Crossing the gender divide: Julia moments

How well do we understand our partners?

I watched director Nora Ephron’s comedy-drama Julie and Julia the other day. A couple of scenes stick in my mind.

Julie Powell, 30, from Queens, is working her way through the 524 recipes in American chef Julia Child’s first cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and writing up the experience as she goes in a blog.

Julia Child is played by Meryl Streep; Julie, by Amy Adams.

The film switches back and forth between Julia Child’s life 40 years before, when she was starting out in cooking, and had yet to get the book published; and Julie Powell’s life in 2002, as she works her way through what was to become a seminal cookbook which introduced Americans to French cooking.

Novice cook Julie has set herself the target of getting through Julia’s book in one year - much to the dismay of her long-suffering husband (Chris Messina).

After her blog gets a publicity boost as a result of a write-up in the New York Times, a journalist asks cooking doyen Julia Child, whose own recipes inspired the blog, what she thinks of it.

Julia Child dismisses the blog as a stunt.

Poor Julie Powell is still struggling to get through the cookbook. She has attained a measure of success as a result of the blog, but is shattered nonetheless.

Her husband Eric is supportive, as depicted in a wonderful moment which can only have come from the pen of a woman writer (I doubt her real-life husband actually said anything so sympathetic):

‘Don’t worry about it. The Julia you know is the one in your head. If she’s not the same as the one in real life, that’s not important.’

How sweet is that?

Back to Julia Child: In 1961, Julia’s book was published by Alfred A Knopf, after Houghton Mifflin earlier rejected it.

Her husband Paul, played by Stanley Tucci, is another supportive partner who understands his wife well.

After Houghton Mifflin rejects Julia’s manuscript, Paul Child doesn’t try to dismiss, or make light of his wife’s concerns, as many a man, eager for a quiet life, might be inclined to do.

‘F- them!’ he says.

Again, how sweet is that?

Julie and Julia is a woman’s film. It shows us how women feel and think about the world, and what men can do to support them.

The film depicts several other such scenes where Paul or Eric rise to the occasion. These husbands genuinely help and support their wives, contrary to the popular misconception perhaps where men hold back (if they are interested at all) and do not bother expressing themselves.

I call these 'Julia moments'.

Julia Child went on to become a television chef. Her home in Massachusetts served as the set for three of her TV series.

In one of the closing scenes, Julia Powell visits Julia Child's kitchen, as it is preserved today at the National Museum of American History in Washington, DC.

'I love you, Julia,' she says before the woman's portrait.

After watching the movie, and reflecting on its message, I asked myself how well I understand my own partner. Can I see the world through his eyes?

I’ll bring you the answer soon.

Food rush, worried boyfriend, sleepy job-searcher

Maiyuu knows some young man in the slum is distracting me.

For the last few days, he has been tense and worried about what is going on inside this farang's head...so much so that he will jump at the slightest noise around home.

He spends most of the day cooking, as usual, trying to put these fears out of his mind. He seldom sleeps in the afternoon any more, perhaps because he worries I will have a go at him.

-
I paid a late-afternoon visit to Mr Ball.

He was sleeping, which I found hard to believe for someone who is supposedly looking for work.

Steady on, I told myself...it’s Sunday. He can’t be on deck every day of the week.

Idle taxi driver Lort asked Ball to look after adopted baby daughter Fresh, as he wanted to rejoin a gambling ring nearby, where Ball’s mother was also trying her hand.

Ball is devoted to Fresh, and makes cute baby sounds when he is playing with her.

‘I like one of your own sounds, which I haven’t heard in days,’ I told Ball.

If I stick my finger up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and tickle under his arm, he sucks in his breath involuntarily. ‘Hoop!’

I tried it again, but did not get the reaction I wanted, perhaps because our relations have been strained lately.

Like a bossy Mum, I have been telling him what to do. Yet I am not sure how else I am supposed to ‘frame’ our relationship. I don’t want to be some mere drinking friend who plies him with liquor and walks away, hang the consequences.

I am not his lover either, and can’t expect that from him.

But I do worry, and feel waves of sorrow and pity for my young friend.

Ball was sleeping on his Mum’s bed. Nong Fresh, who is not yet 1, was crawling over him.

‘You haven’t changed clothes since yesterday. Do you have pyjamas?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.

‘No. I haven’t showered either, though I did get up at 10am for something to eat,’ he said. ‘I feel weak, as I was up late last night.’

Mum had bought the family beers as they watched football on TV.

Lort, who was hanging around like a fly over old food, asked me for a B100 loan.

‘My wallet is empty. I haven’t been to the ATM,’ I lied.

‘Well, let’s go to the ATM then. I want to rejoin the circle,’ he said.

‘I am not interested,’ I said. Thankfully, he knew better than to ask again.

In the market, I had found a woman selling B100 baht watches, which looked smart and were in the old-fashioned style which Ball likes.

She was also selling B100 wallets. Mr Ball has neither a watch nor wallet of his own, and could do with them.

However, after finding him wasting the day away, sleeping like a sad lump on his mother’s bed, I decided against.

As I write, I am listening to a Carpenters song.

‘It’s going to take some time, this time,’ sings Karen.

Indeed. We will have to wait and see whether this man’s day-to-day performance improves.

Life is not about drifting; it’s about achieving, to build for ourselves a better future. We shall see if he is up to it, or would rather just spend his days in a drunken or swollen-eyed, sleepy haze.

‘I will join carer R’s ya dong stand tomorrow night, as it is my day off. You are welcome to come, if you want a break,’ I said, testing him.

His ears pricked up; of course he’s interested. And yet I know what will happen. He’ll drink too much, as he usually does.

I will carry on drinking, even when I know it's past the time when both of us should go home to our partners.

I recall a scene from my past life overseas, many years ago.

'Pick up a pillow some time, and cuddle it,’ a psychologist told me.

‘You don’t know how to love yourself.’

Ball's job search drama: Learning to think for himself

‘Do you mind if I make a decision for myself about what kind of work I would like to do?’ asked Ball.

I called in to see him last night after work.

He and other family members, including his girlfriend Jay and elder brother Boy, were gathered around the television.

Boy also brought home with him a former soldier friend, who was chatty and started asking me questions as soon as I arrived.

I couldn’t be bothered being pleasant, so let Ball answer questions for me.

After five minutes, I asked Ball to leave his perch by the girlfriend, and sit next to me instead. We needed to talk.

About six hours before, I had dropped in to his place to ask Ball why he had chosen not to turn up for work at my company that morning.

At his mother’s request, I had found him a job, and earlier taken him to the interview.

It would be manual piecemeal work, but if he liked it, and the company liked him, he would be offered a permanent position.

However, Ball decided not to show for his first day at work.

This upset me, as I thought that any job, no matter how dull or tiring, would be better than rotting away at home with nothing to do.

Ball’s family has little to come and go on; sometimes, his mother struggles to find even B20 a day to give to her kids. So the job I found for Ball could only be good, right?

When I visited Ball’s place in early afternoon, I was too full of anger to consider that he may have his own reasons for knocking back the work.

‘Your son just wants to drink late, and get up late,’ I told his mother bitterly. ‘That’s all he expects from his life.’

Ball was taking a shower. When he emerged, I could barely bring myself to look at him.

I also let off steam before his brother, and his elder sister, who was sympathetic.

‘Please keep him away from the ya dong. When he drinks, he finds it hard to get up the next day. Yet if he wants a job, he has to be ready to assume responsibility,’ she said.

After dressing, Ball joined us briefly. He had arranged to meet his drinking friend Na, who took him around the neighbourhood looking for jobs elsewhere.

Ball’s mother was shelling prawns for lunch, but Ball did not stay. At the first opportunity, he slipped out the door.

Ball left home without any food money. With the angry farang present, he was too scared to ask his mother.

Later that night, I turned up at his place seeking an explanation for his no-show.

‘I have thought about it many times, but I just don’t think I would be interested in that kind of work,’ he said. 'It’s repetitive, and boring. I am also shy, and would find it hard to talk to anyone there.

'I saw not a single person my age. Everyone was in their 50s or older,’ he said.

‘If I could take a friend, it would be more enjoyable, but I don’t want to go by myself.

‘I will keep looking for work. I plan to go out every day with Na until we find something.

He talked about his job-search adventures with Na.

'Today we walked from one end of a busy street to another. When we found a company advertising a vacancy in its window, we took down its number,’ he said.

'Please don’t get stressed. But do you mind if I make my own decision about where to work?’

I looked at my young friend. His question was so earnest. Whatever residual anger I felt, quickly dissolved.

‘I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it’s great if you have the courage to make your own decision. Don’t let yourself be influenced by me, Na or anyone else. Just be yourself,’ I said.

I asked Ball if he would like a couple of beers to wind down. We walked to a shop nearby.

Sensibly, he did not ask for spirits. Ball is getting the message that his wild ways have to end.

Half an hour later, I asked to be excused. Ball walked me back across the vacant lot towards my condo.

‘I am not angry any more, and I am sorry I scared you out of your own place,’ I said.

Ball and I shook hands, and I said good-night.

Finding work for Thais: Instant rewards

What do we do with these Thais who won’t help themselves?

I have found work at my company for Mr Ball, but he is reluctant to pursue it.

Ball’s mother, friends, even Ball himself, asked if I could contact someone at my office on his behalf. Was there any work going?

Ball has been out of work for weeks, and his family could do with the money.

I knew where I should look, but didn’t know the name of the section head.

I asked a staff member in the trade field who I found hanging around the motorcycle taxi queue near work.

‘Call Mr A,’ he said.

I asked a Thai colleague in the administration section if he knew this man A.

No, but he gave me the number of someone who might.

Next, I asked a senior Thai colleague on my floor, with whom I work every night, if he had heard of A.

No, but he knew a woman working five metres away, who had many friends in that section.

She gave me the name and number of the section head. Actually, she did much more.

She called the man himself, and asked him if there were any work opportunities going.

‘Yes...we need casual, part-time workers. But if he does well, we could take him on as a permanent, full-time member of staff,’ he said.

‘Bring him in tomorrow, and he can take a look around,’ he said.

The next day, I took Ball in for a job interview. The section head showed us around the workroom floor, and explained what was involved.

‘Come back tomorrow at 8.30am,’ he told Ball.

Half an hour later, we were back at Ball’s place. I was lamenting the fact that the work was actually piecemeal...judging by what I was told at the interview, on some days, he may get none at all.

I shouldn’t have worried. Twenty minutes later, the section head called me. ‘If he wants to full-time work, there’s enough work for him here every day,’ he said.

The interview was stressful, even for me. Little surprise if, after the interview was over, Ball should repair to carer R’s ya dong stand. He spent the next five hours drinking there.

I worried he would not be able to make his first day at work, so after I finished my own work duties that evening, ventured into the slum area to visit him.

‘Go home,’ I said.

Even at that hour, four or five customers were still drinking.

A man in his early 30s, Na, who lives nearby and delivers fish to markets for a living, said he would take Ball along to my workplace on his first day, so he wouldn't have to go alone.

He and Ball had been chatting all night, discussing one cunning plan or another.

‘Can you recommend me for work, too?’ he asked.

Ball’s friends, including A, had heard that he was on the cusp of getting a good job, and wanted a slice of the action.

If the farang could find a job for Ball, he might be able to find work for them as well.

‘I’m not recommending you for anything if Ball himself fails to show up. I will suffer loss of face,’ I said.

I went home promptly, and spent a restless night worrying about whether he would rise in time.

Early next morning, I called Ball's mother and asked for permission to visit. Ball was still sleeping. No surprise that Na had failed to show: his promise to pick up Ball at home was just drinking talk.

We had 90 minutes to get him ready for work.

I called to him from outside his room. ‘Get up...you have a job to go to!’ I said.

His elder sister Kae, who was in the next room, was more assertive.

‘Your farang friend is standing here, waiting. Have some respect! If you don’t want to go, say so. But stop all this messing around!’ she said.

Ball emerged, looking sheepish. He took a shower, dressed himself in a pair of black slacks and a ragged white collared shirt.

I took him outside to find a motorcycle taxi who would take him to work.

‘I feel sick,’ said Ball.

‘You drank too much,’ I said.

I gave him B100 for the day, and a bag of fruit, and saw him off on his motorbike.

At 2pm, I called his mother. I could not stop worrying. Had he met any friends? How was the work going?

‘Oh, Ball didn’t stay. They told him to come back tomorrow, as the boss wasn’t there,’ she said.

Ball had been home for hours, but no one had bothered to call me.

I went to see him.

‘I have thought of you all day,’ I said. ‘I’m stressed.’

‘In a way, it’s a good thing that there was no work for me today, as I felt ill,’ said Ball, who repaired to the toilets soon after getting to his destination. He was so sick, he vomited.

‘I won’t drink today, and will get an early night to be ready for work tomorrow,’ he promised.

Ball would need more clothes, I thought, if he was about to re-enter the full-time workforce.

Late yesterday, I bought him some underwear, and asked a woman in the market close to my office where I could find work trousers and shirts.

She told me where to walk, but I put off the purchase until later, as I didn’t have time.

I called Ball’s Mum late in the evening. ‘We’re having something to eat. He didn’t go drinking,’ she said.

Relief! He might just get there after all.

I dropped his underwear and another bag of fruit into his place about 12.30am. His brother, Beer, answered the door. He was up, watching football alone.

‘Ball is asleep,’ he said.

More good news.

Today, I called about 7.30am, to make sure Ball was up.

‘Ball says your company can’t offer full-time work. He’s decided to look elsewhere. His friend, Na, says he’ll take him to apply somewhere else,’ she said, admitting that Ball's job search drama was giving her a headache.

Na must have contacted Ball last night while I was at work.

'What?' I said, shocked. 'He's due at the office in an hour!'

Mum asked if she could call me back. Five minutes later, she had succeeded in raising her son. We spoke by phone.

‘I want to go with Na instead,’ he said firmly.

‘We will talk about this later,’ I said curtly, hanging up the phone.

I sent a stiffly-worded text message to his mother, and followed it up with another phone call.

‘You asked me to find work for Ball, but today, the first day he is supposed to report to the office, he tells me he is not interested.

'My colleagues have gone to some effort; at least two senior staff say have volunteered to look after your son on my behalf.

‘I never asked them for such generosity; all I wanted was a contact name and number. But my colleagues have gone out of their way to help.

'Your son, however, now tells me he would rather look somewhere else,’ I said.

Mum sounded weak and resigned. I felt sorry for her.

‘I would like your permission to visit Ball this afternoon, so we can talk,’ I said.

Mum has agreed.

Day trip to Chachoengsao

Wat Sothon

Change is a good thing, indeed - but the time to break with Mr Ball and my friends from the ya dong stand has not yet arrived.

The other day I was musing about the prospect of cutting my ties with them.

Tch, tch! That was silly of me, as our ties already run deep.

I forget myself from time to time; I forget my friends, too. I hope they forgive my lapses, for I don’t mean ill-will. I just go a bit silly in the head.

I visited a temple in the central province of Chachoengsao yesterday with Ball, carer R, his girlfriend, and a few friends of hers. I mentioned this trip the other day, and told readers resolutely that I wouldn’t go.

Well, bugger it, I went anyway. And it felt great.

I am ashamed to admit it, but our day trip by train to Chachoengsao was my first visit to a province outside in Bangkok in years.

It was also my first time in a Thai train. As we pulled out of Hua Lumpong station, after a frantic half-hour, peak-hour dash to make our rendezvous, we passed a train which had just made the journey from Butterworth, in Malaysia, to Bangkok.

‘That train comes from Malaysia,’ I told R and Ball. ‘I took a train from Butterworth a few months ago with my parents,’ I said.

They found it hard to believe. A train from Malaysia, arriving in Bangkok?

It is good to teach my Thai friends a few things. Normally, as the stranger who lives in this land, I am the one who feels like a student sitting at their knee.

We went as a group of seven. Carer R’s girlfriend went on ahead to meet her friends; our little tour party finally came together on the train itself, with but minutes to spare before it headed off on its cross-provincial journey.

She sat with two young women friends and a guy who belonged to one of the girls. Carer R, Ball and I sat separately in our own party of three.

Carer R occasionally left our group to exchange a few words with his girlfriend, but for the most part there was little contact between us. I spoke to carer R’s girlfriend once; the others not at all.

Ball spoke to her in the taxi, on the final leg back home. He did not exchange a word with the other two women, even though, he told me, he fancied one of them. Odd.

So why did I decide to go? I met R and Ball at the ya dong stand the night before. Mr Ball, who fancied the idea of a day away from his troubles in Bangkok, pleaded with me to join them.

I decided I had better drop my opposition to the plan, so the following day turned up at the ya dong stand at the appointed hour of 9am.

Carer R was waiting, looking splendid in a pair of long shorts, white T-shirt, and sunnies. However, Mr Ball, who had sworn repeatedly that he would rise in time to meet us, was nowhere to be seen.

‘I have woken him. I went right up to his bedroom, and shook him awake. He and his girlfriend were sleeping. He should be out shortly,’ said R.

R had dropped in to Ball’s place, to give him a prod. Ball is a solid sleeper, and needs help if he is wake early.

‘You know Ball can shower for two hours...and can take another hour to dress for the day,’ I told R.

We waited for our young friend...and waited. The train was due to leave at 10am. If we missed it, we’d have to wait three hours for the next one.

At 9.15, I walked down to Ball’s place myself, and knocked on the open door. Ball had finished in the shower, and was standing in front of the mirror with a towel around his waist.

‘Hurry!’ I said.

‘I’ll be just a tic,’ he said.

At 9.30, he emerged, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and flip flops. However, in a nervous moment he decided he had better fetch his ID card, just in case someone at the subway asked to see it.

So he went back again.

Finally, we headed off.

We caught a sam lor (three-wheeled taxi) to the local subway, and ran down the elevator to the ticket counter. We were both lucky that carer R knew his way around, and could get places at speed.

We raced to the platform, and caught our subway train. No one asked to see his ID card, of course, but it had been a while since Mr Ball ventured into the subway.

During the 10–minute journey, R’s girlfriend called constantly. The calls grew more terse as the departure time drew nearer. She and the other were seated on the train, waiting. Where were the hopeless males?

We did make it, with a few minutes to spare. R and Ball left the train briefly to buy beer. Then we were off.

It was a fun trip. I enjoyed seeing the countryside outside Bangkok. I breathed in the air deeply; it was clean.

‘Are those people gathering rice?’ Ball asked R, as we passed a rice field towards Chachoengsao.

‘They are,’ he said.

‘There are slums out here as well,’ said Ball earlier, as we left the station, and passed a string of slum houses, squeezed up against the railway line.

Only 50m away sat inner-city high-rises; but along the tracks, squatters had put up shacks as their homes.

R looked after the cellphone camera, and his needs for beer. I looked after Ball. When we ran through the subway station, I held his hand. As we crossed the road in Chachoengsao, I took his hand again. Hand on his back, I escorted him here, helped him there.

I paid for most of his needs, such as the subway ticket, beer, food at the station, even a small gift for his mother after we had made merit at the temple.

At Wat Sothorn, the Thais wai-ed to the gods, while I watched. They bought flowers, and knelt before Buddha statues.

As I watched Ball pray, I knew he was thinking about his Dad, who died a few years ago. I wept, as it was sad to watch.

‘Why don’t you pray?’ he asked.

'I don’t know what to say in my prayer,’ I said.

We signed a get well book for the King. At the last minute, I had an attack of nerves. I couldn‘t read a word of the scrawl which Thais had written. I thought it might actually be a visitor’s book for the temple, rather than book left for the King, so signed my name, without leaving any message.

I didn’t want to look stupid, but missed the chance to do something useful. Silly farang.

We took the public train back, followed by a taxi.

I dropped in to see the boyfriend, then headed out again, to join R, Ball and regulars from the ya dong stand for a few early evening drinks.

About 10pm, farang C invited Ball and I back to his condo. We watched football videos, and I showed Ball around.

It was done up only recently, and C himself has only just moved in.

‘I’ll probably never be able to afford a place this beautiful,’ said Ball.

‘I can look after you in little ways, like an uncle. But you are not my boyfriend, so I can’t give you a place like this either,’ I said.

Ball was pleased to hear this, and shook my hand.

Farang C gave Ball a taste of an Irish stew he had just whipped up.

I thanked C for being such a good host, and escorted my young man home.

‘I had a great day,’ he said.

It was eye-opening for me, too. Our next day trip? Ayutthaya, at a date to be announced.