the young, including Maiyuu, who turned up at the airport to greet me in a pair.

I can’t see the appeal. On skinny legs, they make men look spindly. On fat legs, they make them look even bigger.

Writing at the popular Pantip webboard, one daring poster is wondering why young men bother.

‘I know these are the fashion, but just how are they supposed to make me look fashionable or trendy?’ he asked.

‘It depends on the wearer,’ readers replied.