Let's spread those tired wings

I chose to keep my money, rather than give any to my young friend Ball for Chinese New Year.

I saw him and carer R two nights ago.

Ball gets small ang pao (cash in an envelope) gifts from his mother’s side of the family, he told me.

He might have stood a chance of getting a small Chinese New Year cash gift from me, too, until I heard the fateful words: ‘I don’t want you to worry so much about me.’

He's worried about what people will think again. How tiresome!

Both carer R and I worry about Ball, though sometimes I am not sure why. Perhaps it's because he won't take control of his life.

Mum’s Ball had been away since the night before, playing cards with relatives. She had not called in all that time, even though we were now heading into day three since she left.

Ball turned up with B20 in his pocket; possibly that’s all his mother gave him to subsist on while she was away.

She gave another B20 to Ball’s girlfriend, Jay, who works at a supermarket.

She finished work at 11pm, but no one was around to pick her up.

Ball’s younger brother, who normally performs that duty, had gone away, and taken his motorbike with him.

Come 11pm, Ball was worried about how she would get home. The two had argued the night before...Jay, it seems, has a fancy man who calls her.

He challenged her about it, they argued.

Ball swatted her head, and banished her to the upstairs bedroom while he slept the night in his brother’s room.

On this night, however, he couldn’t help but worry about her fate, stuck on a dark road outside an empty supermarket.

He didn’t have her contact number, and we couldn’t reach his mother, who had switched off her phone.

It was too late to take a motorcycle taxi, as they had finished work for the night.

He could take a taxi – carer R and I offered him the fare – but he didn’t want to waste the money.

So, he sat, waited and worried. Every 10mins, he walked back home to see if she had arrived.

Eventually, she did; an hour after she finished work, a colleague dropped her off. Ball suspects it was the same guy who has been calling her.

What a mess. I had expected more from the mother; at the very least, she could keep her phone switched on, in case her children need to call. They did not have a contact number for the place where she was staying.

Carer R suggested I buy Ball something to eat at the 7-11. While Ball was visiting home, I wandered down there and bought him some noodles.

‘We’ve already had ours,’ carer R told Ball in my absence - a white lie. 'We ate hours while waiting for you.'

Actually, we hadn’t eaten a thing. But we thought his needs were more important, as his mother had left little at home for him or his girlfriend to fill their tummies before bed.

‘Look, the farang has bought you noodles. Please eat,’ he said upon my return.

Even then, Ball was reluctant; he merely picked at the dish, until it grew soggy and cold.

‘May I suggest that before the girlfriend leaves for the day, you ask her what arrangements she will make for getting home?’ I asked Ball.

Ball likes to pretend he is sick of his girlfriend, who lives with his family.

In fact, as is plain to me and carer R, he worries about her, and might even still love the girl...he just won’t admit it.

Tomorrow, carer R has invited Ball, me, his own girlfriend and a few friends to make merit at a temple in the provinces.

We are supposed to set off at 9am, travelling by train.

I am not going, as I would rather spend that time in the company of my boyfriend. I don’t have enough in common with my ya dong friends to want to spend a whole day away from home.

Before work last night, I dropped into a food place close to the office to order a meal, as I do every night before my shift starts.

A group of four young guys, drinking at a table at the eatery, greeted me. One offered me a sip from his whisky glass.

I had forgotten how good whisky tastes. Ya dong has been taking up all my attention.

Jokingly, he also offered to sell his body to me for B500.

We have agreed to meet again tonight. I will turn up about 7pm, when normally I would be thinking about joining carer R’s ya dong stand.

What a traitor I am.

Actually, I am just spreading my wings. Change can be a good thing, and I suspect it might be time I moved on.

PS: Still thinking about it...not sure yet.

Chinese New Year dilemma: Give, or not to give?

‘We’re going to pay respects to our ancestral spirits for Chinese New Year...would you like to come?’ Ball’s Mum asked.

It sounded appealing. We would take a short ride by taxi to Onnut in Bangkok.

Ball's family and I would stay at the home of a relative on Mum's side.

Today, someone ‘lays out a spread’, to borrow the revolting English. Incense sticks are lit. Family members gather round, think of the dead. Eat, maybe drink. That’s it.

Mum handed over the phone to her partner, Lort.

‘Can you get a job for Ball at your company?’ Lort asked, getting straight to the point.

Lort has suggested I find work for Ball as a driver. But for that, he would need a licence, which in Ball's case has expired.

‘If he wants a job, he can look for one himself,’ I said.

‘Is Ball there?’ I asked abruptly. I have no time for parasitical Lort.

Ball, said Lort, had just returned from carer R’s ya dong stand. Lort handed over the phone to Ball, and we spoke briefly.

The family was tucking down for a meal. I didn’t want to disturb them, so asked to speak to his mother again – one of the few sensible heads in that household who can talk normally to me without wanting anything.

‘It would be quite safe, if you want to come. No one will annoy you. It’s a nice place, and you’ll be back in time for work the next day,’ she said.

‘If I decide to come, I will give you a call,’ I said.

In just a few hours, they would be heading off. Yet I was still at work. By the time I arrived home, the hour would be late, I would be hot, tired, and in need of rest.

Ball himself didn’t invite me to their Chinese New Year function, I noted.

If I am not in my own bed, I find it hard to sleep. And sleeping next to Ball all night, I would find it even harder to rest my mind.

Adventures away from our home patch can wait for another day.

In the meantime, I am confronted with another dilemma.

Tomorrow is Chinese New Year, when friends, relatives and lovers give each other cash gifts in red envelopes known as ang bao (or thae eiya). They don't need to be Chinese or have Chinese blood; some Thais just give and ask for gifts anyway.

Boyfriend Maiyuu asked for his a day early. I handed over B500 in a red Chinese New Year envelope this morning.

He promptly went out to buy food, including a lavish B200 helping of pork off the bone.

Should I also give Mr Ball a Chinese New Year’s present of B500 in a red envelope?

I might have to ask his Mum if family members are accustomed to getting such things. If not, his younger brother or elder sister might feel put out.

Or maybe I should just ask carer R whether I should give Mr Ball such a gift.

As it happens, R owes me B500, which he borrowed the other day to buy new supplies for his ya dong stand.

Should I give, or keep?

Giving feels great...but so does spending money on myself and my boyfriend.

We've earned it, but I am not sure anyone else has.

Ball's new duds, carer R's new worries

I succumbed to temptation, and bought young Mr Ball some more clothes.

I was at the Carrefour megastore the other day with my friend, farang C. He helped me look for T-shirts and shorts for Mr Ball, whom he has met previously at carer R’s ya dong stand.

I bought him half a dozen T-shirts, and one pair of soft cotton shorts. I didn’t like the shorts much, so next time I shall buy better ones.

The main objective was to buy T-shirts, and I bought them in different styles, and colours: pink, white with a blue diamond top at the neck, orange...

Mr Ball was a little peeved at first that I had bought them, as he is feeling increasingly obliged to me as I give him more things. When I handed over his clothes, he said: ‘There’s no way I can repay the generosity of such a gift.’

He gave me a deep wai.

The clothes cost just B300, but Ball’s family does not have that much cash lying around, at least for the purpose of buying clothes for a single member of the household.

Ball has three brothers and sisters, but the household itself has many more mouths to feed: his elder sister’s boyfriend, their child, Ball’s girlfriend, his mother’s adopted infant daughter...

The first day after I presented him with the clothes, he wore pink. The second day, he wore the white shirt with the blue diamond at the neck.

'Do I look handsome?' he asked proudly.

'You look great,'I said.

They are also a hit with his mother. ‘Mum loves the clothes, especially the colours,’ he said.

‘Next time, please let me buy you some new colours,’ I said. ‘We want the full range.’

I dropped in to see my young friend yesterday. It was 4pm, but he had not yet showered for the day. I watched him prepare two bottles of baby milk for the two youngsters of the family. Then he put on a sarong and headed into the shower, where he was to spend almost an hour.

‘Ball can spend two hours a day showering,’ said his mother.

After the shower, he headed up the narrow staircase to his bedroom, where he spent another 30min, ironing clothes and dressing.

By the time he came downstairs, I had almost run out of time and had to go home. We walked to carer R’s stand and sat for 15mins.

Ball took his baby sister, Fresh. I noticed that as we left Ball’s place, he took large paces ahead of me, as if he didn’t want neighbours to see me in his company.

‘Are you afraid to be seen with me?’ I asked when we arrived at carer R’s stand.

‘No – I just wanted to get away from home,’ he said.

-
Carer R was stressed, and puffing one cigarette after another.

‘What would you do if a friend suddenly let you down...if he said he’d do something but then failed to keep his word?’ he asked me.

We were sitting at his ya dong stand last night. I dropped in briefly after work.

Mr Ball, who had indulged in too much ya dong, was floppy and giggly. He asked suspiciously if carer R was referring to him.

‘It has nothing to do with you, Mr Ball,’ said R patiently.

‘I’d ask him why he broke his word,’ I said simply.

This cheered carer R, who was thinking of doing just that.

Out of earshot of Mr Ball, he asked me if he could borrow B500, so he could buy raw ingredients for his ya dong.

He was short of the amount he needed to buy an order.

I gather this was connected to his complaint about friends backing down on their word. One of R’s suppliers, previously willing to extend him credit, has now changed his mind, though the reason has nothing to do with R’s credit-worthiness.

A rival ya dong stand is nearby. It is run by an extended member of R’s family. She may have persuaded the supplier to withhold credit.

I agreed to lend him the money. Carer R took me to the local 7-11 by motorbike, so I could withdraw the money from an ATM.

He will repay me today, once he has bought his supplies.

Without them, he cannot carry on his business, as he needs them to make his daily brew.

Breaking the slum mould

I called Ball from work, as I had not seen him during the day.

'What did you do today? How are you feeling?' I asked.

I had promised to call, after he complained about a lack of friends ('I don't know where my school and work friends have gone. My phone is silent all day,' he had told me).

‘I am fine, but rose late,' Ball said. 'Mum had found casual work for me with a lifting gang, but I couldn't go,' he added.

Ball said he was willing to go, but stayed up late the night before he was due to start, so missed his first day on the job.

‘They give everyone in the lifting gang B400, but I couldn’t get up in time,’ he said.

The gang started work at 9am. Someone had offered to pick him up, but he slept through instead.

Ball is young, and deserves his independence. Still, Mum is probably wondering when her son will get over his headstrong streak, and knuckle down to do some work.

Mum's partner, idle taxi driver Lort, sets a poor example. His vehicle rarely hits the road.

Lort claims he is also an underground money-lender to Thais in the slums who like to gamble in the hope of getting ahead in life.

'I know everyone around here, as they all need my money,' he told me. The other night, he dropped in for a quick nip at carer R's ya dong stand.

‘I like to have many business endeavours going,’ he said smugly.

Great, mate. Just leave Ball out of your shady money-making ventures, if you don’t mind; I don't want him turning into another one of you.

Dipping a toe in Thai life

A small update on Mr Ball.

Judging by some of the reader responses I have been getting, some of you have some odd ideas about Thais.

One unpleasant character left a message today saying I was having serious ‘boundary’ issues, and that my relationship with Ball was exploitative, built on self-delusion, and so on. He’s poor, and half my age, so I must be up to no good.

Others say we are using each other: I want to feel young again, and like to have someone to paw over. He likes my money.

The truth is more complicated; real life always is. These are stories not just of Ball himself, but also my relationship with his friends and family, and the other characters at carer R’s ya dong stand.

They are about our conflicting expectations, values, and backgrounds, and how we reconcile them. It’s about how people who are so different can still find enough things in common to be friends.

I can’t expect readers will understand or sympathise with all of what happens, especially if it beyond the realm of their own experience.

For the record, Ball is now drinking much less than when I met him. He stays up late, but no longer keeps the ridiculous hours he observed before. He does not have a job, but is making half-hearted attempts to find one.

Now that he knows I live with a gay man, he no longer shows me the affection he once did, as he doesn’t want me to get ideas. He is also worried that people in the neighbourhood will think he is selling himself to this middle-aged farang.

When we say goodbye at night, we shake hands.

All relationships evolve. Ball seems happier now that he is on better terms with carer R. I like to think that he is happy to have me in his life too.

We can both listen as he unloads about his family and girlfriend. He also knows that we can love him for what he is.

The other night, carer R found some bug on the ground, and without giving any warning, dropped it on Ball's lap.

Ball happens to hate this particular type of bug. As it fell in his lap, he was taken by surprise. He jumped back in his seat, and clenched his fist, as if he was about to hit someone.

I felt a wave of sorrow for my young man. He has so little life experience to protect himself against the unexpected. I worry about his welfare, especially in a rough place like the slum.

Sensibly, when he is not at carer R’s place or at work, he spends most of his time at home, rather than mixing with the element in the neighbourhood. He may be wayward, but his Mum has taught him a few lessons in how to look after himself.

At this difficult time in his life, what Ball needs most is friends. Few, if any of his friends from school or work call. ‘My phone is silent all day,’ he says.

In carer R and me, he has found two friends who can help him make sense of the demands which his family and girlfriend place on him.

Naysayers among my readers can think what they like. Over time, I’ll show you just how ordinary – and yet at the same time, how special – my relationships with Ball and my other Thai friends can be.