That was Aunty Lek, advising me on my estranged relationship with young Dream, who has barely spoken to me since I swore at him on the phone two weeks ago.
Dream, 18, an only child, lives in a basic slum home, watches football and boxing, whizzes about on a motorbike, and enjoys computer games.
He is a typical growly Thai youngster, you would think, and yet apparently not.
When I called that fateful morning, I didn’t know my closing words as our argument intensified – ‘go fuck yourself!’ – would have such widespread repercussions.
Dream had started to draw close to this middle-aged foreigner in his family’s life, and was startled when I responded with such hostility – at least, that's the way Aunty Lek tells the story.
He called me back to unleash a swear word or two of his own.
‘Ai hiya!’ he said, though as he uttered the words I thought he sounded uncertain or at least unconvincing, as if he doesn’t part with curses that often.
When I heard how much he really wanted to swear, but couldn’t, I felt sorry for him, and tried to apologise. Unfortunately, Dream was having none of it.
Aunty Lek, who recalls Dream’s shocked reaction, knows we are both upset about what happened.
‘You were making good progress, but when you swore at him, you went back to zero,’ she said.
Well, that’s sad, especially given the amount of effort I had put into our friendship. At the time, I was calling him daily, and sending him text messages of encouragement as he grappled with work, health and family problems.
I saw his mother much more often than I did Dream. She told me about his life, and I sent messages to let him know I was thinking of him.
Isn’t that what foster dads do?
Naturally, Dream grew sick of it, but rather than tell me, simply started ignoring my calls.
‘When you swore at him, Dream was stressed with work,' Lek said.
‘You shouldn’t try so hard. Just let these things take their course.’
I had joined the drinking circle which gathers outside their home almost every night. Aunty Lek, who has just lost her job as a cleaner across town, is a mainstay of the gatherings.
Dream’s mother, Orng, and Uncle Mee, a middle-aged driver who likes to cook, prepare one Thai dish after another on the family’s gas cooker.
Half a dozen adults gather at the table, mainly friends of Dream’s mother. We were joined by a boisterous young messenger, Laem, and Dream’s cousin, Dear, who has just started work at a shipping company in Silom.
Orng's husband, P' Noi, who celebrates his birthday tomorrow, slept on the couch by the front door.
The conversations outside have a dreamy quality, probably because I do not follow most of them, and contribute only when prompted.
Plenty of the chatter is funny, and I laugh when I can.
Lek, who casts glances in my direction to see if I am enjoying myself, can see I am troubled despite the outward show of happiness. She wants to help ease my mind.
I hadn’t mentioned Dream; I rarely do any more, as no one wants to hear it. In the early days, I would follow his every movement, ask him if he had eaten, tell him to wear more clothes, and fuss about him like an old hen.
I just wouldn‘t leave the poor kid alone.
That only underlined an impression at the table that I was chasing Dream. One or two elders passed jokes about how he would make a good wife for me, though I should be wary of his sharp tongue.
‘I hope you don’t want to take Dream as your husband,’ his mother said one day over New Year. We had known each other just a day or two.
Orng's question might have sounded sweeter if she had said ‘wife’, but she must have figured that in any such coupling, Dream would have to be the manly half of the relationship. She’s a proud mum after all!
Her concerns were underlined when, at a gathering on New Year's Eve, a drunken woman turned up and all but accused me of being gay.
‘There’s only one reason he’s here, and it’s because he’s interested in the young men,’ she slurred, referring to me.
I didn’t remember this woman, but she knew me. She wanted to speak to me in English and tell me what a ratbag I was.
‘You walked past me in the slum one day and I offered you a drink. You refused it,’ she snarled.
So what?
‘He told me he thinks we just want to sell ourselves and are not interested in real love.’
Okay, so how do I come into it?
I shifted in my seat away from her aggressive, drunken advances. ‘See, there you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘He can’t do it. That proves it. He's g…g…’’
She wouldn’t utter the ‘gay’ word, as she didn’t want to embarrass the table.
I didn’t know how to cope with this woman, just as I didn’t know how to handle the Dream challenge.
I tried ignoring her. When that didn’t work, I snapped at her, and belittled her with high-level English I knew she wouldn’t understand. The conversation at the table came to a sudden, awkward halt.
In the end, I decided to be civil. She told me again why she was upset, and we parted friends. I managed to overcome my screaming gay genes to give her the public kiss and cuddle she craved. She apologised to Dream’s mother, and staggered home.
I haven’t seen her since, but Aunty Lek recalls our blistering conversation well.
‘People should come here as family, not looking for a partner,’ she said matter-of-factly.
Was that aimed at me?
‘Is that what people really think, that I want Dream to be my boyfriend?’ I asked.
I haven’t told anyone I live with a Thai guy, but some things require no explanation.
Do Thais care that much anyway?
‘When he was at school, his name was Sonchai,’ he pronounced, denying he was trying to squeeze her breasts. Nimble Sonchai managed to escape his grasp.
Back to Aunty Lek and my little Dream drama.
‘I don’t think Dream’s mum thinks that way, but it's best if you treat everyone as family,’ she said.
‘Don’t buy him things, as money is not important. Dream has enough.’
I had offered Dream a watch, as I knew he broke his in a recent motorcycle accident.
Lek knew about the watch, and the day I asked if he wanted any new clothes.
Dream must tell his Mum, who passes this news on to Lek.
Those are the only two gifts I had offered him, but the message from Aunty Lek is that such generosity is unnecessary.
She also knew about a text message I had sent him a few days before in which I told Dream I missed him and wanted him back in my life.
‘Don’t tell him how much you want things. Take things easy. Buy gifts for his mother and P' Noi instead. When he sees how much you care for them, and you do, he will come around. It will take time to win his confidence…you can’t rush it,’ she said.
Earlier that day, Dream had shut the door in my face.
I was walking past his place on my way to work, and through the open door to their home saw him sitting in the living room with his mother. My young friend, at home for his lunch break, was playing with his smartphone.
‘Dream…Dream…,’ I said at the doorway, trying to get his attention.
Dream pretends he can’t hear, as our relationship is now officially dead. ‘Don’t you want to talk?’ I asked.
‘No, I don’t,’ he said, springing to his feet. ‘We’re over. Go!’ he said, shutting the door in my face.
His mother sat there saying nothing, as usual.
I went to work in a state of shock. My text message, which took two days to write, lay in tatters.
I contemplated giving up the fight, but decided against.
Later that night, I stubbornly turned up at Dream’s place, and took my seat at the table next to Lek.
Dream arrived home from work shortly after. We pretended not to see each other.
He took a wash, made a brief bare-chested appearance at the table to joke with some of the adults, and took off on his motorbike for a meal across the way.
When his mother started checking the motorcycles entering the lane after 10pm, I knew she was thinking about her son.
She called him. Dream said he was eating moo krata with friends, and assured his mum he wasn’t drinking.
Orng reported the news to the table. By the time I left half an hour later, my angry young friend still hadn’t returned.
‘You’ve done well tonight,’ Lek assured me. ‘You’re here as family. You’re not making a fuss. You can go home and sleep easy.’
Aunty Lek was right. For the first time in days, I slept without worrying about the harm I did to this young man’s simple hopes that we might be friends.
He doesn’t want anything from me, and I am not in a position to give it. We’re just family, apparently, and if that doesn’t work, we should go our own ways. Aunty Lek, perhaps acting on behalf of Dream’s mother, has tugged me back into line.
Lek suggested I buy a patterned shirt for Dream’s dad on his birthday tomorrow, which I will do.
His Mum, who has decided to give me another chance despite the drama over her son, sent me home with some of her home cooking.
Two days before, I gave her and her husband some Christmas cake which my mother sent from overseas.
The last time I saw Lek, my feelings about Dream’s rejection were still raw. I told her to keep out of my problems. She, too, is giving me another chance, even though I know she must be worried about the loss of her job.
They think I can do better, despite my silly mistakes.
What an astonishing crowd. I hardly deserve it, but I will take the opportunity they are offering me, and see where we go.
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