Nails off, moody girlfriend, granny's birthday adventure

Ball put out one hand at a time, as his girlfriend trimmed his nails with a pair of clippers.

For the past week I had been observing Ball’s lengthening nails, and wondering why he did nothing about them. Was he turning fem? He already uses make-up, for goodness sake.

No. He was just waiting for his girlfriend to do her duty and cut them for him.

‘Can’t you do it yourself?’ I asked, slightly annoyed.

‘Yes, but I want her to do it,’ he said.

Men...hopeless!

-
A day later, back in the living room...

Ball staggered down the stairs, bleary-eyed, having just risen from sleep. He headed straight for Nong Fresh, one of two toddlers in the household, for a long kiss.

He waring a pair of cotton shorts. I would rather he wore a shirt, as he looks alarmingly small and vulnerable when he is partially clothed.

I threw a towel at him. He left it on the floor.

-
Moody girlfriend Jay followed about 15 minutes later. She sat on the couch with her boyfriend, stroked his legs, spoke some impenetrable language which only lovers understand.

Mum and I were sitting on the floor just metres away.

‘Jay wants to quit work,’ Mum said.

What?

Jay works at a supermarket, but is tired of dealing with problems there.

Mum seemed resigned to the change, but I would not let it go so easily.

‘She should wait until she finds a new job before quitting. Do you want her hanging around the house all day, doing nothing?' I asked.

'As it is, she contributed nothing towards her upkeep last month. Soon, she will have no income at all, and you will be left to pick up the burden,’ I said.

Mum tried changing the subject. She’s no good at confrontation. Being an outspoken farang, I thrive on it.

I turned to question Jay, who did not hear our exchange.

‘Is this true, you want to quit?’

She refused to answer.

‘If an adult asks you a question, you should respond!’ I told her.

Silence, and I was able to prise few details from Ball either.

‘You’re hopeless...no one can talk to you,’ I told Jay, leaving the room in disgust.

-
Ball looks oblivious when I criticise him before his mother, and even appears to like it.

He chats away to his girlfriend, happy for me to carry on.

It's as if he knows the adults of the household are busy taking care of business, so he doesn't need to bother, even when the topic of conversation concerns him.

Ball, and even his silly girlfriend, appear to enjoy getting direction from us.

After telling off girlfiend Jay, I bought two beers. I poured a glass for Ball. He looked hesitant at first, but soon warmed to the fact that I was there.

I care for him, even though I criticise.

‘What time did you go to bed?’

‘When will you let me to take you to see a doctor about your sinus problem?’

He answered my questions patiently, until I was sick of asking.

-
Today we are visiting Ball’s maternal grandmother’s place in Onnut, Bangkok to help her celebrate her birthday.

Ball's Mum invited me, and Granny wants me to go too, apparently.

‘I want to make her something special to eat. It’s hard for an old woman to look after herself,’ said Mum.

Blog turns 4, author's world gets smaller, Joycey makes it big again

This blog’s fourth birthday fell on Thursday. Sorry, I forgot. This is a catch-up pat on the back for my readers.

When I started this blog four years ago, I was living with boyfriend Maiyuu, of course, but he was seldom around.

In his absence I had started seeing a 20-year-old student. We stayed together more than 12 months.

I started the blog partly to record my thoughts about what was happening in my relationship with that fellow, but also as a place to put stories I had written about previous adventures, most of them based at a small shop on the Thon Buri side of Bangkok.

I have stopped seeing the university student. Mum’s shop, as it became known, barely figures in my life any more.

Bangkok is a huge city, but my world appears to be getting smaller. These days, I spend most of my time with the boyfriend, and my family in the slums nearby.

My readers don’t seem to mind; perhaps you are used to me by now. Readership has fallen from its level of 12 months ago, but is more stable. This blog pulls 500-600 unique reader visits a day. If repeat visits are included, the total exceeds 1,000.

For me, the best part of this blog is interaction with readers.

No one enjoys writing in a vacuum, and lately readers have rewarded with me with lively feedback on posts about my life with Mr Ball and his family near my home. Some posts attract up to 30 responses.

Thank you for your support. You are terrific!

As is tradition at this time of year, I want to name the blog which has given me most enjoyment over the previous 12 months.

It’s not a Thai blog; I have hardly any of them left on my blog roll, as they fail to do anything for me.

The author is a journalist with the International Herald Tribune in Hong Kong. The blog is called Joyceyland, named after its author, Joyce Lau. That’s her in the picture by the helicopter, with her man, Marc the Metrosexual.

Joyce has a way with the written word. She can make public matters, such as an upcoming election in Hong Kong, or even her observations of a flight over the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, which she visited recently, seem personal.

Hardly any writers can do that. When I read her, I am excited: I want to know what she’s thinking, and what she’ll say next.

Even fewer writers manage that feat.

Find Joycey here (she's now set it to friends only - sorry).

Poor hearing, seaside tempter, naughty aircon guy

My mind is playing tricks. When I am talking to Ball and his family on the phone, sometimes I think I have heard something, when apparently I haven’t.

‘It’s late. Don’t come around tonight. You can see me on a day off,’ said Ball told me when we spoke on the phone.

His day off? That’s three days away. Actually, we are seldom able to meet at the tail end of the week, as we are both busy. But I didn’t like the casual way he said it, like he was shrugging me off.

I called him back five minutes later. ‘Why did you say you didn’t want any contact until the end of the week?’I asked. I made a joke of it, but I wanted to know.

‘I didn’t say anything about that...you misheard,’ he said.

This happens a bit. Maiyuu might tell me something, and I am sure he meant XYZ. But when I bring it up later, he claims never to have said it.

Maybe it’s all a dream, and I don’t really know any of these people. Or, more likely, I will wake up 30 years from now in a rocking chair, and fail to remember anything that has happened in my life previously.

My grandmother went out like that...unaware of her surroundings, or the identity even of her own children. Is it a peaceful way to go? Maybe the memories start falling off one by one, like flowers off a tree in autumn. I am in no hurry to find out.

-
I have a similar problem understanding Ball’s mother. I ask a direct question, as is my farang way, but seldom get a direct answer.

Instead, I get a long, disjointed monologue. My job is to sift the various bits of information, attempt to make sense of the whole thing, and come up with a cogent response by the time she has finished.

‘Seaside...Ball wants to go...his family on that side is keen to invite him...everyone will go, including my soldier son...you know, with the trouble on the streets, it is hard for a soldier to get leave...we have a van...everything included, a bit more than 2000 baht...hard to find a van we could hire...’

This was Mum's monologue on the phone, after Ball asked me if I intended to accompany his family on a visit to the seaside next week.

I am working on the day they intend to travel, so the answer is probably no.
However, I will offer to put some money towards the trip.

The van will cost B2000 to hire for the two-three hour journey to Chon Buri, where the family will spend the day at the beach. Earlier, they considered spending the night, but decided against when they realised how much it would cost.

‘How much would you like me to pay?’ I asked Ball’s mother.

‘Up to you,’ she said, in what sounded like an icy tone. But I may have imagined it, like so many other things these days.

I will probably give B700. That’s money I could have spent on something more lasting than a day-trip to the seaside, but never mind. If it helps get them out of their cramped slum home and into the fresh air and sun for a day, then why not.

PS: Four young men have turned up to clean our air conditioning units. One, who knows he is good looking, gave me The Look, to see if I would reciprocate. I am sure he is used to getting admiring glances, and wants to know if I find him as handsome as everyone else.

Oh, alright, if you must. When the boyfriend is not watching, I shall return The Look, so the air con guy knows that he has an admirer in me, too.

Carer R leaves, SMS intercepted

Carer R walked into Ball’s home unannounced.

As is the Thai habit – or is it Thai slum habit – he just strolled into their living room as if he was part of the furniture. Don't bother knocking, mate - we're all friends here.

When he saw me sitting in the corner, he made a quick excuse, and left.

Carer R leaves for the Northeast today, to live with his wife’s family.

The last time I spoke to R about his plans, he said he would pick up casual work as a labourer.

Ball will be sad to see him go, but I won’t. We fell out several weeks ago over his persistent habit of dragging Mr Ball out to drink until the early hours.

Carer R liked the idea that he was friends with a farang, and did not appreciate it when I stopped showing interest in him.

I began to see him in a new way, and wondered how we ever regarded ourselves as friends.

Several hours later, he turned up again, bottle in hand and looking worse for wear.

Former taxi driver Lort wandered in a moment later. ‘Uncle...take a drink with me...send off your nephew to the provinces,’ R slurred.

They are not really family. The reference to ‘nephew’ is part of a cloying Thai habit of turning everyone into some relative or another when they want to pretend they are close.

Lort, who does not drink the brown stuff, wasn’t interested, and turned down his offer.

Shortly after he arrived, R sent out Ball to buy in more supplies. That was bad news – it was almost midnight. With his mother’s blessing, he had been drinking with me since early evening.

We watched TV, and along with the others – Ball’s girlfriend, elder sister, and her partner – did our bit to entertain the kids. Now, however, it was time he went to bed.

I sat in the corner quietly.

I overheard R make a couple of remarks about the brown stuff, which were intended to wind me up. He knew I wanted Ball to call it quits for the night, but didn't care.

'I don't have any money,' I heard Ball reply.

And: 'I can't have much more. Tomorrow I have to go to work.'

Ball had found the courage to say 'No', but I didn't know how much longer he could keep up that strong act.

Mum was away. I called her, and composed a text message, telling her about the unwelcome guest.

Mum is no fan of R, for the same reason as I dislike him. However, she's Thai, so she's pleasant to his face, while I am farang, and am not.

Five minutes later, Ball’s mother called me back. I gave the phone to Ball, who spoke to his mother. ‘No, I won’t have too much,’ he said.

When he finished, he noticed the text message on my phone, which I was just finishing up when his Mum called.

It wasn’t intended for his eyes, but he read it anyway.

‘I want to go home, but bloody R has turned up. If we’re not careful Ball won’t get to bed in time for work,’ the message said.

As Ball gave the phone back to me, I thought I detected the faint traces of a smile.

I didn’t embarrass myself too much, it seems. Ball doesn’t like me nagging, and who would. Occasionally when he’s in high spirits, he will ask to be left alone.

For the most part, however, Ball doesn’t appear to mind that we fuss over him.

Girlfriend Jay, who had been with us all night, was waiting patiently for Ball to finish. She, too, wanted rest.

While R took a toilet break, I made my excuses and left.

I called Mum this morning. Her son managed to get to work, though I am sure he has an aching head.

Chocolate love cupcake, family outing

A chocolate fudge cupcake, with runny chocolate inside, and a love sign in white sugar powder on top (file corrupted - sorry). Maiyuu left it for me on the kitchen table last night.

I came home from work late. He had gone to sleep by the time I arrived, but stirred himself to heat up the main course - spaghetti pork balls, which he had made earlier.

-
Earlier, I dropped in to see my son. Oops, I mean Ball.

I know how much reading those words will upset some readers. Delicious!

Let’s start again. Mum called in mid-morning, inviting me around for a few drinks.

She had spent the previous day playing Hi Lo, which explains why, for the whole of the previous 24 hours, I did not hear from her.

‘I did well,’ she said, referring to her winnings.

I arrived an hour later, but Mum was nowhere to be seen. Ball played man of the household - ‘Come in for a while!’

He looked like he could do with a few beers.

‘What did you do yesterday?’ I asked.

‘I just hung around home,’ he said.

He did not bother to call, but then most contact usually goes through his mother.

I looked around. Despite having called me only shortly before, Mum was absent.

I made an excuse to leave, and returned an hour later.

By then, Mum was back. She had issued instructions; she and the rest of the family were getting ready for a trip to the Lotus superstore.

Present were Mr Ball, who was just finishing up a shower (one hour). His younger brother, Mr B, was next (another hour). Also present among us were Kae, their elder sister, her boyfriend Tum, the two children of the household, and a niece, Nong Fa.

I bought a bottle of beer and awaited Ball’s presence. After a shower, he must apply make-up, and lip gloss. This can take another hour.

Mum found a make-up compact upstairs in Ball’s room one day as she gathered up the washing.

‘At first I thought it might belong to his girlfriend, Jay. Actually, it was Ball’s,’ Mum told me later. ‘He likes expensive stuff.’

Ball does not need make-up, as his skin is already pale. But make-up removes blemishes, especially under the harsh neon lights of a department store.

'I feel put out. You were both at home all day yesterday, but no one invited me,' I told Ball and Mum.

Thais love a good pouter, because they do it so well themselves. Ball laughed, and Mum apologised.

'The place was crammed. I could barely move. I don't think you would have enjoyed it,' she said.

Mum asked me if I’d like to go with them on the family trip to Lotus.

I accepted, as I like seeing people in different environments.

We headed off in two taxis.

Before shopping, we took a meal at a Japanese-style restaurant. At Mum’s suggestion, I sat next to Ball.

He looked nervous at first, as he usually does when he hasn’t seen me for a while.

His brother was sitting opposite, so he busied himself talking to him.

Ball and Mr B appear to speak a language of their own. They laugh at each other constantly. One needs only to speak a couple of words, and the other giggles. I have no idea what is going on. I am not sure their mother does either.

Mum is seldom off the phone when we go out. As we sat waiting for our order, Mum called her elder sister, inviting her to join us.

‘My purse is heavy. Come and help me make it lighter,’ she joked.

I laughed. Ball, who noticed me laughing, decided he had better join in too.

Two adults were enjoying other’s adult conversation. If he wants to be a grown-up, he should show his appreciation.

I shunted dishes down to the end of the table, where Ball and his brother could get at them.

When we go out together, I am the oldest one there, apart from Mum. I act as Dad, helping Mum.

This gives Ball a break from acting as the senior member of the household. He jokes about with his brother, or helps manage the toddlers.

Ball and Mr B are great with the kids. They kiss and fuss over them constantly. At home, they change them, bathe them, feed them - do whatever is needed to help Mum cope.

Ball’s make-up had left his face within moments of our leaving home, as he can’t stop kissing his baby sister and brother.

In the supermarket, where we headed next, Ball, Kae and I took turns to wheel the shopping cart, or push the pram.

In the sports section, Ball and his brother took out footballs, and played with them.

Ball, a fan of English football, can do clever things with one foot. He can keep the football in the air as he kicks it lightly with one foot slightly off the ground.

Mr B, himself an English football fan, performs tricks with his head.

When Ball tosses the football at him, he head-butts the thing back into his brother's hands. Where do they learn these techniques?

Trolley full, we headed for checkout. Mum paid in 100 baht notes. They looked like winnings from some gambling game, which is exactly what they were. We found two taxis, and headed home.

I had to leave for work, and did not get a chance to see Ball again that night.

However, I called him before bed. He sounded chirpy, as if he had enjoyed his day.

‘I will see you tomorrow. We can have a few drinks together,’ he said.

Does Mr Ball ever wonder what this farang is doing in his life? Maybe I am just some lonely middle-aged farang he happens to know.

I am not sure it matters. We have fun, enjoying family life together.

I come from a large family, as does Mr Ball. I miss family life, while Mr Ball has yet to experience anything different.

Maybe one day he will.