Forgotten birthday, 7-11 turn-off, piggybank offer

It’s Maiyuu’s 33rd birthday.

I forgot it, even though I had put a note in my calendar. 'I bet you remember the birthdays in the slum, no problem...but you forgot mine,’ he said.

When Maiyuu wants to announce bad news, he sings. He put these words in a tune as well. He was teasing, rather than being too serious. I denied the remark about the slum, of course.
-

He has asked for a loan of B1,000 to help him get through to next pay day.

My pay day, of course, not his.

I have already given him B2000 – half of it came from the fees which a doctor in this condo pays me to teach him English. The other B1000 came from my savings.

Sensibly, he asked for the latest B1000 as a loan, which I expect him to pay back next week.
-

‘Can you tell me the answers in English if I read you my homework?’

I was standing at the counter of the 7-11, waiting to pay for a purchase.

The girl serving me, a pretty young thing, had noticed I was a farang.

We had spoken briefly before, but never about much. I was lost in the fog of my own thoughts when I realised she was talking to me about English.

‘Yes..,' I said.

‘’My teacher has given me as assignment. I have to hand it in tomorrow. If I read you the questions, can you tell me the answers?’ she asked.

‘’What...now?’ I asked.

Two or three people were waiting behind me.

‘Yes.’

‘Can’t we sit down somewhere...out the back?’I asked reluctantly.

I don't want to give the girl ideas.

‘No...it has to be here.’

‘I am busy. Let’s try tomorrow, shall we?’

Suddenly, the deadline for her assignment was magically extended by a day.

'Can you come in tomorrow about 5pm?’she asked.

I avoided the place, and returned for the first time only yesterday.

It was a week since that conversation, and the girl, thankfully, was away.

I do not want to help with someone’s English, at one of the busiest times of the day at the local 7-11.

If she can’t find the answers herself, she’s probably not interested. And if she’s not interested, why should I bother?

-

‘How about some new drinking rules?’ said Mum.

She was perched on the couch, talking about the cost of life in the slum.

Mum’s household runs two motorbikes, which is not enough to meet its needs. Hardly a day goes by without some problem befalling the motorbikes.

Here, a burst tire. There, one of her children caught driving the things without a licence.

Previously, the family owned three bikes, but one was stolen.

Boy, the second child, owned his own bike, but a few days after he started military service, it was stolen. That was more than a year ago.

Boy is now back home, his service as a conscripted soldier having ended. He is out of work, though Mum says he will soon take up a job an in-house bank electrician.

‘How about you buy Ball just a bottle of beer a day...and put the rest in a piggy bank, to help me pay for a motorbike?’ she asked.

‘Ball and his girlfriend can use it to get to work every day.’

The deposit required is minimal. But the monthly payments for a new bike would come to B3000 a month over two years.

I spend more than B1000 a week at Ball's place, most of it on alcohol. I could help his mother.

Ball, needless to say, was unimpressed.

We were sharing a drink in our usual position, cross-legged on the floor. Mum was sitting on the couch next to us, the first time I had seen her at home in days.

‘These are our financial problems, not his,’ said Ball, referring to me. 'Don't bother farang Mali with them.'

Ball is worried that if my money is diverted to helping Mum pay for a motorbike, he will have less to drink, which is true.

I like the idea, though it might mean that I have to visit them less as a result.

I want Mr Ball to do something more constructive with his life than sitting with me, thinking about what might have been.

Drinkers are always talking nostalgically about the past. How many contemplate the future?

Booze saps their will to make something of their lives. I am almost tempted to say yes to his mother - though it all seems to too easy for her, so I probably won't.

Pre-Christmas rant

'I have hopped on a bus!'

'I have hopped off again!'

Perhaps, as I contemplate falling advertising revenue and almost complete absence of reader reaction on this blog, I should consider doing something different.

Maybe I should pack up this blog and join the ranks of Twitterites, who seem prepared to share any dismal detail of their lives, no matter how uninteresting to the rest of us.

The comments to this blog have all but dried up, and advertising revenue is almost non-existent.

Readership, oddly, is rising, but if I can't have reader reaction and even a pittance of advertising revenue to reward my efforts, I would rather not bother.

So, here is a plea to readers: if you have something to say, please say it.

Otherwise, you might open this blog one day and find it given over to the banal chitter chatter of Twitterites instead.

Gone will be more considered responses about what it means to get on and off that bus in Bangkok.

Gone will be Maiyuu's 'take' on his farang boyfriend, or what this farang happens to think of him.

Almost no Thai bloggers give you accounts of day-to-day life in this city. BOTM2 virtually alone in that regard, and the others, in my opinion, aren't worth reading.

Up to you.

Under the Christmas tree

My parents, who live overseas, have just bought themselves a Christmas tree.

They sent me the news in an email, which I passed on to Mr Maiyuu.

‘I would like one too!’ I exclaimed.

Maiyuu heard me, but said nothing.

Last year, I was so busy working over the Christmas and New Year period that the festive season almost passed me by.

Later, I felt upset that I had missed out on the Christmas spirit. We did nothing at home to mark the occasion.

This year, the same thing threatens to happen again, as once again I am working.

My words about longing for a Christmas tree must have made an impact on Maiyuu.

A day later, he went to Silom to buy one.

He did not tell me anything about his surprise, but turned up with the kitset tree in a box.

He assembled the tree, and decorated it himself. It now occupies pride of place in our living room.

We have no presents to put under it, as Maiyuu asked for cash as his Christmas gift this year, which I have already handed over. If he has bought me anything, it has yet to appear under the tree.

I am not sure if he is aware of this custom, however, as in our 10 years together, we have never put up a tree to celebrate Christmas.

For some reason, I thought we had owned one in the past, but it had disappeared when we moved home, or threw it out. Wrong.

'We have never owned a Christmas tree,' Maiyuu said, looking at me strangely.

I am too vague to recall such details, it seems.

I passed on this gay christmassy tale to a colleague, including the part about how the tree's undercarriage, if trees have such things, lies bare.

‘But you’ll still put a stocking at the end of your bed, won’t you? You do that every night anyway,’ he quipped.

My colleague is straight. Because he is also a friend, I spared him the sharp end of my nastiest straight jokes as a retort to his gay suspenders and stockings remark.

Actually, I doubt I could have thought of a witty response in time anyway.

Young man divided

Rising actor Saran 'Porsche' Siriluksana (พอร์ช ศรัณย์ ศิริลักษณ์) plays a lad divided between his masculine and feminine side in his first starring role for television.

In Channel 7’s Look Khon, Porsche plays a manly muay Thai boxer who would rather be acting in traditional khon stage drama.

He enters the boxing ring at his father’s urging, in this drama made to honour the King’s 83rd birthday this month.

His father is upset to find his son prefers to do girly things such as donning costumes and make-up for his stage role as a khon artist. He recommends him to a Thai boxing promoter instead.

In the drama, it is Porsche’s challenge to do justice to both Thai boxing and Thai masked dance.

He said the role was a tough one, as he had to take courses in both artistic pursuits.

‘My body was stiff and hard, but my teacher wouldn’t let me pass until I had mastered the poses needed to perform khon dance,’ he said.

‘As for muay thai, I was familiar with the steps and moves to some extent, but still had to spend hours in the gym buffing up my body, as I have to take off my shirt for my scenes in the ring,’ he said.

Can I cancel that? I'm having a domestic

A  doctor living at my condo hires me to teach him English.

Mr B saw a notice I pinned on the condo office noticeboard advertising my services for just B200 an hour.

The notice was up for a couple of months, but he was the only one of the Thai owner/tenants here to call asking for lessons. About 60% of this inner city condo's occupants are Thai.

That’s not to say that the other Thais who live in this eight-building complex have perfect English. They don’t.

They are just too busy making ends meet to afford the pricey rents, or perhaps too stuck up to take English lessons from a foreigner. To do so would be to admit a weakness.

Mr B lives with his doctor wife and young son in a condo twice the size of mine which cost him B4m baht. He secured a 100%, 15-year loan from the bank, which he is paying off at B40,000 a month.

He volunteered these details when I asked one day last week. We meet for conversational English at his condo, where he also has a nanny and a maid to help him get through the day.

Thais can be disarmingly honest with financial and personal details which as westerners we prefer to keep secret from each other.

We met in the morning for an hour. The same day, Mr B asked me to come back in the evening for a second round.

However, the second lesson failed to go ahead, after Mr B sent me a text message to cancel.

Mr B has a habit of pulling out at the last minute.

The public and private hospitals which employ him to practise sports medicine keep him busy. He can be called in to perform an operation at short notice.

On this occasion, however, he cancelled because of problems at home.

Charming Mr B sent me the following message, which was disarming with its frankness, and rather sweet with its broken English:

‘I apologise you once again. I have some problem with my wife. I don’t have any concentration for learning. Can I cancel you once again our meeting this night?

Poor B. I know just how he feels. I have problems with my wife too, which can leave me unable to think straight.

A few days after he wrote me that message, Mr B was planning to take his wife and son to Chiang Mai for a break. I hope they were able to surmount their little problem, and enjoy their time away.