Khao tom pla for breakie, Kew for dessert

Boyfriend Maiyuu made khao tom pla (Thai rice soup with fish) for breakfast. He bought the ingredients at the local supermarket. By the time I woke, I found he had left home on his bicycle to go shopping.

He makes a cooked meal for us to eat every morning, bless him.

At night, Maiyuu cooks again while I am at work, so I have something to eat before bed.

Last night, it was macaroni cheese, which he served with a red basil leaf on top. 

The other day, he made a custard cake. 'I took it out too soon, and the cake part went hard,' he said later.

The same night, I paid a visit to Pink Gins, a university teacher who lives in the same condo complex.

I had hoped to take him a piece of the custard cake, but Maiyuu would not let it leave home. 'It's not perfect,' he said.

Nor would he let me take a picture of the thing.

'But it looks normal enough,' I said.

'I want to make it perfect, first,' he said.
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I have been going through a few old Kew stories. Remember Kew, the ageing barboy from Pattaya?

I took down half a dozen of these posts a few months ago, as I thought they made me look naive, and lowered the tone.

After thinking about it again, I decided to repost them, as they are entertaining as stories, even if many of the tales he told me about his life were lies.

At the time, I could not see through Kew. I knew he liked to fabricate stories, but I couldn't tell how much of what he told me was truth, and how much was fiction.

For years, Kew told me that his mother had died, leaving his aunt to care for him, and his younger sister.

I caught him out on that lie, when I called his home number one day, and his 'dead' mother answered.

That was just one of the whoppers he told. In general, I now treat suspiciously any remark where he portrays himself in a favourable light.

Kew tells me often that he is supporting members of his family. That's probably untrue, as he doesn't earn enough.

Anything which sounds like it comes from a detective novel, even if it is related to his adventures in Pattaya, also gets the thumbs down.

With the passing of time, I have become more sceptical about Kew, which is a good thing. Now, when I read those old Kew posts, I spot what I suspect are lies left, right and centre.

Here are a few samples. I've put his suspicious sounding comments in italics. In some cases, I know they are lies, because I caught him out. In other cases, I just don't believe him, because it all sounds too fantastic.

From Young man's burden (part 1):

Kew says he sends them B5500 a month - B4000 to support his sister, B1000 to support his aunt, and B500 to pay the utility bills.
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'I have now paid off the mortgage on the condo, so we own it ourselves,' says Kew proudly. His mother, who is dead, left the place to Kew and his sister in her will.
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'Tonight she wanted to go out to celebrate New Year. I had only B300 left...I gave her most of it,' he said.

From Young man's buden (part 3):

I did not ask him whether he has gone to bed with any men. 'Some customers ask to sleep with me, but they have to pay extra for secks. I say they can sleep with me, but I must be fully clothed,' he said.

He claims he has bought himself a small self-protection device which he can use to apply an electric shock to people if they get too eager.

Some female customers, he says, ask him to drink with them. They drop drugs into his drink when he is not watching, in the hope it will make him more amenable to leaving with them.

From Run of bad luck (part 1):

I asked him how many times he had sold his body.

'About 20 to 30 times,' he said.

'If I went out with men, it was just for drinks.'
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I saw Kew most recently when we met for a meal in the Thon Buri market where I used to live.

We caught up at a canalside eatery. While we were there, a drunken Thai man from the next table pulled a cutter on his wife. Kew, who in his wilder days was probably no stranger to such weapons himself, bravely stepped in to the argument.

Since then, I have moved to our new condo in town, though I did not get the chance to tell Kew. He has no cellphone, so calls from phone boxes when he feels like getting in touch.

He called me a few weeks ago from a phone box close to my old place. 'Shall we meet?' he asked.

'I don't live there any more,' I said.

'I have just walked all the way here from home,' he complained. 'Where have you moved?'

I told him.

'That's a long way...' he said.

We said our goodbyes.

When I am sitting in my rocking chair in years to come, I shall look back on the Thon Buri chapter of our lives.

Compared to my present, more settled life in town, those were racy days.

I hope I meet Kew again. Despite all the lies and fantastic stories he told to boost his own ego, I feel close to the young man. He doesn't mind spending time with this clumsy, ageing farang either, so he can't be all bad.

Wet weather friend

When I came home from work, the lights were out.

Maiyuu had gone out. I checked my cellphone. He had sent me an SMS shortly before, letting me know that he would not be home.

'But there's food in the fridge,' his SMS said.

Well done. If boyfriend goes out, he should tell his mate, right? Cooking is even better.

I cast a quick glance around the place, which I had not seen in five hours.

The dishes were done. The dining table was clear.

I walked into my bedroom, where I found my washing on the bed. Maiyuu had retrieved my washing from the balcony in time to avoid last night's fierce rainy-season downpour.

Can this get any better?

Maiyuu had done everything I could expect of him as my stay-at-home other half. Nine years of breaking him in to farang ways are starting to pay off.

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God, another night battling Bangkok floods.

Farang C and I waded though ankle-deep water and pelting rain to reach home last night.
We live in the same condo, and are also friends at work.

Thai colleague Sor dropped us off in his car. Rather than take us all the way home, he let us off close to a railway line about five minutes away.

I was carrying a small portable umbrella. Farang C had nothing.

'I think you should have asked him to take us all the way home,' said farang C, as we sloshed through the floodwaters in our soi (sub-street).

'I plan to complain to the Drainage Department. This is terrible.'

My Thai friend Sor has given me a lift home after work for years.

Last night was farang C's first ride.

I know Sor's habits: he doesn't like to deviate from the route he knows. To put it more simply, he gets nervous in unfamiliar territory.

'I couldn't have asked him to take us all the way home. Imagine if his car had become stuck in the floods around our place,' I thought.

Farang C was soaked within moments of leaving the car. My portable umbrella was too small to be of much use, and before long I was soaked, too.

I contemplated the state of my track shoes, which have only just recovered after I was last caught in heavy rain a few weeks ago.

'After you were stuck in the rain last time, your track shoes stank,' farang C told me.'I had to hold my nose.'

After that day, I kept wearing them into the office, just in case I was stuck in heavy rain again on the way home.

I wear them to protect my proper work shoes, which I take in a bag.

Last night as our shift ended I changed from my work shoes back into track shoes, as I suspected he would have to walk through the wet again. I was right!

Slosh, slosh. Sploosh, sploosh.

'The trick is to stuff wet shoes with newspaper as they dry, so the smell goes away,' said farang C.

Back at the condo, we chatted in the corridor. His place is right next to mine.

I fetched some newspaper from my place, as he had run out.

Farang C stuffed his track shoes with newspaper. After we said our goodbyes for the night, I stuffed mine as well.

I like having a close friend. I have waited eight years in this place to get one. Farang C is straight, but doesn't seem to mind my funny gay ways.

With him, I can just be me. And in this odd place called Thailand, we can all do with a bit of that.

In the dark: Poj's 'Friends' revisited

Poj Anon's gay drama, Friends, aired on satellite television last night. I watched it with boyfriend Maiyuu for the first time since we bought the movie on VCD at the local 7-11, more than 12 months go.

Even though we had the film on VCD, it never made it beyond a single viewing, which is unfortunate, given the many hours I put into writing about it on this blog.

Also known as Bangkok Love Story, it is a tale about a gay relationship which develops between a hitman and a policeman.

Producer Sahamongkol Films insisted on violence to give it more general appeal as an action thriller.

It hoped mainstream audiences could then forgive all those annoying scenes of the male leads in white briefs looking moodily at each other against dark cityscapes - or rolling about on a soi making love to each other in the rain.

It was Thailand's first attempt at a serious gay drama, which Poj had strived his whole career to make. Well, that's what the media told us.

Personally speaking, I think director Poj should stick to making the slapstick kathoey comedies for which he is better known.

Friends, while beautifully shot and made with a pretty soundtrack, tries too hard to be dramatic.

The film is light in dialogue, which director Poj must have thought was a plus. Yet dialogue doesn't have to get in the way - in fact, it is essential for establishing motive, and getting at the humanity of us all.

All Poj had to do was watch a typical British TV drama - Dalziel and Pascoe, which Maiyuu and I watched on TV this morning, comes to mind - to see how it should be done.

The British know how to do drama. Thais, who are not good communicators anyway, reckon events should speak for themselves. The result, in the case of a Friends, is a movie which characters emerge as mere puppets.

By the end of the film, everyone but one male lead is dead...yet do we feel anything? Do we ever see him interact meaningfully with colleagues, friends, family?

'I have Aids, and sold my body,' Mohk tells his elder brother, hitman Mehk.

Slap, slap, slap across the face.

Moody music.

Cut to train station. Mohk will go to Chiang Mai for treatment. Mehk will take him.

Fate, however, intervenes. As the brothers head towards each other on the platform, police emerge to arrest Mehk, who has been on one of his shooting sprees.

Old photos carried by Mohk come loose from his bag and scatter to the winds of time.

Cut to hospital, where Mohk dies of his disease.

In all of this drama, barely a word is spoken. it is as if Poj is telling us that 'real' men, even when they have a gay streak, can't communicate. Or is it just a Thai thing?

The ear drop master

Maiyuu has been putting in my ear drops.

I am a hopeless patient, and hate things getting in my ear. It is much better if ask him to do it rather than attempt such a difficult task myself.

Twice a day, I put my head on his knee, left ear facing upwards - and grip his leg tightly, to prepare myself for the awful sensation when the ear drops fall in my ear.

It tickles, it hurts.

My initial reaction must have seemed extreme to poor Maiyuu, who now counts down before he squeezes the bottle, releasing the solitary drop on its long journey into my sensitive hole.

'One...two...THREE!'

Last night he tried a new variation on the countdown routine.

One..two...two and a half...two and a bit...THREE!'

I hate the drops, but am enjoying the encounters on Maiyuu's lap. When he plays nurse, he's rather cute.

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For those who really want to know, I have left a brief account of my latest argument with the boyfriend in the comments section of the last post. Here's a copy, without the spelling mistakes:

'Maiyuu had taken his I-phone into the repair centre to get them to install a Thai language programme.

'He didn't tell me. The other day while I was out, I called and sent an SMS, but he did not reply.

'When I got home he told me he had sent it away three days ago. I asked why he chose not to tell me.

'He reckoned it wasn't important. I insisted it was, as he could have done anything with it - sold it, lost it - and I would be the last to know. I might also have been calling him urgently.

'He says he is always at home anyway, and there is nothing so important that it can't wait until I get home too.

'He has a point there, but still I would like our communication to improve. I dislike being left in the dark.

'I over-reacted. Maybe it was a bad day.'

Cooking the blogging goose

Readers can be an insistent bunch. We want this! We want that! And if you don't provide, we'll go somewhere else!

One reason I welcome comments is that I want this blog to reflect reader demands.

If I turned off the comments, let's say, all you would get is my idea of what a blog should look like, but nothing more.

If you ask for something and I provide it, the blog reflects more of what readers want, not just me.

I posted a fluffy piece yesterday about ear drops; then, at the request of a reader, included a brief description of my latest argument with Maiyuu.

That's not the post I intended to leave, but it looked better as a result.

There are limitations, of course. I won't drop the boyfriend, just because a few disgruntled readers from Silom's blog, for example, may not like the sound of him.

I suspect I have annoyed more than a few farang readers with my stories about Maiyuu. They are used to getting their way with Thais, perhaps...or maybe they just seethe with the rankling injustice of it all.

This unpleasant set invariably posts under the anonymous label, despite their supposed bravado.

I want to bring you one reader comment - anonymous, needless to say - which someone left on this blog in response to yesterday's post. He's responding to my remarks that I seldom get to meet Maiyuu's relatives.

Earlier, I said the profusion of new Thai gay bloggers has given me the ability to say 'piss off' to hostile posters with impunity.

Even if I lose one reader today, I am likely to pick up another few passing their way through the other blogs. We all link to each other after all...
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''Very suspicious that the 'love of your life' doesn't let you meet his relatives; but you probably fund them anyway.

The 'power' that comes with a 'real blogging community?' You're off your meds again, mate.

If your blog becomes nothing more than a sparring match between Maiyuu's cooking and Thai fashion-chickens, your blogging goose is already cooked - there are only so many times that you can rehash all of those old stories.

Incidentally, you might mention to Maiyuu that you make more money when you give details on the blog- I suspect his opinions are highly influenced by that particular issue, no?''
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I deleted the post from the comments section when it appeared, but am reviving it here, because this reader deserves his moment in the sun.

Why is he so grumpy - can't he just enjoy the wonderful guys illustrating this post like the rest of us?

PS: When I told Maiyuu that readers like hearing about our domestic dramas, he put aside his usual reluctance to have me publish personal matters in this blog.

Maiyuu told me to go ahead and publish whatever I like. Happy blogging days ahead!