Obdurate patient, Fluke embarks on gay role

A mercy errand for the sick patient might be in order. Maiyuu is still coughing and looking miserable, but won’t do anything to help himself.

Take medicine? Don’t be silly. He eats as much as ever, which is good, but won’t take anything to relieve the symptoms of his cold.

I will buy him some aspirin to relieve joint pain, and perhaps some fruit and chocolate to cheer his spirits.

I barely slept myself last night. ‘You are not getting a good sleep,’ I kept telling myself in my mind...so I didn’t.

In my last fitful dreams before dawn, a silver-haired librarian was chatting me up. She was about 60. Even worse, in the closing scenes of my dream I was chasing her through the library trying to get her attention.
-

Oh, left, and Fluke

Scene at the hospital

Actor Fluke Pachara Thammon takes a co-starring role as a young gay in his first soap opera role.

In Tomorrow, I’ll Still Love You (พรุ่งนี้ก็รักเธอ), Fluke is paired with actor Oh Anuchyd Sapanphong. 

In the opening episodes, which we saw this week, Oh is Phiwit, a patient with a sore leg, while Fluke (ฟลุค พชร ธรรมมล) is Kong, a therapist, given the unenviable task of caring for him.

Their relationship starts on a bad note, when young Kong accuses Phiwit of pinching his Mum’s purse.

Mum notices her purse is missing, and Kong, who has just seen Phiwit hobbling past with a walking aid, chases after him. He is sure he is the thief.

This being a soap opera, Kong does not merely catch up with Phiwit, but manages to knock him over. Bowled over by love, you might say.

Mum finds her purse in the toilets. She left it there herself. The drama is over, but Phiwit won't let Kong forget it. Phiwit likes to tease and torment Fluke, especially after the theft allegation, but both seem aware that they have sparked.

Boyfriend Maiyuu, who watched the show with me, is sure Phiwit and Kong know they are attracted to each other. The gay word never passes their lips, but the knowledge is there.

In real life, both actors are dogged by persistent rumours that they are gay. But never mind that.

In the soap opera, which I saw over two nights this week, they click as a couple. Oh is always enjoyable to watch no matter what role he takes on. Fluke – third place-getter in this year’s The Star talent quest - performs naturally, as if the cameras aren’t there.

It’s a great watch, and I’m sorry I can get to see it on television only on my nights off.

I might have to buy one of those TV magazine write-ups of the show to find out what happens.

In Bangkok, we can buy pulp fiction-like versions of lakorns (soap operas) on TV. They are like lengthier versions of the script, illustrated by pictures of the stars.

They are fiendishly complicated, with as many twists and turns as the soaps themselves, which puts me off. On the plus side, as befits trash fiction (the kind you find in cheap women’s magazines, for example), they are cheap.

Watch the first episode here.

Strawberry desires

Maiyuu is unwell with a cold. He has been coughing since early yesterday, when he declared the kitchen would be closed for the next 24 hours. ‘I need a break from cooking...I am tired, and feel ill,’ he said.

‘You get sick, but you refuse to take any medicine to relieve the symptoms,’ I told him.

I feel sorry for him.

Maiyuu likes to eat fruit when he is sick, especially strawberries. Yesterday I visited a Tesco Lotus supermarket on Rama 4 in search of them. Nothing.

Today I will visit a Tops supermarket closer to home to see if they stock them. It is larger and more modern, so I should have more luck.

I will walk there, as I don't fancy my chances getting to the supermarket on his bike...too many potholes, cracks and crevices lie in wait on that route, ready to trip up unsuspecting farang.

Maiyuu is sure to appreciate the gesture, even if I end up picking strawberries which taste terrible.

For such is my lot: when I stray into the shopping or cooking realm, which normally belongs to Maiyuu, I never do as good a job, at least according to him.

But that’s okay. When he is sick, I don’t mind wearing criticism for presuming to care for my boyfriend, who is so fiercely independent that he believes colds should just cure themselves, without any help from him or anyone else.

Au Hareutai (อุ๊ หฤทัย): Missing You

Au and Amp

Yes, I’m a romantic, I admit it. It can cloud my judgement, and annoy readers.

Lately I haven’t let my girly side out much, as I have been busy going through old posts, tidying some of the appalling English I found.

Now that I am getting over the shock, and am managing to beat the blog back into some kind of shape, I am almost ready to indulge my emotional side again.

No surprise, then, if I should succumb to tears easily when I heard Grammy artist Au Hareutai Puangboonsri‘s new song Missing You.

Au, who has branched out from singing to become a local body councillor and boxing-ring manager as well, peels it all away, at least for this fan.

Missing You is from Feminine Night, her new joint album with Grammy singer Amp Saowaluck Leelabutr. The pair held a concert to promote the album in late September. Au is the one on the right.

The lyrics (quick translation below) are right on the button of what we feel when we are no longer with someone who used to make our lives complete.

Lyrics this knowing can only have come from the heart of a woman – long-term Grammy song-writer Nim Si Fa.

I found the song on the internet, and recited the lyrics for Maiyuu as he made us breakfast this morning.

Like me, he is a fan of Au and Amp. He promised to buy the album.

‘I haven’t gone anywhere,’ he said, referring to the lyrics, and talking about us. ‘I’m still here, caring for you.’

Read Au’s story here.

Missing You

I have gone back to the place where we first met.

The trees, the flowers, the stream look the same.

Everything looks familiar

Nothing has changed...it's only missing you.

The sun shines through the window, and the past floods back.

On the outside, my life looks the same

At home, nothing has changed.

But really, my life is not complete.

Since you left, it’s not the same.

How can it be the same without you?

Where are you? I miss you...

Whenever I close my eyes, I think of you...

We’ve been apart many years

Life appears to go on

But it’s never been the same

How can it be, without you?

ขาดเธอ – อุ๊ หฤทัย

กลับมายืนอยู่ตรงที่เดิม ที่เราเจอกัน
มองต้นไม้ ดอกไม้ สายธาร มันยังสวยงามอยู่เหมือนเดิม
ได้แต่มองอย่างคนคุ้นเคย ที่ตรงนี้เหมือนเดิมทุกอย่าง
ไม่เปลี่ยนแปลง ขาดแต่เธอเท่านั้น
ดวงอาทิตย์ยังส่องแสงมา ที่ตรงหน้าต่าง
ภาพความหลังกระจ่างขึ้นมา ได้แต่ยิ้มทั้งมีน้ำตา
รูปเธอวางอยู่ตรงที่เดิม บ้านหลังนี้เหมือนเดิมทุกอย่าง
ไม่เปลี่ยนแปลง ขาดแต่เธอเท่านั้น
* อยู่ไหน คิดถึงเธอ
หลับตา ฝันถึงเธอ ทุกที
จากกัน นานหลายปี
ดูชีวิตเหมือนจะเดินไปด้วยดี
แต่มันไม่เคยสมบูรณ์เลย
ไม่เคยจะดีเหมือนเดิมเลย
จะดีอย่างไรเมื่อไม่มีเธอ
ซ้ำ *

The song is here.

Back to Mum's shop, on a whim

The ferry heading for Pin Khlao

On a whim, I decided to catch a ferry boat down the Chao Phraya River.

‘Do you want to come?’ I asked boyfriend Maiyuu yesterday as I contemplated my adventure.

‘No...I want to make jelly and pears. But you go...it’s an outing, so should open your eyes and ears,’ he said.

Where to go? Mum's shop at Pin Khlao sounds like a good place. I hadn't been there in six months, since Maiyuu and I moved into town from the Thon Buri side of Bangkok.

I took a motorcycle taxi to the pier at Saphan Taksin, and a ferry boat down the river. It was packed, mainly with tourists, school students, and monks.

I overshot the pier by two stops, as I am not used to seeing the place from the river. I took another ferry back, and walked down to Mum's shop.

I have posted an image of the shop before. Here are a couple from Pin Klao bridge - one of my favourites in that area, apart from the stunning Rama VIII bridge. 

The ferry stops by the side of the Phra Pin-Klao bridge, which have I crossed by foot many times, including a few times in the early hours of the morning.

Pin Khlao bridge

A shot on the bridge

Arriving at the shop yesterday, Mum looked surprised to see me. We sat down for a catch-up, which took less than five minutes.

'We bought this marble table for the shop - 3,000 baht,' she said.

‘I have to go to the market. What a shame, you will miss the big party.’

Mum’s husband celebrates his 60th birthday today (I am writing this the morning after my visit), and has invited regulars to join them at the shop for food and drinks. I can’t go, as I shall be at work.

Mum has swapped shifts with her husband. After years of working the night shift, she now works days, while her husband comes out after 6pm.

'He wasn't sleeping properly...he was drinking here for hours after he knocked off. We changed over so he could get more rest.'

By midnight yesterday, some hours into my visit, the end of our little street was humming. My friend Farang C travelled out from town to join me, as did bad boy Kew, who brought a friend.

‘It is my birthday next month,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t forget!’

We were born in the same year, one month apart.

Mum will make several dishes for tonight's party, including green curry. She keeps a small gas stove space at the back of her shop.

Mum and I picked the tops off baby chili peppers during my visit yesterday, in preparation for the big night.

‘Are you still with your boyfriend?’ she asked.

‘I am...’

‘So you moved together?’

‘We did...’

She asked about my rent.

'I pay just a fraction of that price for my room just around the corner,' she said.

A walk was in order I thought, as I hadn't seen the neighbourhood in so long. Mum’s three dogs accompanied me.

At a food cart nearby I took a pork and rice dish, then dropped in to see Wut, who owns a smart eatery nearby.

When I arrived, Wut was standing on a foot ladder, putting up a light outside his shop.

‘Where did you go...you just disappeared!’ said Wut. ‘We don’t see you any more.’

‘I moved. We now live further away,’ I said.

'When it is finished, my place will have a bigger kitchen, more seating for customers, even space for a live band,' he said. 'You must come back for a visit.'

I visited the eatery next to Mum's place to use the toilet. Young Pao, a young tearaway from the Northeast who used to serve tables the last time I visited, still works there.

He is related to the owner. Actually, almost everyone who works here is related to the owner. We exchanged greetings.

'Hello, Pao,' he said.

He remembered my name. 'Hello, Mali,' he said, smiling.

‘He’s free!’ called out the cook, another relative, as I walked past.

She meant: ‘He has yet to find himself a boyfriend or girlfriend, so you can have him!’

I pretended not to hear. Pao is straight, but his family despairs of his chances of settling down quickly, so try to hitch him up with this lonely farang.

Actually, I am joking. I am sure they would rather that he end up with an Esan girl, though he will have to learn to be a provider first.

Kew turned up late, after hand-delivering flyers in the area, a part-time job which supplements his earnings as a security guard in town.

'How's your Mum?' I asked.

'She's at home,' he said, which is his usual answer whenever I ask after her health.

'I know she's at home...but how is she?' I asked, laughing.

Kew was growing teary, his usual reaction to drink.

'Come back again soon,' he said a few hours later, as farang C and I made our goodbyes.

'I will...maybe in two weeks,' I promised.

At Mum's shop, I feel I am in the company of family. Last night, our little family was reunited after months apart.

For more images of Pin Khlao and its bridges, see this collection of Instagram pics.

Minimalist Loy Krathong

Why jostle for space with the crowds on busy Loy Krathong night, when you can float your own boat at home?

Maiyuu and I tried something new last night. Rather than join the crowds on Pra Ram 3, the closest revelling spot to our home, we conducted our own candle-lit ceremony in the bathtub.

While families and young couples cast their candle-lit banana boats into the Chao Phraya River, we decided to stay indoors and do it privately instead.

About 9.30pm, Maiyuu went out to buy two krathong. ‘Have you taken a shower yet?’ he asked. ‘Do it now, because we need to use the bath to float the krathong.’

I did as I was told. Half an hour later, we charged the bath, and lit the floats.

Maiyuu held his, the smaller one, momentarily to his head, and made a silent wish, presumably for good fortune in the year ahead. He cast it afloat.

I cast a silent wish for the boyfriend. ‘I wish you happiness in the year ahead,’ I thought as I held my float to my forehead.

I cast my boat in the bath to float about with its little brother, turned off the light, and kissed Maiyuu's head.

For Maiyuu, the romance of the moment passed quickly. As I sat watching the floats, Maiyuu inspected the wall. He had just bought a towel holder for the bathroom, and was figuring out where to place it.

The city puts on a fireworks display for Loy Krathong each year. Half an hour later, we stood on the balcony to watch as the firworks burst into the sky over Silom.

For us, Loy Krathong was quiet, but romantic nonetheless.

See blogger Nye Noona's explanation of Loy Krathong here.

Last year, I visited a canal close to our old place in Thon Buri to watch families set their leafy candle-lit boats into the river.

The year before, I mixed with kathoey, young gays and a bossy trader to float a krathong close to Mum’s shop in Pin Khlao.