Gold streaks go wrong, mercy mission to the office, slum-dweller's blues

Kae did manage to get her hands on her younger brother Ball’s lustrous hair after all.

The other night when I turned up, I witnessed a dramatic change: Ball’s sister had put gold highlights through his locks.

I had seen Kae wandering about with straggly gold bits in her own mid-back length hair the day before.

She wore them down the side of her face. I asked Kae what she was doing.

‘They are gold highlights,’ she said.

A day later, I turned up to find that she had put the gold stuff through Ball’s hair as well.

Now he wears a bleached look.

I don’t like it, and neither does he. So many Thai youngsters get their mops turned gold these days, it just looks cheap.

Ball's hair rises thick above his head like a crown. He only recently had it cut.

Ball reckons both the hair cut and the hair-streaking episode went wrong.

Every few minutes, he runs his hands through his hair, wondering when it will grow long again.

-
‘Ball has just arrived home,’ his Mum told me on the phone.

I was walking towards her place, so asked for permission to pay a visit.

‘I’d like to catch him in his uniform, and see what it looks like for once,’ I said.

Mum told me days ago how handsome her son looks in his security guard’s uniform, but I had never seen it.

‘Come on, then!’ she said enthusiastically.

I arrived moments too late. By the time I arrived, he had already changed into a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

The next day, however, I did get to see Mr Ball in his uniform – and at his workplace, no less.

The red shirt protesters who have taken over Ratchaprasong intersection in the city’s shopping district fanned out on a mobile rally to other parts of town yesterday, including Silom, Sathorn, and Rama 4.

Ball works in Silom. I thought I had better take Mr Ball extra food and supplies just in case he had trouble getting out of the place.

In the end, I needn’t have worried, as yesterday was also a public holiday. The streets were deserted, and by the time he finished work, the red shirt convoy had already passed.

I found the building, and took the lift to the 15th floor.

I stepped out, and found a solitary desk and a small table, where the security guard sits – but no Ball.

He was sitting on a sofa beyond a set of doors, in what looks like a receptionist area shared by tenants on that floor. A few builders wandered about...otherwise, the place was empty.

He gestured me over.

‘How did you get here?’ he asked, looking shocked.

‘By motorcycle,’ I said, handing over a bag of food. I bought him eggs, chicken - anything I thought would fill his tummy.

‘How is Mum? Where is she?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t contact your Mum before I came,’ I said.

‘By the way, your uniform looks great.’

It is dark blue. He wears a short-sleeved jacket, and formal trousers. No belt, so his gaudy yellow boxers spill over the top.

‘Please wear a belt...it will improve the look,’ I said.

‘Have the red shirts passed by?’ he asked.

‘I saw them on the way in. You should have no problem getting home,’ I said.

Ball flipped nervously through a comic book as we sat chatting. I realised he didn’t want me there, so after talking for a couple of minutes I left.

I caught a motorcycle taxi home. I passed a small convoy of red shirts on trucks on my way back, just as I had on my way there.

My motorcycle taxi driver, whose hair stank, kept a pair of red foot clappers in the basket attached to the front of his bike.

As we passed the red shirt trucks, he called out to get their attention.

His hand clappers, symbol of red shirt resistance, kept falling into the basket where no one could see them.

Several times, he leant forward on his bike to restore them to upright position. The bike wobbled and swayed, and I gripped the back of my seat in the hope we would not lose our balance and fall.

He didn’t care what I thought. While I was a mere passenger, he was a man on a red mission, making a political statement.

By the time I left his bike – shaken, and grateful we had made it back in one piece – I wanted to take his wretched foot clappers and shove them up his black hole.

-
Mr Ball is worried about what people in his slum neighbourhood think of his farang friend (me).

It's not that they reckon he's gay...they don't care about that. It's that he might be selling himself to me, which for him is an even bigger insult to his manhood and social standing.

We were drinking at carer R's ya dong stand. A woman friend walked past; Ball went to talk to her down the alleyway.

I couldn’t hear them. But according to Ball, she saw me, and asked Ball what had happened to his manhood.

Moments later Ball's girlfriend came out to fetch Ball back home; in her view, he'd drank enough.

I agreed he should go back. At first he was reluctant, and talked about sneaking out again.

I didn't want that, so told him I would walk him home myself to make sure he arrived there.

'I am already seen in a poor light around here; now you want to escort me home as well? 'he asked.

I gave Ball B30 so he could buy himself an extra meal at work. His mother gives him just B100 a day, which is enough for only two meals, a cartoon book, and a motorcycle taxi to work.

Previously, I have been giving B150 to his mother every week for this purpose, but she has started keeping it to meet other family expenses, meaning the benefit did not go directly to Ball.

At first he wouldn't take it, but after thinking about it, he changed his mind.

Haircut fantasies, evil slum smells, bruises of love, pool snobbery

Ball’s elder sister, Kae, was cutting her son’s hair.

Maew is a toddler. He would not sit still, and I wondered if he would manage to keep his ear as his mother tried to get at his elusive locks.

‘I was hoping to see you cut Ball’s hair, but you never did,’ I told her.

Ball had his hair cut last week for the first time in months. Shorter hair improves his looks, as his face looks more open.

‘He went to the hair-dresser’s shop instead,’ she said.

What a pity. I was looking forward to seeing the two of them together.

Ball is fussy about his hair, and forever checking himself in front of the mirror. Would he have sat still, or would he, too, have found some excuse to keep fidgeting?

-
‘Something stinks,’ I said.

I was sitting on the living room floor, next to a flax tray table where Mum keeps the food.

Some of it had been there since the night before, and had gone off.

I found the offending plate...old chicken, well beyond use-by date.

‘Do you mind if I put this in the rubbish?’ I asked.

I found a plastic bag, as Mum's place does not appear to possess a rubbish bin.

The Thais in the room looked at me.

Kae’s partner, Tum, laughed.

‘You are obviously not used to slum smells,’ he said.

-
Ball and his girlfriend Jay broke up the other day - only to come together again a mere 18 hours later.

She left home in the morning, but was back again the same night as if nothing happened.

Ball was delighted to have her back, judging by the fuss he was making over her.

No one else was happy about it, though, including me. She's living off them and contributes nothing.

Mum called me about 3pm with the news of their break-up. When Jay left, Mum was drinking at a neighbour's place nearby. Ball ran to his mother in tears.

Ball’s face was bruised below the eye, his lip cut. He inflicted the harm on himself, as he and his girlfriend argued.

'I wanted to say sorry for the things I had done to her in the past,’ he explained later. 'So I punched myself in the face.'

I went to Ball's place and provided moral support for an hour or so, until I was too tired and drained emotionally to stay any longer.

Later that night, while I was at work, Ball's mother called to say her son was waiting to see me for a few quiet beers.

I walked to their place, only to find Jay was back in residence. Mum turned up, and said nothing, nor did her partner Lort.

Yet only hours before they were complaining to me about how the girl contributed nothing. Ball, in their view, was better off making a new start.

Jay was paid the other day, but gave Ball’s Mum nothing towards household expenses.

Mum pays for her food and grocery items, even pays for her to get to work and back.

‘He meant to give Mum money, but her elder brother borrowed it first. He promises to pay it back next week,’ said Ball, defending the girl.

'Next time you want to beat yourself up, please let me know,' I said. 'I am unhappy that you put yourself through that misery alone.'

-
I took Ball’s elder sister, her partner, and four kids for a swim at the pool on my condo roof.

You’d think that would be easy, right?

Wrong.

Before crossing the slum to pick them up, I asked the security guard if I could take them to the pool as my guests.

Any tenants can use the pool, and I have seen them take guests there before.

‘I know a family around here. We might have four of five people at the most,’ I said.

‘I don’t know...I don't want to make that decision,’ he said.

‘I’ll make it for you...I’m bringing them over,’ I said.

‘I’ve seen other tenants take their friends up there, and I can’t see any rules posted anywhere saying I can't,’ I said.

Half an hour later, when I returned with my Thai guests, a nosy cleaner stopped me.

‘We called the juristic entity. They say you can’t take non-tenants to the pool,’ she said.

‘Too late...I cleared it with the security guard. I’m taking them. However, I’ll talk to the office when it opens tomorrow,’ I said.

We encountered no further problems, and enjoyed an hour splashing about in the pool.

I wonder if the service staff would have been in such a hurry to contact the condo owners if I had not told them that my friends were from the slum.

They wouldn’t dare challenge people of higher economic class than themselves, as they cower before such influence. Families from the slum are a much easier target.

The head of the household speaks

'As a man, I have to protect the women of the household. When another man shows up, and I am not there, it doesn't look good,' Ball told me.

‘I don’t like you turning up at our place during the day when I am not there.’

Ball and I were having one of our little talks. They usually start when we are about half-way down a bottle of the brown stuff.

I met Ball, his Mum and her partner Lord in the slum last night. We drank at a neighbour’s place.

Our host is a big woman who makes her own ya dong brew, and owns a large stereo. While she and Mum sang karaoke, Ball and I talked.

‘I know you are trying to help me, but Mum and I will battle on together no matter what happens. She is the mainstay of my life. Mum does everything for us – she has 10 mouths to feed every day,’ he said.

‘I admire your Mum,’ I said. ‘That’s one reason I like to visit her.’

Earlier that day, I gave Mum B400 to buy a new uniform for Ball to wear to work. He is a security guard in Silom.

He has only one, but must wear it to work every day.

I like giving money for useful things, such as his uniform. That money was originally intended for a new watch, which he also needs, but he suggested to his Mum that it would be better spent on a uniform.

Ball’s friends in the slum initially teased him when they saw me visiting his home.

‘They asked if I was living off you...if I had tricked you into giving me money,’ he said.

‘People around here get jealous...everyone is trying to up himself. They see me with a farang, and feel resentful,’ he said.

How touching. The fact that I am twice Ball’s age and might have exploited him, rather than fallen a victim to Ball’s own scheming, doesn’t appear to have occurred to them.

‘I may be small, but I can stand my ground. I told them I don’t like that kind of talk, and that you were my friend. Since then they have stopped teasing. I think they understand me now,’ he said, while adding that I should try to keep a low profile when visiting his place.

I told Ball that I hoped he would persevere with Jay, his girlfriend.

‘I feel sorry for her, and don’t want to throw her out, as she would be alone,’ he said.

I asked Ball if he can distinguish between pity and love. He says he can.

‘I know you feel sorry for the girl, and maintain you don’t really love her – but I have seen you together, and know it’s not true. I think you make a good couple,’ I told him.

Jay is in the family’s bad books after lending most of her most recent pay packet to her elder brother, a fourth-year university student. He has a girlfriend and a child, but can’t support himself financially.

After helping her brother, Jay had nothing left to give to Mum. She feeds the girl every day, pays for the food and groceries, and petrol to get her to work and back...

‘Running this household costs more than B1000 a day,’ Mum told me the other day.

Ball might have to wait until the end of this month before he gets his first pay. His elder sister Kae and her boyfriend contribute to the household's income, and his elder brother, a soldier, sends money home. But it is not enough.

When I dropped in to see Mum earlier yesterday, she had just won B400 on a board game. She spent a chunk of it buying beer for her son.

Ball feels guilty about his father’s death a few years ago. He says he has never made merit for his Dad on his father’s birthday, which he regards as a sin. I have told him that on his own birthday this year, we shall make merit for his father together.

Last night did have its lighter moments. Ball told me about how his younger brother, Mr B, once entered the monkhood to honour his father.

‘He shaved his head, and looked so cute. I stole a look around to see if any of our relatives were watching, and gave him a playful whack on his bald head.

‘We are supposed to treat monks with respect, even when they come from our own family. ''That's a sin," B replied. He was right.'

Mr Ball sees himself as the head of the household. Dealing with the problems which life throws at him - and he has more than his share - is part of being a man.

I admire his courage the most, and the way he is so determined to grow up as a young man worthy of his mother's love and respect.

About 3am, his girlfriend called, and Ball took advantage of the opportunity to flee our drinking circle. He did not say his goodbyes, but I knew when he left us that he would not return.

At Mum’s request, I grabbed my shoes and went after him.

By the time I arrived, his home was closed, the alleyway outside his place empty. I called his number, and he came to the door.

Ball, who had been awake since 6am the previous day, looked shattered, but still managed to put on a smile. He’s the man of the household, after all.

‘Forgive me for adding to your problems, but I am not ready to walk out of your life,’ I said. ‘Good night.’

Hopeless males, battling Mum

Mr Ball took the day off work again yesterday, after imbibing ya dong too heavily the night before.

Put like that, it sounds rather harsh. Let’s have another go. I am sure his sympathetic mother would rather have me put it like this anyway...

‘Mr Ball rose late, complaining he would be unable to go to work, because he was so stressed the night before over his girlfriend that he forgot himself, and drank.’

When I turned up at their place yesterday afternoon, I found him asleep in the middle of his mother’s bed. He was one of three people asleep on a ragged mattress, squeezed together like peas in a pod.

Ball's younger brother slept on one side, Mum's indolent partner Lort on the other. The guys like this room, because it has air-con.

I closed the bedroom door and let them get on with it.

Mum was in poor spirits: ‘Sometimes I just want to leave. I have 10 mouths to feed in this household, and get little help,’ she said.

The family drama of the moment concerns Ball’s girlfriend, Jay. She was paid for her supermarket job the other day, but declined to give any of the money to Mum.

Naughty Jay lives at Ball’s place for free. Mum feeds her, gets her youngest son to take Jay to work every day, pick her up for meal breaks, take her back...

Mum has also lent her money, both for herself and her elder brother, who always seems to be facing some financial crisis.

Ball and Jay have been together half a year.

One day, Ball turned up at Mum’s place with Jay in tow. Ball had just started work at the Macro department store, where Jay was also on staff.

Ball met Jay on his first day at work, and brought her home to meet Mum.

That was sweet. However, Jay wanted more than merely making Mum's acquaintance.

She was living with her elder brother, but wanted to move in with Ball instead.

Her brother has his own girlfriend and child. Their parents live in Chiang Mai but have split up.

Jay won't ask them for financial support, so asks Ball's Mum instead. Otherwise, she relies on what she makes as a supermarket shelf stacker.

Jay's pay of B6500 came out this week. Mum doesn’t know where it went, but on the same day as she was paid, Jay turned up at home saying it had all gone.

Her elder brother, who studies, needed help with this and that.

Ball was unhappy with Jay, as he knows his mother needs help running the household.

Mum was bitter, too.

‘I feed her, provide her with board; she also gets transport to work every day. Why can’t she contribute?’ asked Mum.

As is my wont, I offered advice. ‘Ask to see her payslip. Let’s see how much she’s really earning. Next, start withdrawing services...no motorbike to work and back. No meals either, unless she contributes.’

Mum listened, but said nothing.

‘The other day she called from work, asking [youngest son] Beer to go out and buy her some clothes,’ said Mum.

‘She said she’d pay me back. He didn’t go, but still I wonder...if we had bought her the clothes, would she have bothered paying for them?’ asked Mum, as if to rub salt in her own wounds.

Referring to the three men in the bedroom next to us, I said: ‘Why does the burden of looking after this household have to fall on a woman?

'Those three guys are sleeping in air con, oblivious to the world, while you worry about how to pay for their next meal,’ I said.

Other than talk, I didn’t offer much help. I gave Mum B40 to pay for a beer, so Ball would have something to drink that night before bed. If he wanted more, Mum could pay for it.

I offered to drop in to see her again after I finished work, but in the end I didn’t bother.

By then, Mum had started drinking ya dong herself, and her spirits had improved.

Also by then, I am tired, and need rest. I want to see the boyfriend, and enjoy my life away from my slum burdens.

My usual routine, after I finish work? I call Mum, and ask after her son.

I drop in to their place after walking home, to make sure the Charmed One has gone to bed.

If he hasn’t gone to bed by that hour, he won’t rise at 6am in time for work.

The night before he skipped work, I found him taking a meal with Jay.

He had black rings under his eyes, and looked worse for wear. As they mounted the stairs to their room, I said goodnight to my errant son, and left.

Last night, I found only Mr B, his younger brother, milling about. ‘Is he asleep?’ I asked through the open doorway leading into the slum.

‘He is.’

‘Good,’ I said, and left.

That’s it. Mum was imbibing ya dong nearby, but I didn’t want to hear more tales of misery, so I went home.

PS: Where are Mum's dreams? I refuse to believe they reside in the bottom of a bottle of ya dong. Maybe they reside over there...on the other side of the rainbow.

Leaving something tiny behind

‘We love each other most when we are poor,’ said boyfriend Maiyuu, talking about our relationship. ‘Do you agree?’

‘I do, but I don’t know why – perhaps because, when we have no money, we have to rely on each other,’ I said.

It was the day before pay day, traditionally a day of penury in our household.

Okay, I exaggerate. But I had run out of money. I borrowed B300 from a work friend late last week.

Yesterday, Maiyuu borrowed another B300 from a woman friend.

After visiting his friend, he turned up at home with a beer for me, and offered me B250 from his borrowed money.

That means he was proposing to keep just B50 for himself, after the cost of beer was deducted.

How sweet. I let him keep it all, as I still had B100 to my name – enough to buy drinks for Mr Ball after he finished work.

Later in the day, Maiyuu went out to buy coffee, as he noticed I had run out.

That was another thoughtful gesture on his part.

Today we are flush again, which means we can go back to being as tense and argumentative over money as we usually are.

Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted.

-
Maiyuu and I are reminiscing about the 10 years we have spent together.

In the early days, we would take a taxi to the YWCA in inner-city Sathorn - where we first met, coincidentally - and play badminton on courts in the building next door.

That was years ago, and we haven’t played anything together since.

‘How about we start badminton again – there are courts just nearby, and racquets don’t cost much,’ he said.

‘I feel like exercise,’ he said.

I'm all for it. Getting to know the boyfriend again after all these years can’t be such a bad thing.

Our lives don’t amount to much, after all. I mean that in a positive way, of course.

As Clint Eastwood and Jamie Cullum put it in Gran Torino, ‘Your world is nothing more than all the tiny things you've left behind.’

How sad, but true. And most of those things we left behind comprise what we managed to do for other people, rather than ourselves.

‘So tenderly
Your story is
Nothing more
Than what you see
Or what you've done
Or will become
Standing strong
Do you belong
In your skin
Just wondering...’

Watch the MV here. The theme song, including Clint's gravely voice, is here.