Massage shop beckons, avoiding the needy one

I am single for six days, as Maiyuu has gone to the provinces.

He visits his friends and family in his home province of Chon Buri every month.

He stays in a little hotel, while I look after myself at home.

My friends urge me to be naughty as I take advantage of his absence. I am not sure if I can remember how.

-

'Are you coming to see me tonight?'

That was my needy friend Ball, who I ran into last night on the main road passing his slum. 

Dressed in his black and white work uniform, he was driving a motorbike, with his girlfriend, daughter Min and adopted youngster Fresh squeezed on behind him.

The kids called out my name happily, as I pulled my bicycle into a corner store to buy a bottle of whisky. 

I was surprised to see them, though tried to act naturally. I had cycled up the road in the dark about 50m from his place, hoping I wouldn't be noticed, but here he was.

For the past week I have been getting to know a family who run a massage shop nearby. I have barely visited Ball’s place, nor taken his calls.

I know he wants money, and I am reluctant to give it. More importantly, I am trying to expand my social circle, though it is difficult to do when we all live so close to each other.  

Ball is accustomed to me turning up at his place on my days off. I buy whisky, food, and we sing songs and play with the kids.

It’s pleasant enough, but I also find myself paying for their living expenses. 

When they are working, Ball and his girlfriend Jay earn a meagre wage. They ask me to help make ends meet.

The last time I was there, on Saturday, I gave him B500. By Thursday, it must have run out, as he started calling.

While they wait for pay day, they rely on my help, or the occasional contribution by idle taxi driver Lort, the partner to Ball’s mother.

She’s not around these days, so can’t provide loan finance to her children as she did in the past. 

Ball’s mother was convicted of selling methamphetamine about a year ago, and is now serving time in jail. 

When Lort is in a good phase, he takes out his taxi to earn a living. When he returns at night, he will give Ball and Jay spare change for the odd meal.

When Lort is in a bad phase, he can spend days rattling about the slum getting drunk. Ball and Jay cannot rely on his help.

As I walked home from work the other night, I fancied I could make out the drunken figure of Lort tottering about in the distance. I didn't investigate; I don't want to know.

 If my money has run out, and Lort is incapable of providing, Ball and his girlfriend must turn to other members of the family.

They are rarely at home, as they work long hours. Despite leaving Ball and Jay to look after their children, they are reluctant to shell out for them when they run out of cash.

'They treat us as the pariahs of the family, rarely bothering to include us in anything,' Ball complains. 

Ball has earned a reputation for himself as someone who doesn't like to work. He knows that, though his brothers and sister are also aware that, if worse comes to worse, he can always call me for help. 

If I pay out, they don't have to, which is unfortunate, but there it is. 

Ball and Jay are good at stretching out the money I give them, so B500 usually lasts a few days. They spend it mainly on meals and getting themselves to work.

When it runs out, Ball and his girlfriend start calling me relentlessly on the phone, and usually I give in. 

I make a quick visit to the slum and hand over money. I feel sorry for their plight and that of their young daughter, who needs milk and nappies.

For the past week, I however, I have refused to take his calls. In my friends at the traditional massage shop, I have a new port of call on my days off. I no longer have to spend my spare time in cramped conditions, eating off the floor in Ball’s slum.

I can spend it in the relatively civilised surroundings of the massage shop, where we have plenty of room to sit, and eat at tables, thank you, rather than battling with forks and plates on the floor.

When I met Ball on the street, I told him I would pay a visit if I was free.

‘My friends from the massage shop have started playing cards, which I dislike,’ I told him, which was honest enough.

As he left on his bike, the kids gave me a wave, and I felt a pang of guilt. I didn't go to see him, as I knew I wouldn't.

Back at the massage shop, the card game folded mercifully quickly. I spent the night getting to know the owner – a mother and her two kids from different marriages.

More of them in the next post.

Simple birthday, foolish uncle

We celebrate birthdays in a minimalist style, perhaps because we can’t be bothered any more.

Maiyuu bought me two cupcakes for my recent 48^thbirthday. The letters ‘HBD,’ like a Mission Impossible assignment, melted away in a matter of seconds.

I blew out the candles, as Maiyuu sang Happy Birthday. I joined him. We sounded rusty; really, we should have rehearsed.

A week later, the cupcakes are still sitting in the fridge. This is one of the advantages of getting old, I tell myself…my appetite for sweet goods has just fallen away.

I don’t normally do shops, but I might have to force myself late next month, when Maiyuu’s birthday arrives.

What’ll it be, dear…twin cupcakes?

-
I get up a good two hours before my partner, who rises at 8am sharp every day. He sets his smartphone alarm to go off at that hour, and as far as I know, it hasn’t failed him yet.

Our lives are well regimented these days, which is pleasing for someone who likes order. 

Maiyuu will rise, wash his face, and put in his teeth. Within half an hour he’s ready to head off for his big outdoors adventure … buying the day’s lunch and dinner.

I do not enjoy the first two hours of the day, which I spend before my computer. I quickly tire of my own company, and look forward to Maiyuu getting up. We don’t say much, but when we do talk, we make sure it counts.

-

At Ball’s place, I am uncle Mali.

His slum abode is now home to four children – Nong Min, his own child, Nong Fresh, who is adopted, Nong Mew, the son of his elder sister and her partner, and Nong Bright, the son of his younger brother Beer.

Beer is aged about 20, his son six-months old. A week ago, Nong Bright sat in my arms happily. This week, he’s scared of my big farang face, and cries. When he shows signs of wanting to cry, I point his baby seat in the other direction, so he can’t see me.

I am close to the other kids, especially Ball’s daughter, Nong Min, who has started attending a nursery school about 10m down the lane in his slum.

Ball and his girlfriend Jay pay just 20 baht a day to have Nong Min attend the nursery there. Her first day was hard on all of us. Ball and Jay decided not to go to work, as they were so worried about Nong Min.

I ducked down the slum alleyway and peeked in the window of the nursery. I spotted Min, who was standing in a circle of children.

Like a foolishly doting uncle, I waved. Min, the youngest of the 20-30 kids in the room, spotted me by the window, and started to cry.

She tried running out the door towards me. An older child, who was talking to Min at the time, stopped her, and put her back.

I ducked away, but she saw me, and once again started to cry.

I fled the scene, before the teachers could spot me as a lurker. They do not allow family to visit kids while the nursery is open, because they know their little charges will play up.

Min is now happier at the nursery than she was, though she doesn’t go every day.

Ball is working as a messenger for a bank, a job he last held several months ago, but was forced to break off temporarily while he finished his service as a military conscript.

He took her to work the next day, and received many compliments for her pretty looks. However, the venture was shortlived, as the company frowns on employees taking their kids to work.

Ball left the military early this month. He and his girlfriend have only just returned to work in the Asok area after many weeks at home looking after the kids. 

Whistle up a treat

We’ve taken to buying lunch from the Siam Paragon department store.

In the year or so since this blog was last running, Maiyuu has all but abandoned his interest in cooking, and now buys most of our meals.

The kitchen, which once ran hot with activity, now lies dormant; the many pots, pans and other expensive equipment we bought sitting idle in the cupboard.

While no longer interested in cooking, however, he insists he still places a high priority on good food.

In fact, he won’t visit a market close to home, which I know sells reasonable lunchtime fare. I have visited small off-road eateries there which do a good trade with office workers.

He is even less keen that I buy food from outlets near the local 7-11, which adjoins a slum, but includes a smart looking place, recently opened, that makes a mean yum thai (thai salad).

Nor is he keen on my buying another favourite, som tam, which is available from at least half a dozen carts around our place. Some of them have a more or less permanent look, and like the market eateries do brisk trade.

 ‘It’s unclean. They don’t care about the health of their customers. They just want to make money,’ he says, insisting the daily trek into Siam Paragon is worth it.

We dined last week on dishes like this one, a cold version of Japanese ramen. It was Japanese food festival time, so we bought Japanese cuisine.

‘What shall it be today…the usual?’ Maiyuu asks.

Maiyuu takes the subway to get to Siam, and if he gets there too early must sit outside the store waiting for it to open.

In the last week he has rubbed shoulders with the amnesty protesters, who assembled there briefly before heading to the main protest site at Ratchadamnoen Avenue.

He returns about an hour later, usually exhausted, having performed his outside activity for the day.  He will spend the rest of the day playing games on his smart phone, or resting.

Maiyuu’s health has now largely recovered, after a persistent sinus problem led to a constant, nagging cough.

The cough lasted a good couple of years, in fact, and required many visits to the doctor before he finally obtained an accurate diagnosis.

He also suffered from an attack of jeet worms (see previous post), which like the cough has now cleared up. Every morning he applies skin lotion to his body in the hope it will one day remove the scars left behind.

Asian skin is sensitive, and shows the slightest marks. Outdoors, he keeps himself well covered, though he is growing less self-conscious over time.

I tell him not to worry about the scars, as I am sure no one cares.

However, I suspect the days when I could persuade him to don a pair of bathers and join me in the condo pool for a quick swim are well over.

The health scare has left Maiyuu with an abiding concern, even obsession, over germs and other nasties which could get into our place. He regularly wipes the floor, inspects under the sofa and fridge, and vacuums for dust.

He keeps the doors of our place closed during the day, and makes sure two air purifiers we have bought to rid the place of dust stay on at all times.

That concern extends to the quality of food we eat: he won’t leave anything covered on the kitchen bench, even if it’s already in bags. If I leave a dish in the sink, he will clean it within minutes.

 I can’t do much about Maiyuu’s phobias but feel sorry for him occasionally. Life carries on, despite them. We enjoy each other’s company, and that’s enough. 

So what is we have to eat overseas fare from the humble Paragon every day?

We're not sick enough yet

Maiyuu and I are supposed to be heading to a public hospital today, but might just give it a miss.

He's not sick enough to visit a public hospital. Like him, I'd only go there if I had no other choice.

Maiyuu needs treatment for an allergy condition, which gives him persistent snuffles and a chronic cough. He has also suffered some parasitic invasion under his skin, and perhaps in his blood.

He reckons the parasites – jeet worms, in Thai – have weakened his immunity, leading to his cough.

I recall that the cough, which he has had for at least 18 months, started well before the problem with the parasites, so perhaps one did not lead to the other after all.

Regardless, he is unwell, and should see someone.

A week or so ago, I contacted a doctor I know in this condo, and asked him which ear, nose and throat specialist in Bangkok he would care to recommend.

Maiyuu’s cough and allergy problems are potentially more serious than the parasites, as they have been around longer, and sap him of energy.

My doctor friend did not recommend anyone, but suggested we take ourselves off to the Police General Hospital, where he works, and line up for treatment. 

We should turn up at 8am, and seek an appointment, he said. He would join us at lunchtime and see how we were doing. 

The prospect is unappealing.

‘The traffic is terrible, the queues of patients worse,’ Maiyuu said.

I recall my last visit to a public hospital.

I visited Chulalongkorn Hospital with a hearing complaint a couple of years ago (see here, and here). 

After a long day of being shunted from one doctor to another, a specialist finally gave me the prognosis that I might be suffering from a brain tumour.

Steady on, dear. Let’s eliminate the basics first, shall we?

The doctors did not prescribe any medicine, not eardrops or even simple antibiotics for fighting infection. I left the hospital that day empty-handed.

They were too busy diagnosing me with spectacular diseases, none of which I had.
My ear problem cleared up itself eventually, as I suspected it would.

But how many times a day to these so-called specialists get carried away and tell their patients they might be suffering potentially fatal diseases, as they did when I visited?

The patient may have nothing more than an abrasion of the eardrum, or buildup of wax. But if doctors cannot say for sure, some like to assume the worst, as life is more interesting for them that way.

That was my unfortunate encounter with the public hospital system, which ended happily enough.

I am less confident of a quick cure in Maiyuu’s case, as his problems have dragged on for so long.

However, we do have an alternative in mind should we decide not to visit the hospital today, as seems likely.

Maiyuu has spotted a large clinic near here, which we might try first.

I’d like him to submit to a blood and stool test, so at least we know what is wrong.

We do not need to go to a public hospital to get those tests done. And judging by the rigmarole they put patients through, I don’t think we need to bother.

Give me a bright smile

My bucktoothed boyfriend gave me a welcoming smile at the city’s airport.

I usually go back to my home country once a year, which is the only time I travel by air. Maiyuu meets me in the same place, the right of an escalator, every time.

As I turn on my phone while I wait to collect my bag – a single suitcase, to complement the backpack I take into the plane – I know there will be a message from Maiyuu waiting.

‘I am at the airport, standing in the usual place,’ his message read, which was similar to the one he sent me the year before.

I enjoy returning to the routines of my life in Bangkok. I was looking forward to seeing Maiyuu, with whom I had spoken by phone a day or so before.

Other than email, it was our only contact for the 12 days I was away.

Maiyuu spent most of the time with friends in Sataheep, his birth town in Chon Buri. One friend, Bic the transsexual, took him to see a roadside dental technician, who made him a set of nine false teeth.

All but one of Maiyuu’s front row teeth have fallen out. When he goes outdoors these days, he tries to avoid smiling, to avoid attracting attention to his gaping mouth.

His friends must have felt sorry for him, so took him to the dental technician, who charged a small sum for each tooth. The total bill came to a little over B2,500, but his dental plate looks too perfect and sticks out from his mouth.

When he is at home with me, he takes out his teeth. Before he goes out, he puts them in again. He has yet to learn how to eat with them, so wears them mainly for show.

I know the teeth have given him more self-confidence when he faces the world, but I hope that he is willing to save the money necessary to get proper dentures made.

‘Try not to laugh,’ he said, as he met me in arrivals. I kissed his mouth for the benefit of anyone watching. No one noticed, or if they did, I didn’t care.

‘They look terrific!’ I said excitedly.

I had been looking forward to inspecting his teeth since he told me about them several days before. However, I must confess I was expecting a less conspicuous job.

Maiyuu knows, as I do, that real dentures shouldn’t stick out so much.

‘They are cheap, and are designed for poor people who can’t afford to see the dentist,’ he said cheerfully as we made our way back in the taxi.

We’re not poor, but we have never quite managed to find the money needed to get custom-made dentures crafted and fitted by a dentist.

Now that he knows what’s involved, perhaps we can start the savings plan again.