Calling of work, porcelain knees, Daddy urges

I will ask at the office for work opportunities on behalf of Ball, his younger brother, and brother-in-law.

This is the last favour I perform, as I doubt any of them is really willing to help themselves.

Even if I find answers to their questions, will they bother to turn up?

The questions:

If all three turn up looking for casual, piecemeal work, will you accept them?

Is there enough work for them to do all day? If not, how many hours a day, and how many days a week?

How much will they get paid?

-
When I visit Ball, I look at his face as much as possible. I still haven’t seen it in all its angles. Or if I have, I want to see them again.

‘He’s handsome, isn’t he?’ a crusty old guy asked me.

He would like to see me have a fling with Mr Ball.

‘Yes, but he has a girlfriend,’ I said.

Ball played football the other day, and was nursing a sore back and ribs. I know he wanted me to massage out those painful spots, but I resisted.

We were sitting at the ya dong stand, so we’d have an audience. Apart from that, I rarely touch him at the moment, unless looking for abrasions on his elbows and knees. I like to pick off old scabs. Call me an old scabby guy if you will, but there it is.

‘Don’t you have any new sores?’ I asked, disappointed. Ball has the finest skin, like porcelain. It shows all bruises, abrasions, and scars, so much so that his Mum does not like him playing football, just in case he hits the ground and marks himself.

‘No...I didn’t fall,’ he said.

‘How annoying,’ I replied.

-
When I am work, my work experience seems so vivid that Ball and his family pale into insignificance. When I am at home, I grow bored and restless, and want to see him again.

I would like to split my time between Maiyuu and our lonely lifestyle; and visiting Ball and his family in the slums.

Over there, people are living real lives, even if they are poor and I couldn’t bear to live in such unpleasant surroundings myself.

Home is my bolthole, as all homes are. When Ball and his family get sick of me, they can take comfort in the fact that sooner or later I will have to go home too.

They can go back to living their all-Thai lives, without some farang propped up in their living room.

-
Ball’s Mum and I are just days apart in age. While I have no children, while she has four, all of them young adults.

One child, her only daughter, now has a baby of her own. Two are in the workforce (the daughter, and eldest son), and two idle (Ball and his school-aged brother).

How can one person (Mum), have accomplished so much, and another (me) so little?

Maybe I should wait for Maiyuu to die, shack up with Ball's Mum, and be done with all this gay doubting. Would it work?

I could be a Daddy to four adult children...and what an odd bunch we would make.

Mind control music, farang fixture at Ball's place

My condo now plays soothing mind-control music, when tenants leave the building for the day, and when they come home from work.

Handymen from the office put up speakers outside the buildings in this complex last week. They switch the piped music on in the morning, and again at night.

No doubt it is designed to put tenants in a good mood before their re-entry to the working world, or if they are coming home in the evening, to give them the strength they need to face the wife and kids.

-
I am becoming a fixture at Ball's home, like the food tray with legs which sits in one corner of the family sitting room.

I take my place on the floor next to it. While I am bigger than other fixtures in the place, I still manage to fit in.

When I visited yesterday, Mum was darning clothes, and sorting washing. The two babies were playing.

Tum, the mild-mannered boyfriend of Ball’s elder sister, Kae, was playing with his son. Ball was playing with the adopted child of the family, toddler Fresh.

Ball’s younger brother, Beer, was playing on the computer.

Ball’s girlfriend Jay was also there, on a lunch break from work. Even Mum's partner, taxi driver Lort, dropped in.

‘My office is not accepting women workers, only men,’ I told him.

Ther previous nght he had asked me to find work for some female relative of his.

Mum asked if I would make one last inquiry at work.

‘If Ball, Beer and Tum were to go together, could they get work there as a group? And how much would they be paid?’

Ball doesn’t want to work at my company unless he can go with friends. Actually, I doubt he would be interested anyway, as the work (in his view) looks repetitive and dull. But for Mum’s sake, I agreed to ask.

I persuaded Ball to try on the jeans I bought him recently, for his first day at work at my company which never came about.

They are too long in the leg, but Mum says she can take them up.

In baby news, Nong Fresh, who has the cutest little Japanese-style face, is finally getting used to this farang. I can now pick her up in my arms and give her cuddles. She no longer complains.

I spent a couple of hours that night with Ball and carer R, but grew bored of male company.

Down by the 7-11, I ordered a pad thai dish for Ball, as I was worried he would not have any food to eat at home, other than Mama (dried noodles in a cup).

I found his Mum there. She had taken out Nong Fresh for a walk.

‘Ball likes fried oysters. Why not order some for him, and I will keep the pad thai?’ she suggested.

Mum, Fresh and I repaired to a rival ya dong stand, run by a relative of carer R’s.

Carer R and this woman are estranged, and the fact that she runs a rival ya dong stand does not help.

Her ya dong is sweeter, and easier to drink. However, I was there only 30min before carer R called, wondering where I had gone.

Mum asked to speak to Ball. R handed over the phone. ‘Don’t forget to pick up your girlfriend,’ she said.

I walked back to carer R’s stand. By the time I arrived, Ball had left on his errand.

Twenty minutes later, he walked up the street, wheeling Nong Fresh in a pram.

After picking up his girlfriend, he had dropped in to see his Mum at the rival ya dong stand, and picked up his baby sister while he was there.

I love watching Ball with Fresh, as the two are close. He can’t stop kissing the poor girl, who is aged 1. She is used to his face-crunching kisses, and does not cry.

Her nose was running, as she has a cold. 'Erk...you have just given me a mouthful!' said Ball.

Half an hour later, I left. I know Mr Ball wanted to keep drinking, but I was bored.

‘The women are down there talking women's talk, while we are over here talking men’s talk,’ he told carer R.

Yes...but the women’s talk happens to be more interesting than the men’s, I thought.

They talked about babies, food, sleep...simple things.

Men talk about their past lives (while seldom asking me about mine, unfortunately), and bore everyone to death.

The unloved boyfriend, baleful Lort

If one secret to making your spouse happy is to make encouraging and supportive noises, I am probably not pulling my weight.

I do not understand food, I can only eat it. When my boyfriend cooks, I can muster little better by way of praise than to say: ‘That was delicious.’ Sometimes I ask about the ingredients, but really I don’t know what I am talking about, and he knows it.

Maiyuu and I embark on few joint endeavours, such as saving schemes.

I might hatch a plan for the future, such as travel, or saving to get Maiyuu's teeth done, but Maiyuu seldom follows it up if it involves spending money, as he is worried I will see him as a financial drain on our relationship. He has yet to see a dentist, even though we started saving for it months ago.

'I just make myself smaller and smaller every day,' he says. He means he is trying to minimise his presence, so I barely notice he is around.

As Maiyuu sees it, his duty is to cook. He is little more than hired help, rather than a boyfriend, and has few rights.

He seldom goes out to see friends, he says, as he thinks I will get annoyed by his absence.

He does not like me to bring my work problems home, so I rarely mention what happens at the office.

He brightened briefly when I told him yesterday about the pending Supreme Court decision on former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra’s assets.

‘Don’t go out wearing red or yellow on Friday when the decision is released,’I said, referring to the colour codes of the pro-Thaksin and anti-Thaksin camps. Some predict clashes in the streets.

We discussed the topic briefly, as we happen to share the same views. That was probably our most animated conversation all day.

Still, do couples need to talk about deep stuff to get along? I don’t think so. We can spend a perfectly enjoyable day teasing each other, for example.

Maiyuu will rib me about the men I have met at the ya dong stand.

I will joke about how he doesn’t have a life outside home any more, and has become a virtual social recluse.

Maiyuu reckons he is misunderstood, including by me. Actually, I think I do understand some of what makes him tick. How could I not, when we have been together nine years?

However, that doesn't mean I am making him happy. I may have identified problems in our relationship, but finding a solution is another matter.

'No, I really do want you to get your teeth done!' I might say.

'No, you don't,' he will think, so his teeth carry on rotting away inside his head.

He is not willing to meet his own needs, as he believes he is not entitled.

I carry on tending to my own dental needs, however, as I believe I owe it to myself.

If I don't, small holes could become bigger ones, and the bill for dental care could grow.

So, my needs get met, but seldom those of my boyfriend.

I told him recently that after being together so long, we should regard ourselves as husband and wife.

When we argue, I will no longer invite him to leave, as I have in the past.

I doubt even that attempt at reassuring my boyfriend made an impact. Maiyuu is nervous, and believes he is unloved.

That's a huge gap in understanding, if you ask me...and I am not sure what to do about it.

-
Idle taxi driver Lort paid an unwelcome visit to the ya dong stand. He was drunk.

He asked me to find work for a young woman relative. Actually, he didn't ask me so much, as threaten. 'Do as I say...I am a man of influence around these parts,' he slurred.

Ball wasn't there at the time, as he had ducked home for something. However, he told me not to take it seriously. He has thumped Lort a few times, when he, too, was drunk.

I don’t like being threatened, even by someone in his inebriated state. I am in no position to commend anyone; all I can do is find a contact name and number, should his relative want to inquire about vacancies.

I did the same for Ball, when his mother asked me to inquire about work on his behalf.

In his case, I went a step further; I took him in for a job interview, though in the end he decided not to take up the opportunity.

Lort wasn’t interested in detail. He just wanted me to find work for his relative, forget the complications. Applying for jobs, and going in for interviews is a mug's game.

Well, mate, it isn’t going to happen. Your family had its chance, and blew it.

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.’