Making a difference

At Ball’s place, a small family gathering had been underway for several hours.

Well, ‘family’ in the loose sense of the word.

Mum was out. In the sitting room I found Ball, and his girlfriend huddled in a corner next to him. Elder brother Boy the soldier was there, as was elder sister Kae’s partner, and a cousin.

Toddler Fresh was still up, playing.

Earlier, when I called from work, Ball invited me around.

The adults were sitting among half-eaten bowls of food, some of which had spilled on the floor.

A bottle of whisky, nearly empty, sat there too.

The boys decided to have a lad’s night at home, to celebrate the start of a long weekend. Today is Mother’s Day in Thailand, coinciding with the Queen’s birthday.

Mum is thinking of taking the family to see her own mother in Onnut, for a one-day visit.

However, I doubt Ball will be in much shape for going anywhere, as he did himself no favours last night.

He gave me a cheery welcome when I arrived, but I could tell he was well past his best.

My young friend’s eyes were hooded, and his head hung down on his chest. He looked shocking.

His girlfriend Jay, the only one without a glass, was fed up, and wanted him to stop.

Ball, nursing his drink, spoke to her brusquely. She went to bed in a huff.

The other young men in the gathering appeared sober, but oblivious to the state in which Ball had drunk himself.

The cousin, whose name I can’t remember, shook my hand, and played the convivial host.

‘You don’t mind our little gathering, do you?’ he said pleasantly, asking if I was offended at the sight of the mess on Mum’s living room floor.

‘No, of course not,’ I replied.

'Ball, you can finish that. We’ll buy some beer,’ he said.

He emptied the rest of the bottle into Ball’s glass: way too much under ordinary circumstances, and certainly too much given the state he was in.

Ball turned to me, still upset about the way his girlfriend spoke to him.

‘I now have a job...no one can stop me if I want to relax at home. I am not getting into trouble outdoors. No one has the right...I hate it when people annoy me,’ he slurred.

Half an hour later, Ball realised he had taken enough He shook my hand, and staggered upstairs.

The young men in the group watched him leave, but said little. Seconds later, the conversation resumed where it had left off.

I excused myself.

I can't understand how they can be so complacent.

Yes, he demands his freedom. But how they can stand by as Ball, a member of the family, inflicts damage on himself is beyond me. Have these people forgotten how to communicate?