Ties of friendship

The boyfriend felt ill with a head cold or flu yesterday, and was out of sorts. I have had breathing problems and a bad cough for weeks. All of this is probably aggravated by the cold weather. Bangkok's climate is getting annoying, like that of the West - why am I still here?

Walking through the market without breaking out in a sweat is pleasant. Spending two or three hours sitting on the pier watching life go by is good, too. At the height of the hot season, I can do neither, so we should regard this cold-season break as a welcome change.

Still, I would like to try hot again, just to see if our health problems can clear up. In the heat, the boyfriend might also be less inclined to cook and bake...so how else will he spend his idle time? I'm curious to know that, too.
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The delapidated wooden pier where we liked to sit

'Seven of my friends have now joined the monkhood, we feel so bad about what happened.'

I was talking to Mr Nok, who I met a few weeks before, when he turned up at the pier with a group of friends for a swim.

The boys have lost one of their friends, a disabled youngster called Ou. I read in the local papers about his death at the hands of a group of angry teens.

I didn't realise it was the same boy until Nok told me we had met at the local pier close to my home.

Ou was physically disabled. His school friends have entered the monkhood to make merit for him, though some do so out of a sense of guilt.

On the day he died, Mr Nok and his friends fought a group of lads outside a temple. One group gave the other a bad look...that's enough to spark a fight these days.

In Nok's group, the able-bodied ones fled, leaving Ou to face the angry ones alone. Ou, who lost his life in the ensuing fight, was found stabbed and beaten.

His friends, who went to his funeral, feel guilty. Seven have joined the monkhood for a few days each to make amends.

Nok, who fancies himself as a rebel, nonetheless feels bad about abandoning his friend.

'We ran because they pulled out knives,' he said, while fingering the grip-end of a hammer which he pulled out of his school rucksack, and which he himself keeps handy as a weapon.

Nok lives with his Mum, a masseuse who works at night. They come originally from Esan, in the Northeast, though they now live in Bangkok.

His Dad left when he was young. He has two brothers; one is a painter, the other serving time in jail for a drug offence.

A tiny little chap, aged 12, he has played truant from school for the last two days. He visits the pier while he waits for the hours to tick down before he can go home again.

He wore regular uniform when I saw him the other day. The day before, he wore his scout gear.

'I woke up too late to go to school. By the time I arrived, the students had already lined up for the flag ceremony,' he said.

Thai students assemble to pay respects to the national flag every morning. I did the same when I was at school, though it was a different flag, of course.

I doubt students in my home country do that any more...as a society, we have become too grown up.

The pier is within walking distance of Nok's home, though further away from his school. Teachers are unlikely to visit looking for errant pupils, which is convenient.

Nok and I sat on the pier for for three or four hours. We talked, and watched the boats go by.

On day one, he was hungry. I had no change, so I gave him B50.

In late afternoon, a friend of mine, Nut, turned up.

Nut, who is 19, likes to fish from the pier. He was also hungry and had no money.

'Ask my friend Nok to split the B50 I just gave him,' I suggested.

Nok, of course, resisted. He picked up his bag and made to go home. The two boys were strangers to each other.

Nut, who is senior to Nok and took advantage of the age difference to pummel the younger boy with questions, asked him why he was wagging.

'At your age, you can still turn up late for the flag ceremony without being punished. You just wanted to bunk,' he said.

He asked Nok what school he went to, what year he was in, where he lived. It was a Thai-style inquisition....much like being chopped up, and having yourself handed back on a plate.

Thais do it so efficiently. They possess local knowledge and language skills which foreigners lack. We are just bystanders - though after taking a glimpse at the dark corners in this young man's sad life, maybe I should be thankful.

Knock yourself out (2, final)

Thank you for the kind responses. As readers, you are sweet to me, and I am moved by your loyalty.

I have been thinking about the trolls at the thaivisa board. I suspect some of them prefer a sleazy perspective on Thai life - something more in keeping with their own existence here, perhaps.

If nightlife sleaze is what people are after, then as a few readers have remarked, there is no shortage of stuff on the internet. It's a well-trodden path.

Harder to find is writing which tries to get across what a slice of ordinary Thai life (admittedly urban-centric, as it is set in Bangkok rather than the provinces) can be like.

In the West, I wouldn't bother describing a visit to the local pier...who cares? Yet here such mundane tales can be interesting, because of what they tell us about Thais.

I think about those Thais fishing the other night...tiny guys pulling with all their might on flimsy lines, racing up and down the side of the pier, trying to haul in those big, ugly black fish.

Who wouldn't want to write about it, or share those stories with friends?

Who would want to eat those fish? Someone does. They may not be to everyone's taste, but they are bound to have a few fans.

Regarding politics...one reader would rather I leave that job to the Economist. Another urges me to leave the big picture stuff to Google, and focus on day-to-day stuff in the blog.

I like the Economist, and agree it does a fine job. However, the political events of the last few months have been exceptional. I wanted to have a say on them too, partly to let off steam, but also to get across what I think.

While most foreigners are probably against the PAD protesters, many urban, middle-class Thais back them. For that reason alone, it was worth exploring.

Regarding Thai stars...I realise tales about the exploits of Thai celebrities do not enthrall everyone.

When I started writing the blog, few fans were writing in English about Thai entertainers. Yet the boyfriend and I were interested in some of them, and I thought their stories were worth sharing.

These days, blogs about Thai stars are more common, and attract a big following.

Wise Kwai's Thai film blog is a wealth of informative material about Thai film; my 'heart sister' Lyn, of Lyn's lakorns blog, tells us possibly more than we ever wanted to know about Thai soap operas.

Hardly any foreigners bother to trawl the Thai-language media every day for interesting stories. I do it, because I would run out of things to write about otherwise.

Above all, a blog is interesting not just because of its content, but its readers. It has only taken me 2.5 years of writing to figure that out.

I hope you continue posting comments, and I will continue looking for ways in which readers can 'interact' with this blog. Please excuse the jargon. Although the words look off-putting, they do express real things.

After reading them for months, I know more about what bloggers Kawadjan, Bangkok Bitch, Lyn, and the hard-working scribes at dirtilaundry (for example) think about life.

Some readers have their own distinct voice when they leave comments. They are funny, or long-winded, or bitchy, or sad about their own Thai lives or memories here.

Some have been here a while, while others appear to have left, because they don't comment any more. However, I do remember some of the names, and the responses they liked to leave.

The luckiest bloggers in the world are those who get plenty of reader reaction. Without it, writing for an audience is hardly worthwhile.

Please keep the comments coming.

Knock yourself out (1)

Regulars at thaivisa's gay sub-forum are having fun getting stuck into this blog.

It's boring and poorly written, they say...boyfriend sells old clothes, woman down the hall makes noise, blah blah.

Blogs are like diaries. It is hard to dip in to them and immediately find something interesting.

This blog provides a glimpse of Thai life...a snapshot, through the eyes of one person, who may not lead a particularly interesting life.

After writing this blog for more than 2.5 years, I am only now learning how to write so I have some chance of pleasing readers.

So if it's boring and poorly written now, imagine how bad it was in the past!

now, see part 2

Meritorious fish

'A friend of mine wants to make merit badly. She wants to publish a short story on Lord Buddha's adventures. Could you help her?' asked Song, owner of an internet shop where I teach English.

The woman, aged in 50s, went to a private school in Bangkok and has good spoken English. She is translating a mythical story from Thai into English and wants me to check her work.

At Song's request, to help her perform her good work, I have agreed to check-sub her story.

I met the woman at Song's shop two weeks ago.

What I find curious is that I am expected to perform this labour for free, simply because she wants to make merit.

I have taken a quick look at her manuscript. Hours of work will be needed to knock it into shape.

Is publishing the work itself a meritorious act, regardless of whether it makes money?

And if she does make money, will she give me some?

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Bird, head bowed as he sat at the table, started to cry.

One of my students, he entered the shop moments earlier without saying a word.

His father chastised him for keeping me waiting.

Dad, who works just down the way, walked past the shop where I teach moments before, and noticed that I was inside waiting for Bird to arrive.

Bird, who loves basketball, sometimes turns up late for class. Mind you, so do I. It is a casual arrangement.

Bird lives with his parents and sister next door in a shophouse/home which is also the family's tailoring business.

Song noticed Mr Bird crying, and rubbed his shoulders. I passed him tissues, wiped his eyes, and told him not to worry.

'Thais are deferential to farang, sometimes without good reason,' I said. 'I turn up late too. How many times have I kept you waiting?'

Mr Bird was too moody to talk, so for most of the lesson we communicated in writing. When I wanted to say something, I passed him a note. He would write down his answer, and pass it back.

'Do you know how to drive a motorbike?' I wrote.

'No, but I want to learn how to drive a car,' he replied.

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Maiyuu was baking, so I went for a walk in the market to get out of his hair.

Under an overhead bridge, I found a food stall which sold steak. I hadn't seen this woman before. She worked alone.

'Steak...chicken or beef?' she asked.

That was cunning. I didn't have time to ask myself whether I really wanted either.

'Beef,' I said.

On my way home, I bumped into Rut, young gay guy from the local school. He called over half a dozen friends, whom he introduced.

'We have not eaten since this morning,' he said. 'What's in your box?'

'Steak,' I told him. 'How many people need to eat?'

Apart from Rut, four others needed feeding. I could contribute to the meal, but we would still need to order extra.

At a food stall nearby, we took a table, and Rut ordered fried egg on rice. I gave him B100 towards their meal.

I gave them the steak. Mr Rut insisted I eat first. I took one french fry. Only moments had passed since the woman under the bridge made it, but already the steak was cold.

The youngsters were unworried: they devoured it in minutes.

As we waited for the food order to arrive, a commotion broke out nearby.

Nut and a biggish girl whom the others call chang yim (smiling elephant), ran away to investigate.

While they were away, the food arrived. Mr Rut, aged 15, made the most of their absence to tuck in.

He took a large bottle of chili sauce and tipped it over the food, until it was covered in a large pool of the stuff.

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One of the piers at the canal where locals fish

We joined a group of young men fishing off a nearby pier.

Some were students from the local school. Oldest in the group were two men in their 50s, grizzled types with missing teeth.

One man owns a small canoe-shaped boat which he tethers to the pier.

The pier was done up recently. It is now made of metal. The old one, made of wood, collapsed.

Two signs, in English and Thai, have also been erected. They give the name of the pier, and explain the history of the area. Needless to say, we were all piling around the signs, eager to know what brought us here.

Since the new pier arrived - it took metal-workers weeks to build - it has become a popular fishing spot among local people.

Fifty metres away is another pier, made of wood, which I visit in the daytime. Long-tailed boats pick up and disgorge passengers here.

It's old, but not yet so dilapidated that it needs fixing. Locals gather on that pier to fish too, but the fishing at that end is not as good.

The fishing group used as bait long strips of bread, arranged like a shish kabab.

One man pulling in a fish wound on his line furiously, performing large flicking and sweeping motions with his hand-held rod, like a fly fisherman. The others moved out of his way.

They were rewarded with large muddly-looking fish, which they bagged.

After catching their fish, the fisherman gave them a wai.

Rut and three friends piled on a motorbike. They were off to find a friend.

Rut, who has a small body and is the baby of the group, squeezed in front and bobbed his head. Two girls sat behind Nut, who reached over Rut to get at the handlebars, and steer the thing.

I hope they were not going far, as it looked dangerous.

'Our family car,' said Mr Nut, in English, as he pulled away.

Shifty bacon

The internet is down at my place again, which is becoming a weekly event. If old people like regularity, then the weekly lapse in internet connection to my home should be something I anticipate eagerly.

I am writing this on Microsoft Word, with the intention of saving it on a memory stick, which I shall insert into a computer at an internet shop in the market.

Even when my internet at home is not working, the net available to shops in the market invariably is.

Don’t ask me how they do that. They might use a different provider.

Or perhaps we use the same company, but the provider has a clever way of distinguishing between business and domestic users.

If they need to do maintenance, they can drop the service they provide to domestic users first, because we have lower priority.

Boyfriend Maiyuu showed me how to use a memory stick once, but I have forgotten. At the moment, he is too busy cooking to give me another demonstration. I lack the wit to help myself, so like an old man in a rest home waiting for God to take him, I shall just have to sit here until he is ready.
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The air-conditioning unit is making strange noises, and should really be inspected by an air con man.

Our last adventure with an air con man was a disaster. I can’t recall what prompted us to call him, but when he inspected the machine he found that a metal plate was rusting.

Maiyuu gave him B3000 and he went away to build a new one.

From memory, he did not return to fit it, as he became busy servicing customers in the provinces. This was in the lead-up to the hot season, months ago.

I never saw him inspect the machine, but my Thai boyfriend assures he did come. For weeks, I hectored the boyfriend, urging him to call the guy, and find out when he was intending to finish the job.

Just as I never saw him turn up at our place (the boyfriend claims he came while I was at work), I never once heard Maiyuu call him to ask when he was coming back. He may never have existed, for all know. The whole affair may have been a fabrication, designed to cover up what, I do not know.

Last night when I heard the machine making strange noises, I asked Maiyuu to take a listen.

‘Yes, it does sound odd,’ he agreed.

‘Please call the air con man ... a different one this time, as the last one took our money,’ I said.

‘Oh, he did return it in the end,’ Maiyuu announced airily. ‘I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid you’d ask me to share the money with you.’

Maiyuu says he spent the B3000 on other things.

This does not please me, as it is yet more evidence of my boyfriend's duplicity. Maiyuu tells me little about our finances. He treats me like an idiot who does not deserve to know.

As I sat on the pier watching a canal devoid of life this morning, I reminded myself of why I am unhappy.

1. The air con repairer returned our money, but Maiyuu saw fit not to tell me.

2. Maiyuu spent the money slyly.

3. He should have kept it aside and called another air con repair man, as the original problem has still not been fixed.

See why foreigners get so frustrated with Thais? In the political arena, they are shifty, duplicitous, untrustworthy, and prone to forgetting where their loyalties lie. They can be the same in their private lives.
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Maiyuu is experimenting with bacon and puff pastry.

First, he tried bacon twists. They tasted good, but the pastry did not swell enough.

Then he made little bacon, cheese and puff-pastry envelopes. They were tasty too, though I could have done without the cheese.

Thai cheese, milk and eggs taste processed. I want to smell the grass!
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Mr Friendly, from the 7-11, has re-appeared. I haven’t seen him for more than a month.

As I entered the shop, he gave me a big smile, and looked excited to see me.

‘How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages,’ I said.

'I have been working night shift,’ he said.

Mr Friendly, whose real name is T, has lost weight.

‘Have you stopped eating? I asked. ‘You have shrunk.’

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I eat a huge amount. But what would you recommend, if I do want to gain weight...hamburgers? Bread?’ he asked.

‘Yes...farang food will make you fat,’ I said.

The last time I saw Mr T, he told me he was stressed...worrying about his family.

On my previous visit to the shop, he told me about his family life ...he comes from the North, and has three brothers. They live on a farm, and his mother left him shortly after birth.

He is bitter and unhappy about his mother, who renewed contact with him recently. She has a new man in her life.

‘Are you stressed...is that why you look thinner?’ I asked.

Behind the counter, a plumpish girl next to him was counting cash as we talked. She ignored us.

‘I am stressed a little...yes, I do worry about things,’ he said.

Mr T likes me to know that he worries about his family. If not, then why does he tell me about it so often?

He does not have many friends in Bangkok...or maybe they are too young to know how to listen to his concerns.

He’s a great kid...I enjoy our talks. At my age, I am old and settled enough to know how to listen. I look like an uncle. Maybe he misses older male figures in his life.

T keeps hinting that he would like to drink with me, or go out one night.

But I am not sure if we would really enjoy each other for that long. It might be better if we keep things the way they are.