If I could change the world

So, you want to know, do you, whether I will carry on my relationship with Ball?

In English, the word ‘relationship’ is heavy and burdensome. It is fraught with expectations, not always reciprocated equally by the other side, which for some of my readers can only mean one thing:

‘Exploitation!’

I can’t expect Ball, aged just 19, will return my interest in me, think on the same thought plane, or even give a damn. I know this, and still I carry on.

B-a-a-d news!

He’s a teenager, and I am twice his age. I like taking on the caring role, while he is still busy trying to find himself.

How could it be anything but exploitative?

Lighten up, people. Let the lad be. And give me a break too, while you’re at it!

Why do readers insist on reading sinister things into what could be an innocent pairing?

Where I am concerned, not a few readers here have concluded that I can have only malign motives. I want to get into his pants, and that’s it.

Where Ball is concerned, not a few readers have decided that this young man is a waster, and that -  regardless of how he shapes up in the eyes of a judgemental world -  I am taking advantage of his weakness for the brown stuff to ingratiate myself into his life.

News flash: Of course I find him attractive. I wouldn’t bother turning up in his living room every day if I didn’t.

But it’s just possible that those feelings can be paired with higher, worthier things.

This is a young man who, on the first night we met, ended up in my arms in tears, reminiscing about his Dad...and who still confides in me about family matters which he says he can’t tell his Mum, or his other friends.

He likes to have me around as a father figure, though he won't admit it. Is that so bad?

As for my interests in this affair – oops, business – Mr Ball meets my need, in my lonely middle age, to care for someone as if he were my own.

I like worrying about him. What is he doing? How will he overcome this or that problem? What will he do next, to shock or delight us?

He’s tiny, still forming into an adult. You think he should be harvested? Only by a girl his own age, thanks.

If you think I would take something which is not mine in such a wanton fashion, you’re out of your mind.

Some might say I am just besotted, and that if someone else came along, I’d quickly forget him.

Quite possibly!

But for the time being, I enjoy my time with Ball. I love being part of his family, and having a place to belong.

If he said goodbye tomorrow, I’d be heartbroken.

But I’d still know I did the best I could to make him a better man.

As I have said here before, this life is about giving. What else is there, to make it all worthwhile?

We can't all change the world, people. Why not let it be?

Helping, or interfering?

Here's an except from an email I sent to a friend, also a reader of this blog, who wants me to stop 'interfering' in the life of Mr Ball and his family.
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You're not the first reader to claim I am 'interfering', presumably because any financial contribution on my part, no matter how small, upsets the natural balance of things.

If they didn't have my money, would they behave any differently? Or to put it another way, does the money I give them make them change their behaviour?

At the moment, I appear only to be aiding and abetting his drinking problem, which is not what I want. His mother called me half a dozen times at work last night. She and other members of the family, including Ball, were drinking at a ya dong stand close to home.

She had bought Ball three bottles of beer, but it wasn't enough...he wanted more. He asked his Mum to call. To sweeten me further, she gave the phone to him so I could speak to the Little Prince himself.

His Mum won't let him drink ya dong any more. When I turned up about midnight, his glass was empty. I gave him B100, he bought two more bottles.

This is not ideal...I don't want to encourage his drinking, but that's all I seem to have accomplished. When I help in other ways, such as topping up his cellphone or giving him money for food at work, Ball appears not to care. He's only interested in booze.

So I might have to talk to his Mum. Or, when I go to see her, I might have to keep my wallet closed.

I wanted to help his life along, because I felt sorry for Ball, and I like his Mum. But these are not the right motives; or, even if they are, they end up with unintended results.

I didn't know giving would be such a hard thing to do. Increasingly, my motives or intentions have nothing to do with it. I can't change the way these people are, so I am stuffed.

Best laid of plans

A little more than a week after Ball started his new job as a security guard, he has missed only one day at work. Surely that’s cause for cheer.

In mid-morning, after Mr Ball has left for work, I drop in to see his Mum to catch up on news.

She tells me if there were any dramas getting him out the door in time for his 7am start.

On Tuesday, he didn’t go to the office, because he drank too much the night before.

Before bed, he took a few beers with me. At 3am, a friend of his turned up and invited him out to watch football.

I blame myself for what happened. I had thrust B100 into my young man’s hand that night before bed.

I gave Ball the money to supplement the meagre allowance which his mother gives him to meet his expenses at work.

Ball's brother forgets to pick him up on the family motorbike after his shift at work ends. In his absence, Ball must walk home.

I gave him the money so he could hire a motorcycle taxi the next day if his brother again failed to show.

Ball, however, is a teenager. He succumbs to impulse, threatening to upset the best laid of plans which adults in his life have made.

That night, he went out with his friend to watch football, even though he knew he should sleep.

'I spent your B100 on beer,' he told me later.

His mother called me several times the morning of his no-show at work, but I did not answer. I was in one of my moody phases of wanting to put distance between Ball’s family and myself.

However, by 3pm, I was starting to miss them, so dropped in for a visit.

Ball was asleep with his younger brother on Mum’s bed. Mum was in the bedroom too.
As I entered, Ball stirred. He was wearing the same clothes I saw him in the night before.

‘He called you this morning because he wanted a drink before going back to bed,’ said Mum.

‘What?’ I thought. If I was her son, I would have been too embarrassed to admit such a thing.

He had already pulled out of work for the day. Now he wanted to carry on as he had started the night before.

‘Ball needs his full quota of rest. If he doesn’t get it, he just can’t cope,’ said Mum, explaining why her son had failed to go to work.

Ball works 12 hours a day; some days, he must spend another hour or more walking home.

When I see him after work, which is seldom (I work nights), he looks worn and ragged.

He can’t afford to go to bed late. If he does, he will rise still feeling exhausted from the day before.

Slowly he is adjusting to the fact that he no longer has the freedom he enjoyed when he was jobless, or indeed when he worked in his most recent job, for a local supermarket, which was only five minutes away.

Now, he works in Silom. Complicated transport arrangements are needed. Everything, in fact, seems that much more difficult.

Ball was to spend the whole of that day in bed. That night, he took his Mum to visit families in the neighbourhood to whom she had loaned money.

She collects interest from them, to help keep her own family going the next day.

Ball’s company said he would need a medical certificate from a doctor showing he was unfit to go to work.

While they were out on their travels, Ball and his Mum tried visiting a doctor, but he was out.

In the absence of a medical certificate, his company will deduct wages for the day he missed work.

When I saw Ball’s girlfriend Jay that night, she was bitter about Ball’s failure to rise in time.

As it happens, I had called her at 6am, to make sure Ball was out of bed.

Jay told me that he had risen, but didn’t say he had only just returned from watching football with his friends.

‘You are his girlfriend. You have a right to get annoyed. Tell him he can’t go! And if that doesn’t work, call me,’ I told her.

As I lectured Jay about Ball’s errant behaviour, Ball was standing nearby, frying an egg for the girl.

I am sure he heard everything I said, but did not seem worried that I was criticising him.

Ball’s father is dead, and his mother's partner, Lort, a mere cipher in his life. In me, he has a substitute ... someone who gives him direction and ticks him off when necessary.

He doesn’t seem to mind when I get parental. In fact, he appears to expect it - even welcome it.

Apart from Absent Tuesday, Ball’s working week has been normal. On Wednesday night, Ball, his mother and a friend managed get through eight bottles of the brown stuff after he finished work.

The next day, Ball made it to work, but suffered a hangover.

Last night was normal, as he needed to catch up on sleep more than he needed to imbibe or have fun with his friends.

Mum has two cellphones. One is more reliable than the other, and normally, she keeps both devices at home.

Now, she gives one device to Ball, to take to work. When he wants to be picked up or just to talk, he can call home.

She has also given him his own phone number.

I was thinking of buying him a cheap one myself, but now I needn’t bother. When I called him last night, he was outdoors, but answered on the phone his mother gave him.

‘I am having a drink with friends from the neighbourhood,’ he said chirpily.

Ball sounded proud to have his own phone. Good move, Mum.

That morning, Mum asked her son to buy two servings of pad thai noodles before he left for work.

If he took his own food, he could save money, as food costs twice as much in the business district of Silom where he works than it does around home. That was another clever move on Mum’s part.

Ball and his girlfriend want to buy their own motorbike, though it will take them a couple of months to raise the deposit.

‘If they have their own motorbike, Ball will no longer have to rely on his younger brother to ferry him about,' said Mum.

'However, Jay will still need her own transport to get to work, so we should buy a pushbike for her.’

Mum knows a place in the neighbourhood where second-hand bikes – simple ones with a basket in front, the kind which cleaners and housekeepers get about on – go for B1000 or less.

I have agreed to stump up half, if she can come up with the rest.

Boss lays down water heater regime

If I leave the water heater on now, I stand to get fined.

While I was out yesterday afternoon, Maiyuu affixed this notice to the bottom of the water heater in the bathroom.

I have a bad habit of leaving the heater on even when I am not using the shower.

Something in the box overheats or over-stresses, so the element burns out occasionally, and we have to get it fixed.

Now, I have been warned that if I continue leaving the heater switched on after a shower, I will be fined B200.

‘If you switch it on, please turn it off. If not, you’ll be fined B200,’ says the notice.

I have already forgotten to turn the thing off once since the notice went up – last night, before I went to work.

Maiyuu told me the grim news when I came home.

‘Please give me another day or so to get used to the new regime,’ I said.

Generous with other people's money

Easy come...easy go!

When I visit Ball’s family in the slum, we spend most of our time in the sitting room, which opens on to an alleyway.

People can enter or leave any time they like. Many do, including some faces I have never seen before.

These include miserable types who come begging for food and money.

I don’t know how well Mum knows them, but they feel sufficiently at ease in her company to just walk in and sit down.

They neither knock on the door, nor call out to announce their arrival. They just appear...wanting things.

About midday, I dropped in to see Ball’s Mum.

She had just returned from a trip to the market, and told me the events of the morning past.

Ball and his girlfriend made it to work, though they had to hire motorbike taxis to get there.

Normally, Ball’s younger brother Beer would take them, but yesterday his motorcycle would not start.

Mum gave them B60 each for a motorcycle taxi instead, which left her short of money she would normally give to Mr B to recharge his petrol tank.

Mr B puts B100 of petrol in the family motorbike every day.

‘I have no money left,’ she said, almost in passing.

I thought about this remark. If he didn’t fill up his tank, how could he pick up Ball and his girlfriend from work?

I pulled out a B100 note, and gave it to Mr B. He gave me a wai of thanks.

Mum was chatting away as she fed one of the kids.

Her own mother sat on a pull-out couch next to us. Another half dozen people were mingling about, including a teenage girl who spends most of her days at Mum’s place (her own parents aren’t up to the task of caring for her), and Mr B.

A moment later, I looked up, and found some old wizened guy had parked himself beside Mum.

He let himself in without a word, and sat down.

‘I haven’t eaten in two days. Can I borrow some money?’ he asked.

Mum didn’t look the least surprised to see him. ‘Perhaps you haven’t eaten for two days because you’ve been drinking instead?’ she asked.

‘Oh, no...I have stopped that. I am back at work, but have to wait three days before they pay me,’ he said.

Mum’s reaction surprised me.

‘Beer, give him the B100,’ she said.

Mr B meekly handed it over.

Hang on – that was money I gave them for petrol, not to help some grafter from the slum!

‘Hand it back! That money is not for you!' I told the old guy.

The old guy looked at me. He knew my name, which didn’t surprise me, as Thais have a way with names.

‘Mali, I really haven’t eaten for days,’ he told me.

‘I don’t believe you,’ I said.

He mumbled a few words, about how he’d repay the loan the next day. Then he left, as quietly as he had arrived.

I was unhappy that Ball’s mother could give away money I had handed to her only moments before, to some bum I had never met.

‘I have known him for years. He’s a building contractor, and hires Ball occasionally to help him lay tiles. However, he’s also a drinker, and forgets to buy himself food,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘But now Mr B can’t refill his petrol tank!’ I told her, exasperated.

‘He has a good heart,’ she said.

‘I am sure he has...especially when you are giving him things. How much has he borrowed?’

‘He has borrowed B1000 over the years...but one day he will pay it back,’ she said.

‘Now you can add another B100 to the debt,’ I said.

I was angry, though part of me also felt sorry for Thais who insist on giving to those less fortunate.

They don’t appear to apply the same criteria which I would in assessing whether to give: for example, is he a worthy cause who helps himself? Or is he simply an irresponsible waster?

-
I had gone to Ball’s place intending to discuss a proposal that I top up the money she gives her son every day for work.

If I added a mere B40 a day, say, he would have enough to get a motorcycle home on those days when his brother failed to turn up. He could save the rest.

But after seeing how generous his mother could be with other people’s money, I decided against.

If I enter such an arrangement at all, it probably will be Mum’s friend Noi, who works in the same office as Ball, and helped him get his job as a security guard.

She buys him snacks to eat during the day. I could give her the money instead.

-
‘Ball’s mother has money - don’t worry about her,’ said carer R.

I dropped in to see him at his ya dong stand last night.

‘Ball has started work, but she still gives him just a tiny amount of money each day, as if he’s not earning a wage,’ he said.

Mum also holds on to her son’s ATM card. No doubt she is looking forward to his first pay day, when she can ask him to help meet the family’s outgoings.

-
Ball himself turned up about 11pm.

He stayed clear of the ya dong, which was sensible.

Ball looked haggard and drawn. He was forced to walk home again last night, as his brother failed to turn up.

His mother wants to buy him a pushbike to get to work, so he no longer has to rely on the family motorbike.

However, Ball would rather wait until he has enough money to put down a deposit on his own motorbike, which he will share with girlfriend Jay.

‘I will have to find somewhere to park it. A friend suggests Patpong, but I have no idea where that is,’ he said.

'I will help you with the motorbike,’ I said.

Ball objected.

‘I have asked Mum not to ask for any help from you, except maybe for the occasional drink,’ he said.

'As for your trip home from work tomorrow, let me give you B100,’ I said.

Ball was reluctant to accept it. I bickered and negotiated with him for half an hour before he would finally let me thrust the note into his hand.

As we sat, the rings around his eyes were growing darker, and his breath began to whistle and wheeze in his chest.

It was time my young friend went to bed. At midnight, I escorted Ball home.

Again, I tried to give him the B100.

‘I am worried my friends will think I am tricking the farang,’ he said miserably.

We were standing in the alleyway, which was quiet and still.

‘They can’t see us. Who knows?

‘I have had a terrible day. Let me feel good about at least one thing I have done,’ I pleaded.

Ball took the money, gave me a deep wai, and went home to bed.