Getting worked up over nothing

My friend farang C has experienced first-hand how frustrating Ball's family can be.

I had told C that Nong Mew, one of the toddlers of the household, was having his first birthday the other night.

Farang C, who knows Ball but has never met the rest of the family, decided to buy a couple of dishes to help them celebrate. He bought takeaway food at a Thai restaurant in soi Ngam Duplee.

He took me there for a look. The place is run by gays.

We had a quick meal, and ordered his two takeaway dishes. I called Ball's mother and asked if I could escort C to her home.

‘Yes, come, come...’ she said.

He also wanted to meet toddler Mew, and catch up with Mr Ball, whom he hadn't seen for months.

I walked C through the slum to Ball's place. When we arrived, Mum was absent; she was nearby, playing HiLo.

Her youngest son, moody Beer, met us at the door. From where I stood, I could see Ball sitting at the computer in a darkened space off the main sitting room.

Ball called out, but didn't rise from his seat. He couldn't see C standing next to me, apparently, and nor could he hear him.

Farang C flew into a huff because he thought Beer's manner was unwelcoming (Mr B is never welcoming towards anyone).

Mum wasn't at home, the toddler was nowhere in sight, and Ball refused to get up to greet us. C turned on his heels and stormed away, taking the food with him.

‘I wasn’t brought up like that. When a visitor calls in, you greet him properly,’ complained farang C.

Ball's Mum was apologetic when she found out what happened.

I spoke to her at Mew's party a few hours later. She asked why I didn't call her when I arrived; she was planning to leave her HiLo den to meet us, she said.

I didn't think of that, I must admit. Ball said he didn't see farang C there. He called out, asking me to come in, but I didn't respond, as I was busy talking to moody B.

I am in the bad books with the family myself, though they are too polite to show it.

I left with Mr C. Moments after that episode, someone on a phone number I did not recognise started calling me furiously.

Later I learned it was Ball’s elder sister, Kae, who was standing at a cake stall at a local supermarket and wanted to know if I still intended to buy Nong Mew a birthday cake as planned.

Mum had called me earlier that day, complaining she had no money. I offered to buy the cake to help her out.

I gave boyfriend Maiyuu B400 to buy a cake in town, and called Mum to ask how to spell the child’s name in English. Maiyuu said he would ask the baker to write a birthday wish and the child’s name on top.

However, after the episode with farang C, I decided I couldn’t be bothered.

I refused to take the call, and turned off the phone. I also told boyfriend Maiyuu to forget about the cake.

When I turned up at Ball’s place about 9pm to join the party, Mum asked me where I had been. She must have noticed I was carrying no cake, but said nothing.

‘Were you with your farang friend? Ball told me you had turned up with someone, carrying food. I didn’t know you’d get here so soon,’ she said.

‘I called out, asking you to enter, but you didn’t hear,’ said Ball, who looked nervous.

‘Why didn’t you just walk in?’ asked his girlfriend Jay, who was also present when I arrived with farang C, though I didn't know it at the time.

It was so dark inside – they turn off the light to save power, and alleviate the heat – that I didn’t see her.

‘It was a misunderstanding. I took farang C back to his condo. By the time I returned to my own place, Maiyuu had gone out, so I missed the chance to organise the cake,’ I lied.

‘It’s a shame...Nong Mew missed out on the chance to blow out candles on his first birthday cake,’ said Mum, adding she regretted not being at home to welcome us.

‘The place was full of teens. They have no idea what is going on, as they wander around in a daze,’ said Mum.

Ball looked at her but said nothing. He must have heard it all before.

The child’s mother, Kae, said nothing to me, but no doubt was disappointed. Kae had not bought a cake herself, as she thought I would do it. I did not buy one, as I didn’t like the way farang C was treated.

Mum must have done well at HiLo, as the place was groaning with food.

I learned later that Ball’s family has just had the internet connected. The novelty has yet to wear off.

Now I can understand why Ball was reluctant to get up...he wanted to finish whatever he was doing on the internet, which would have taken only a few moments.

He is used to seeing me, as I am almost a member of the family. He knows I can wait.

I am sure that if he had seen farang C, he would have risen to greet us.

Welcome to family life. With so many lives intersecting in the one place, the potential for misunderstandings and miscommunication is high.

You learn to fit in, and if you don’t like it, look for your adventures elsewhere.

Farang C has been critical of my involvement with Ball and his family...like many readers of this blog, he thought I was motivated by lust, thought it was all about Mr Ball, thought I was trying to 'do good', blah blah.

He's had his eyes opened. It’s about family. Why else would I bother?

I have known Ball and his family for six months. I rarely deal with any of the young people one-on-one, including Mr Ball (except when we are chatting over a drink).

Like the others, he's just a youngster. I make arrangements with the mother, as one of the few adults there.

Since I quit acting as an older, carer figure to Mr Ball, our relationship has improved. Now, for the most part, we carry on as friends.

If Mum calls complaining she has no money, I no longer feel a rush of pity, especially as circumstances can change in a matter of hours, as they did on the day of the party. I keep my wallet closed.

Ball has a cold, which has spread to his chest. I thought of buying him medicine, but decided against. That’s his mother’s job, not mine. I don’t want to ‘interfere’.

Birthday cake dilemma, absence noted

Today is Nong Mew’s birthday. He’s 1.

We will have a party at Ball’s place tonight. Mum mentioned something about my buying the cake, but I may decide against: I could do without the B400-500 expense.

I asked boyfriend Maiyuu if he’d like to make one instead.

‘Cakes which look flashy seldom taste good. I make tasty cakes, but they tend to look plain,’ he said, declining the offer.

We thought about buying a cake at the Tops supermarket, but decided against, as Ball’s girlfriend Jay used to work there, and would recognise whatever cake I bought as one of theirs.

Maiyuu knows of a specialty bakery close to here, which he has offered to visit this afternoon on my behalf.

Nong Mew has barely started to eat solids, but the party is really for the adults, not the kids.

‘How affected – holding a birthday party for a kid so young,’ said Maiyuu.

Shock...even slum people can do affected middle-class things!

Let’s add that one to the little book of sins and omissions which judgemental readers of this blog are compiling against Ball and his family.

-
‘Do you have anything you want to tell me?’ asked Ball last night, as we settled down to a drink.

‘You mean, do you want to know if there some reason I have been away for the last few days?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘No dramas...nothing in particular,’ I said. He looked relieved.

‘What do you do all day at home?’ he asked.

‘I read, talk to the boyfriend, sleep, watch TV...nothing much.’

Ball’s girlfriend Jay also remarked on my absence.

Ball and I took a few whiskies, listened to music, and with his elder brother watched football on TV. We also played with the kids, chatted...did what normal families do (can you cope with that, dear reader?).

‘I haven’t seen you for days,’ said Jay, who was lying on the couch. She has a cold; actually, most of them do.

It was a busy night in the slums. Outside, people were partying. Ball’s place itself was host to 10 people. The place was a-heaving. Were they blotting out the misery of their lives or just drinking because that's what people in the slums do?

Uncorrupted

I am slowly throttling life out of my relationship with Mr Ball and his family, because I don’t like the direction it is taking.

Why buy things if they are not wanted? Why buy the brown stuff if it is abused? Why give myself heartache worrying about teens who are not my own?

A week ago, Ball drank too much, and argued with his girlfriend, Jay. His harsh words reduced her tears. She vowed it was time to leave.

None of that might have mattered, except that I had paid for the alcohol which led to Ball disgracing himself and making life a misery for his partner.

His mother had asked me over to their place, and suggested I buy a 700ml bottle rather than the usual half-size, as she and a friend would share it with us.

In the event, Mum and her friend disappeared for the night.

I siphoned some of the stuff off, intending to take it home. But not enough, it turned out.

Ball knocked back the alcohol furiously on an empty stomach. Two hours into our session, he had forgotten himself, and started to argue with his girlfriend.

‘You hang over me all the time...I need my freedom, but you won’t let me go,’ he complained, swearing at his girlfriend.

The words hurt. Jay cried. I tried to console the poor girl, but it didn’t work.

‘He doesn’t love me. I have done my duty, trying to keep him away from this stuff....but he thinks I am merely interfering,’ she said in tears.

Jay fled to their bedroom upstairs.

‘You are lucky to have her. Jay wants you to quit with good reason – look what happens!’ I said. ‘Most women would have walked away by now.’

Ball, however, was on a roll.

Having tasted freedom away from his ever-watchful girlfriend, he wanted more.

He asked me for a loan of B200 so he could carry on partying with a group of slum friends.

They intended travelling to a friend’s house to celebrate a birthday. A taxi fare there and back would be needed.

After calling his mother asking for permission to go, he managed to obtain some money.

As he begged me for the money, dribble fell of his chin. I wiped it off. He had no idea what he was doing, and was in no state for going outdoors.

I left, wondering if he would manage to get back safely. If he didn’t, I would have only myself to blame.

He visited his friends nearby, but didn’t make it to the party, because he was too far gone. About midnight, he staggered home, vomited, and fell into bed.

Was it just another episode of reckless teenage self-indulgence? Of course, but it wouldn’t happen if a few rules were set down at the outset.

The next morning I visited his place with a mock contract I had drawn up setting down those rules. If he wanted to drink with me in future, he would do as I wanted.

I had called his mother to discuss the contract.

Ball, who was playing with the toddlers when I arrived, turned his back on me. I asked him to leave the toddlers alone, and look at me until I had finished speaking.

His mother and girlfriend did not seem at all flustered that Ball had made a fool of himself the night before.

Mum had gone out, but must have heard what happened. Jay was there, despite her earlier threat to leave.

They were pretending nothing had happened – but why?

‘Overseas, parents with troubled children offer them a contract to sign setting down the rules they must follow if they want to enjoy the benefits of the privileges they desire,’ I said.

Most of that would be lost on Mr Ball, who had barely recovered from the excesses of the night before, but never mind.

The contract had six clauses. Unable to sleep, I had written it out by hand early that morning.

1: I will not drink to excess.

2. If I do, I will not pick fights with my girlfriend.

3. I will eat before, during or after...I will not drink the stuff on an empty stomach.

4. If I drink at home, I cannot carry on elsewhere when it’s done.

5. I will not ask to borrow money to carry on indulging.

6. No one has the right to stop me. But if I break the rules, I can be punished.


Ball listened attentively. His mother chipped in with a couple of feeble comments, telling me it was unlikely to work, as Ball was too stubborn.

I explained how it I wanted it to work.

‘Mum may refuse to buy your favourite food or grocery item for a day, a week or whatever, depending on how badly you breach the contract,’ I said.

‘I won’t ask you to sign. I just want you to know how it is done.’

Still on a high from the night before, Ball helped himself to a can of beer from the fridge.

He slapped his knees in pleasure. I don't know why he was so happy, especially when I had just given him a ticking off.

An hour later, Mum had gone out, and the girlfriend retired upstairs. ‘I didn’t say that stuff just to embarrass you,’ I told him.

‘But I have to take responsibility if you do stupid things. For your own safety, and to spare me embarrassment, I have to lay down rules,’ I said.

‘I don’t mind. If you were my father or mother, you would have said the same thing,’ said Ball. ‘I could have met only two of those demands at the most,’ he joked, referring to the contract.

-
Since the contract episode, I have scaled down my involvement with Ball’s family.

I visit once every two days, if that. My stays are brief.

Previously I might have visited several times a day, depending on when Ball’s mother called, and what I was doing.

Now that I have laid down rules, I feel a burden has been lifted.

It is up to Ball whether he follows them, and up to members of his family whether they care.

I laid down a few rules for myself at the same time. Don’t buy him things, and don’t give money to his mother.

In most cases he doesn’t welcome the gifts; they just make him feel awkward. As for Mum, she likes to spend the money I give her for Ball on other things.

Ball has always wanted us to be mere drinking friends, which is how we started out when we met at carer R’s ya dong stand.

While he might need a father figure in his life, he doesn’t appear to want it from me.

I have scaled down my visits because I am worried about what Ball’s neighbours are saying. I am more than twice his age. How must it look, with me haunting his living room every day?

True, all of Ball’s ya dong friends, including me, were years older than himself.

But that is the way with drink. Our shared interest in alcohol conquers all other differences.

Ball’s mother likes me visiting. I can’t be sure that Ball also wants me there, however, and in any event he should spend less time drinking, and more time getting to know his girlfriend.

He has no work, and spends his days rattling about home, looking after the toddlers, and alternately bickering and playing with his girlfriend.

In the absence of anything to worry about on his behalf, I find we have little in common.

I turn up, chat to Mum, we share a couple of beers.

After having barely exchanged a word with her son, I go home.

-
I was too needy, as everyone here can see.


I wanted Mr Ball to give my one sign, just one, that he valued my presence as an older figure in his life.

It never came, and I was wrong to expect it.

Ball is a different person when he is under the influence. When he’s had too much, he pines for his Dad, and is happy-go-lucky.

When sober, he can be serious and stand-offish.

When he’s had a few, he likes me being around. When he’s hungry for it, he's happy to drink with whoever happens to provide it.

Yet I don’t believe he’s an alkie.

The alcohol helps relieve his burdens and worries, just as playing the guitar, for example, helped me get out of myself when I was young. He has found a vehicle to release his youthful pent-up emotions and fears.

‘You're not hooked. This conviction of yours that you need to drink every day is nonsense. You’re just going through a phase,’ I told him.

His mother agreed. ‘You are nowhere near that point yet,’ said Mum, who recalls the plight of Ball’s father whom she nursed though an alcohol-related illness until his death, a few years ago, in his 30s.

Those are the most important words I have spoken to Mr Ball, who tends to be fatalistic.

‘You don’t have to drink so much, and please don’t,’ I said in tears.

Mum and girlfriend Jay looked at me - in shock, I suspect.

If they didn’t know how I felt before, they do now.

Perhaps the farang had lowered himself, crying in their presence over a mere teenager.

That was another ‘watershed’ moment, as the saying goes, to emerge from our little contract meeting.

Now that I have shed tears, I no longer feel the need to prove anything.

Ball knows what I expect of him, even if his mother fails to lay down the law.

If he disgraces himself again, he has only himself to blame, as I will no longer be party to such mistakes, if I am careful.

I doubt he cares much about how I feel, but nor is that important. If nothing else, he owes a bond of good behaviour to himself.

‘You have your whole life ahead of you,’ I told him.

‘You love kids, and are lucky in that regard – even if your work life is falling apart, you will always have the children,’ I said, referring to the two toddlers of the household.

Ball dotes on them, and regards the adopted one, Nong Fresh, as his own daughter.

‘They will have grown up in a few years,’ he said sadly.

‘If some guy man ever wants to take out Nong Fresh when she is a teenager, he’ll have to get past me first!’ he said protectively.

That’s alright, I told Mr Ball.

‘By then, you will be ready to have your own kids...and as a mere friend I would l love to be around to see that day,’ I said.
-

The trousers and shirts I bought Ball for work...where are they now?

Some, he gave to his elder brother Boy, the soldier. Others lie abandoned and unloved somewhere upstairs. He hasn’t worn them since I bought them for him months ago.

A bicycle I helped buy for girlfriend Jay is also collecting dust upstairs. I doubt it has ever been used.

At least he has never stopped being himself, despite my well-meant, but meddling presence. I liked to think of it as helping. My more critical readers regard it as interference.

Regardless, it failed to change him. Well done, lad.

Perhaps my motives were not so malign after all.

-
I still meet Ball occasionally.

We drink a little, make small talk, and I leave.

It won’t grow much beyond that, I suspect.

We come together on special occasions, such as family excursions to the supermarket, or even in moments of crisis, such as when idle taxi driver Lort suffered a seizure and had to be carted to hospital.

For the rest of the time, however, we appear to just drift.

Ball rarely leaves home without the girlfriend. I asked him why. He says it is part of being Thai.

‘Once you have a girlfriend, you can't let her do much unaccompanied outside home. Nor will she let me do much,’ he explained once. Each worries the other will find someone else.

It is primitive, childish stuff, but that's what they think.

Ball has his demons, which drink and caring for the kids of the household help relieve.

If I stick around, it is as a drinking friend, trying to disguise the way I really feel.

I have to put away my desires to care for him as an uncle or father. I have to forget pity and compassion; they were misplaced.

And we're back again

I stayed away from Ball's family for three days. His mother called every day, as she normally does. My manner was cool, which I thought in retrospect was unfair.

Mum called in mid-afternoon yesterday and asked me to drop in. I saw Mr Ball, who looked nervous, but gave me a bright smile.

I asked him if he wanted a drink, but he said he had just eaten ('No,' in Thai speak). That annoyed me even more, as I was trying to make the peace. I left as quickly as I had arrived.

An hour later I called his Mum to explain my sudden departure. I told her I was unhappy with the way he tossed aside the trousers I tried to buy for him the other day.

Within an hour she had sorted out her son, and asked me over again for that beer.

The poor kid sat so far away from me, close to his mother, that he was almost out of earshot. He was scared I would start criticising him. Mum also fixed the girlfriend problem, after I complained about the way Ball's girlfriend Jay is forever eavesdropping. When I arrived, someone had sent her upstairs to the bedroom.

I explained to Ball why I was upset. He said he didn't like the trousers because they were not his 'style'. As we know, teens only wear things in fashion. I laughed, because I did not consider the style factor when I asked him to try them.

I forgave him, of course. We talked about his girlfriend, who dislikes it when I turn up to see him. I asked Ball if it's because she sees me as a rival for his affections, or simply because I say bad things about her.

It wasn't the gay thing, he said (without actually uttering the word). It was all the bad things which Jay suspects I am saying about her.

'She dislikes you because you are so outspoken and blunt,' he said.

At one point, Jay stormed down the stairs and grabbed a carry bag with great drama. She refused to utter a word, even when he asked, but the message was: 'I am leaving!

I said nothing, as Ball has asked me not to talk to her any more, unless I have no choice.

He followed her meekly upstairs, and the pair talked for 10 minutes.

When he came down again, Ball looked weary and defeated.

I am not sure how to help, except to listen when Ball wants to unload.

I told him that I would carry on being blunt, as that is my farang way.

'You are not even 20, and you are already trapped,' I said.

He is a sensitive type. My job, I said, was to work with his Mum to make him strong and keep him out of the clutches of people who would do him harm.

After our three bottles of beer had finished, and I was about to go home, he asked me for another two bottles which he would imbibe alone.

He knew his girlfriend would pick fights with him after I had left, and wanted to keep going to blot out the experience.

I bought him one bottle...I think that's enough.

25 Hours in a day

I am spending some time away from Ball and his family...well, minimising it, anyway.

The other day I found a woman selling black pants, such as those worn by service workers. She was selling them in a flea market sitting between my place and Ball’s own.

The trousers were cheap – just 100 baht. ‘I buy them direct from the woman who makes them, and can take in the leg if it is too long,’ she said.

I borrowed one pair from the stallholder and took them to Ball's place. ‘Try these on, would you,’ I said. 'They are your size. If they fit, I'll buy them for you.'

Ball declined, saying he had more than enough. He tossed them to one side.

Contrary to what Ball says, he doesn’t have plenty. The pair he wore to work on his first – and last – day selling newspapers at a department store on Wednesday were too small. That leaves just one other pair.

I took them back to the stallholder. ‘He doesn’t want them – he’d rather just have alcohol,’ I told her, disgusted.

I dropped in the next day to find Ball and his girlfriend helping Mum make khanom jeen (fish balls and noodles).

The night before, Mum had been out playing HiLo. She must have done well, for that morning she went into the market and bought up bulk food supplies.

Mum felt inspired to make khanom jeen, after I bought two servings of the dish the other day from a man selling it from a cart.

Her son Ball loves the dish, so she decided to make it herself.

This was to be one of those big family meals. It was a public holiday, so everyone would be at home.

I decided not to stay, however, as the teen lovebirds were absorbed in separating fish meat from bones. I didn't want to distract them.

Late yesterday, Mum called to say that they had made a huge pot of the stuff, and asked me over to help finish it.

‘Ball has showered, and eaten three helpings already!’ she said.

That’s code for: My son is ready for the night ahead. Why don’t you come over, join us at our gathering – and buy him something to drink?’

Once I would have been delighted to hear such family-oriented news, and join one of Mum's big family meals.

But I was annoyed at Ball for spurning my attempts to help. Even if buying booze fills a need, it is not as useful as buying clothes for work.

So I did a shameful Thai thing. I said I’d be there, knowing full well I wouldn’t, and failed to turn up.

An hour later, I was at work when Mum called again. I turned off the phone without answering, as I was busy.

That call was to say: He’s pacing about restlessly and needs his daily fix – are you still coming?

Five hours later, I cut through the slum on my way home, and came across Mum playing a board game with neighbours in an alleyway for small amounts of cash.

She looked embarrassed, like she had done something to offend me. ‘He’s now had a beer,’ she said, meaning he was able to find something to pacify his restless urges.

I did not stop to talk to Ball as I passed his home, but kept walking. As I passed, I peered in the door.

He was sitting on the floor talking to his sister. The ever-present girlfriend was dozing on the couch.

I can understand how Ball feels. He regards himself as the head of the household, and one day wants to look after his mother and girlfriend. He can hardly regard himself as a grown-up when someone from outside the family keeps buying him sensible items such as clothing.

My job is to buy the alcohol, just like any of his young friends would do if they drop in to his place fo a visit.

The last time we drank together, a few days ago, Ball sang along to music by Thai indie band 25Hours.

The band’s lead singer, Laem Somporn Rungphanit (แหลม สมพล รุ่งพาณิชย์ - pictured above), has a startlingly clear, high voice, which sounds almost like a woman’s. Ball – who is no slouch as a karaoke singer – can match him note for note.

25Hours recently put out their first album. Try the fabulous Keun Ngao, here.