Happy home, new man interest, Ball's bosom buddy

Relations in our household are back on a strong footing after a rocky few days (which explains my silence, dear readers – sorry).

Boyfriend Maiyuu was already upset about the amount of time I was spending with Ball and his slum family.

However, a new argument developed soon afterwards about my moods...and Maiyuu's moods...as neither of us was talking much to the other.

‘I have a headache,’ I claimed. That was an excuse, but it did not buy me much time. ‘We need to forgive each other before we can start again,’ I said.

Maiyuu was also upset about my dictatorial attitudes. When last month’s power bill came in, we gasped: B4,000! I can’t recall it ever being so high. Since then we have been trying to ration our use of the air con machines. ‘On for two hours, off for one,’ suggested Maiyuu. I agreed.

Earlier, the battle over the air con had threatened to become another issue. For my liking, he uses it too much. From his point of view, I am being unreasonable. It is the hottest part of the year, and difficult to walk even 50m outside without starting to melt.

When Maiyuu is in good form, he operates on a high level. This morning, by the time I woke, he had been out to the supermarket. He cleaned the floor with a new half mop/half broom tool he has bought.

As I write, he is making us a chicken dish for breakfast. When his morning’s work is done he will retire to the couch in front of the TV, and put on the air.
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For the last few days, I have been ordering Thai food from a place on the footpath close to my work.

Every day, the Thai family which runs it unpacks the metal tables, coolers, boxes and what have you, transforming what is a grotty sidewalk, next to a railway track and running under a grimy overhead bridge, into a lively eating space.

I had walked past the shop every day for months when I decided I should give it a go. I placed an order, and took a seat while I waited. Half a dozen young people were working there, I noticed, including two young guys.

One, tallish and handsome, was straight. The other, squarish looking and cute rather than handsome, was gay.

The gay one chatted to me shyly as the girls looked on, giggling.

A middle-aged Thai from work turned up one day. He must have seen the youngsters fussing over me. I hope he felt jealous...only foreigners get this much curious attention.

Last night, the woman who cooks asked me a question. She popped it even before I could decide what I wanted to eat.

‘Can the young one have your phone number?’ she asked.

I knew which one she meant: the gay guy.

Thais often ask friends or family to request phone numbers on their behalf, presumably so they won''t suffer rejection if the answer is No.

I sat down and wrote it out, as the girls looked on. They had been briefed on the assignment, and asked me questions: my name, where I come from...

The young one’s name is Noom. He was dressed in a patterned, collared shirt, singlet, and smart patterned shorts. I wondered why he looked so good; normally he wears simple black shorts, and a black or white T-shirt.

‘I am going back to my home province of Roi Et. I came here to Bangkok to help during the mid-term break,’ he said.

‘What do you study?’ I asked, thinking he might be university-age.

‘I am in Mor 6, the final year of secondary school. When I finish, I want to study teaching at university, though where I end up will depend on how well I do in entrance exams,’ he said.

Sigh...why can’t the Lord send me someone in his early 20s for a change?

Later in the night, I was walking home from work when I noticed the shop was still open.
I crossed the road to talk to the woman who had asked me earlier for my number.

She was probably in his mid-30s, and looked like she might be a Mum. They work hard: on busy days, the shop opens at 2pm, and won't close until about 12 hours later.

‘Noom took the bus home to Roi Et earlier tonight, and won’t be back until October,’ she said.

So, that’s why he was dressed up: for the overnight bus back to Esan. How sweet. He was interested in staying in contact, she said.

‘I will carry on turning up every night, ordering as I did before, and if he wants to get in contact, he can call,’ I said, saying my goodbyes.
-
Ball’s mother called as I was heading home.

She was somewhere else – possibly playing her HiLo – but her son had just been to see her.
I can just imagine what prompted the visit to his mother, and why she called me.

Ball wanted to suck on the teat of the brown stuff, and Mum wanted me to pay.

‘I will drop in,’ I said.

When I arrived at his place, I stood at the door observing, as I normally do.

Inside, Ball’s younger brother Mr B and Tum, the boyfriend of elder sister Kae, were seated, chatting.

Ball, wearing clingy shorts and a T-shirt, emerged from his mother’s room opposite where I stood in the doorway.

‘Come in,’ he said.

I had second thoughts. ‘No, thanks...it’s okay,’ I said.

I walked the rest of the way home.

An hour after I arrived at my place, Mum called, but after half a dozen rings thought better of it. The phone fell silent for the night.

Someone has to learn to say no to this young man, or at least push him out the door to look for work.

He’s chosen the hottest time of the year to quit his job as a security guard, at an air-con office in Silom.

I don’t expect he’ll find anything else in a hurry, so the rot will carry on.

It happens naturally, dear reader

Readers have left lively responses to yesterday's post. Here's my response to criticisms by one anonymous reader.

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Anonymous wrote: 'I've always wondered if I knew you, I'd see your world through your eyes.. and have a similar point of view.. or would I see you as a predator from the first-world, who's feeding off the labors and energy of those you try to manipulate.'

Wonder no longer. We'd have little, if anything in common, I suspect.

It's a family thing; I enjoy being with them all. It's not just about me, or Ball. He has a girlfriend, and when the two of them are happy and getting along, they are wonderful together.

There's also Mum. She calls me to unload about Ball, to ask me about him when she is not present, and occasionally to seek my advice.

Early this morning she called about a small drama which occurred last night between Ball, girlfriend Jay and Mum herself. I didn't have to talk, just listen.

As it happens, I agreed with every word she said, and at the right moments said so.

Idle taxi driver Lort - now in hospital with a diabetes-related illness, his comatose-like condition little improved - wants no part in this family's life.

I do. That's the difference, and Mum has spotted it. She talks to me like she would her own partner, if she had a real one.

Mum wants a man she can talk to about Mr Ball and his girlfriend. We seldom talk about Mr B, her youngest son, or her daughter Kae. Perhaps they don't cause her as much trouble.

Mum talked to me for 10 minutes. I told her I'd drop in to see them in early afternoon.

I'm doing the family thing. If Mum thought I meant ill by her son, she wouldn't call.

As for Mr Ball and his fondness for the brown stuff, I do no more to encourage him than would any other friend. In fact, the others are worse.

The cause of last night's drama? Carer R, who has moved to Yasothorn province in Esan, sent word through a relative that he wanted Ball to visit him there for a four-day stay. He is missing his drinking friends.

Mum wasn't keen on him going, as she would have to give him spending money, and Lort had just entered hospital. She can't take care of the toddlers in the household and pay daily visits to him as well.

'Who will he mix with? He knows no one there other than R himself. He has no idea about the conditions in which he lives. He is still a child. How can I let him go?' Mum asked.

Quite right. I don't want him to go either, and have told him so. When I saw Mr Ball last night, he was resigned to the fact that he should stay at home and help his Mum.

These are the types of things we discuss. Occasionally I slip up when we are tossing back the brown stuff, as we both like a drink. Jay usually pulls me up. Once or twice, Mum has questioned my judgement too.

However, Mum knows that her son is in much safer hands with me than when he is with his other friends.

His fondness for alcohol is a complicated issue which needs delicate handling. I can't ban him, and why should I, when I too enjoy the same pasttime?

Mum and I try to limit him to safe environments, while still permitting him to indulge. Explaining more takes too much time...I'll save that one for another day.

I love Ball, increasingly as a friend. I don't need booze to gain access to his life, and nor do I need to open my wallet constantly to win over Mum's trust or loyalty.

Those who argue otherwise are too quick to criticise, and perhaps letting their own experiences of this country colour their judgement.

Angry boyfriend, family health drama, old fears reawaken

I’m in trouble with the boss. I was hardly at home yesterday, which meant boyfriend Maiyuu had to spend many hours in his own company.

‘I don’t care if you are trying to challenge me to see how much longer I can carry on living life alone,’ he said bitterly.

I was away from early afternoon, as Ball and his family decided to visit a department store, and invited me along.

Making up our group were Mum, Ball, his girlfriend Jay, me, toddler Fresh, and a niece of Mum’s who is aged about seven.

In early evening, I returned for an hour or two, and went back to Ball’s place for a taste of the brown stuff.

In mid-evening, Mum’s partner Lort came down with a diabetes-related illness. We took him to hospital, which chewed up the rest of the evening. I returned home after 1am.

Maiyuu does not want to hear these tales of drama from the slums. When I started telling him the story, he asked me to stop.

‘Whenever you are in a bad mood, it’s usually because of something which has happened with your family over there. I don’t want to hear it, just in case I get more grief,’ he said.

I feel sorry for Maiyuu. I do not want to introduce him to Ball’s family, as they are my home away from home, but nor does he want it anyway.

He seldom invites his friends to our place, or goes anywhere. To kill loneliness, he shops for food at the supermarket.

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The night turned out to be more adventurous than expected, when Mum’s partner, idle taxi driver Lort, had a diabetes-related fit. Mum was away, but Ball, his younger brother Beer, Jay and I were present.

Ball heard Lort cry out, and rushed into the bathroom, where he found on the floor, inert. We dragged Lort’s bulky frame onto the sitting room couch.

Earlier, he had complained of seizures in his right hand. 'I have been like this for several days. Tomorrow, I must see a doctor,’ said Lort.

Ball, who seldom talks to Lort, went to his aid, asking him about his condition, rubbing his shoulders, and massaging his hand.

‘When someone is in distress, I will help, no matter how I feel about him,’ Ball explained later.

We assumed that Lort was having problems with his arm because he had quit the ya dong.

‘You shouldn’t go cold turkey. Ease into it,’ Ball urged Lort.

For Ball, the experience of watching Lort seize up was all too familiar. His birth father died of liver failure brought on by taking too much ya dong.

He died a few years ago, but Ball still recalls clearly the symptoms of his father’s illness. ‘His body used to seize up in the same way,’ he said. ‘In his case it was worse, as he used to bite his tongue.’

Lort had two fits at home before we hauled his body out of the slum and into a passing taxi. By then, a dozen people from the slum community had joined us in the packed living room.

Mr B found smelling salts. Someone else found a thin metal spoon, which he inserted in Lort’s mouth.

As Ball tried to hold up Lort’s stiffened body on the couch, Jay and I tried to pin down Lort’s legs, and uncurl his hands.

Mum, who was playing a card game nearby, turned up. She slapped his chest, just in case his heart was giving out.

She had seen it all before too. ‘My husband was the same way. We paid so many visits to the hospital...' she said, referring to Ball's father.

'I am bored with it all now,’ she said.

We lugged Lort’s body down the slum alleyways and on to the street, where someone hailed a taxi.

Mum and the patient travelled in one taxi, while Ball, Jay, Mr B and I took another.

Ball and Beer were shaken. I rubbed their shoulders and backs to reassure them.

Jay was terrific. Five minutes before Lort’s first episode, she and Ball had fallen into an argument about the brown stuff.

I was part of it too, unfortunately, as I am the instigator who helps him indulge.

For the rest of the night, however, Jay was supportive and loving towards her boyfriend, who needed the help.

At the hospital, we were told to wait. Ball and I decided to take a drink outside, so we went for a walk.

Later, Ball lay down on a wall in the hospital driveway. At his request, I stayed with him.

Mr Ball had left home in such a hurry that he had forgotten his shoes. Every 20 minutes or so, he sent me inside to see if anything was happening. 'I feel too embarrassed to go in myself, as I am barefooted,' he said.

When we arrived, Jay filled out a patient information form. While Mum went in to ICU to talk about how she would pay for his treatment, the rest of us waited.

Two hours after Lort was admitted, nurses had moved him to a regular ward. They let us pay a visit.

The wards were full. Some of the patients were but skin and bones. Nurses had pinned sheets on them to serve as nappies.

We followed the sound of groaning from deeper inside the ward. 'That's Lort,' said Mum, recognising the sound of her partner's voice.

In the whole ward, in fact, he was the only one making any noise.

Nurses had pinned down his body to the bed with the aid of cloth stirrups. The nurses had climbed on top of his legs, and were bouncing up and down, trying to stop his body seizing up.

Lort groaned, and in animated moments, screamed. The nurses had seen it all before, perhaps; they joked with each other as they manipulated his limbs.

Lort, said Mum, had never been to see a doctor in the many years they had been together. A nurse asked about the patient.

Ball stepped in to answer most of the questions, as best he could. Mum herself knew surprisingly little about Lort: she knew his name, for example, but not his age.

The diagnosis? Lort has diabetes, the doctors said. He would have to mind his blood sugar levels, and cut down on the booze. The seizure we witnessed was not related to his coming off the ya dong, but booze had contributed to his illness.

As Mum, Mr B and Jay answered the nurse’s questions about the patient, Ball wandered over to watch the nurses, who were still trying to pin down Lort’s body.

As Ball watched Lort writing in pain, I could tell he was thinking about his father.

He was also wondering whether he would follow in Dad’s footsteps. Ball’s Mum reckons the brown stuff has entered her son's veins.

‘You have taken up where your father left off,’ she told us in the waiting room.

I put my arm across his back and held him close.

I wasn’t around when Ball’s Dad left him, but will be here for Ball and his family this time should they need support.

‘Do all drinkers end up with diabetes?’ Ball asked me nervously as we left.

‘No..it’s partly hereditary. If you look after yourself, as you have promised me you will do, the chances are remote,’ I said.

On the way home in the taxi, Jay took Ball’s head in her arms, and nursed him.

Close to home, Ball gave the driver directions, as he had done on our way to the supermarket hours before. Mum appears happy for her son to take over. He is the head of the household, and does a good job.

Mr B was sweeping the floor when we arrived; his taxi had arrived before ours.

Mum went out to buy food, so they would have something to eat before bed.

Jay asked me if I wanted to stay, but I excused myself and went home.

The day had gone on forever. We needed to calm our fears, and rest our heads.

It's a hard knock life

Ball wants to quit his job as a security guard in Silom.

‘I am working a 12-hour day as a security guard for the same wage I could earn if I was working in a shop – or delivering pizza,’ he says.

On Friday, Ball’s first pay packet came out. He made just B6500 for a month’s work.

He is making just B300 a day. His mother pays him a third of that, B100 a day, to meet his work expenses.

‘I spend B50 of that just getting to work on a motorcycle taxi, as my younger brother seldom gets up in time to take me.

'One serving of food in Silom costs B30. If I do not have time to eat before I go to work, then I am able to eat only one meal all day.

‘By the time 7pm comes, I am hungry, but have no choice but to walk home, as my brother often fails to pick me up on the family motorbike,’ he says.

‘I am being asked to work too long, for too little. I just sit there all day...I want to do more,’ he said.

In the next couple of days, Ball and his girlfriend Jay will visit pizza companies close to home to apply for work as pizza delivery workers.

Ball lost his motorcycle driver’s licence some time ago, when he was caught for failing to wear a helmet. He might have to renew it if he wants to work in this field.

He has yet to tell his Mum about his plan to quit his job as a security guard. I have offered to break the word to her on his behalf.

Ball’s girlfriend jay has also quit her job at a supermarket. She hopes to find work at a public relations firm, in a job vacated by a friend; or if that fails, delivering pizza.

‘I quit school at 15, while Jay quit at 17, with a higher qualification,’ says Ball. ‘She should find it easier to find work.’

I asked Ball what he would do in a month’s time if the pizza delivery job also failed to work out; and to consider what he would do at the age of 30, or 40, when his body is slowing down, and he might need a job which is more stable.

‘I haven’t thought about my future - it’s such a long way off. But you are right, none of these jobs represent secure work,’ he said.

‘In the long term, I would like a job where I can raise a family and look after my mother,’ he said.

To that end, Mr Ball says he might set his sights on driving a taxi, where he can work times that suit him, and put in as many hours as he likes.

‘I am still a kid, so that’s some time off. For now, I want to try something different, so will look for work in pizza delivery,’ he said.

Finding my way home

I have made little or no contact with Ball’s family in three days, which shall please the cynics who say I should take a step back from my relationship with this slum family to see what happens.

Why? The idea appears to be that it will bring out the way members of the family ‘really’ feel towards me, or me towards them.

Mum asked me to her own mother’s place for a birthday meal on Saturday. ‘You must come!’ she had told me excitedly.

In the end, I didn't go. About 4pm on Saturday, I called her after hearing nothing from them all day.

‘We’re waiting for my daughter; then we will go together. That means we won’t leave until evening,’ she said apologetically.

I am not free at that hour, as she well knows.

They went to granny’s birthday bash without me, which might have been a good thing, as they stayed overnight.

Mum called late yesterday, as they were heading back. It had been a busy 24 hours.

‘You have been so quiet – no calls!’ she said.

Well, what do you expect? No one enjoys being treated like a mere hanger-on.

I did not call last night after work, and nor have I called this morning to see what her son is doing.

I am spending more time at home with the boyfriend. We chat about nothing in particular, watch the odd movie together, catch up on sleep.

Maiyuu cooks as fervently as ever, including a batch of milk chocolate ice-cream, served on his own strawberry sauce; and a salmon , mashed potato and coleslaw dish.

‘Have you called your son to say good night?’ he asked before bed.

Maiyuu suspects our present close phase won’t last. I’m only spending more time with him because Ball’s family has let me down.

Where do these phases lead, when we try to cut ourselves off from people who normally provide us with so much emotional sustenance?

In the absence of anything better, we probably end up back right where we started. Or as guitarist David Gilmour puts it, in Smile:

I'll make my getaway
Time on my own
Search for a better way
To find my way home
To your smile

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Smile
(Gilmour / Samson)

Would this do
To make it all right
While sleep has taken you
Where I'm out of sight

I'll make my getaway
Time on my own
Search for a better way
To find my way home
To your smile

Wasting days and days
On this night
Always down and up
Half the night

Hopeless to reminisce
Through the dark hours
We'll only sacrifice
What time will allow us
You're sighing... sighing

All alone
Though you're right here
Now it's time to go
From your sad stare

Make my getaway
Time on my own
Needing a better way
To find my way home
To your smile