Dream spell breaks (1)

Friends again...

"I know you like me, but I don't want you liking me like that," said my young friend Dream, with whom I have shared a rocky relationship since a regular drinker at his place tried to pair us as foster father and son many moons ago.

"I want to be your friend. I am ready now!" he declared after I dropped in to see his mother and her drinking friends recently after a long absence.

As if to prove his sincerity, Dream, 26, who had spent the night drinking when I turned up after work, hugged me repeatedly and even kissed my neck.

A lengthy heart-to-heart - the first time we have opened our hearts to each other, so to speak, in the many years since we met - followed.

Strange? The night he festooned me with hugs and kisses was also the first time we had spoken in almost three years. We had barely managed more than a few words in the more than eight years, in fact, which had passed since that fateful argument, and yet here he was proposing to make a new start and offering profuse apologies for the past.

Our troubled father-son venture hit the rocks in early 2014, barely weeks after it had begun, when I swore at him one day after he grew distant. 

For another two years after that, surly Dream refused to talk to me. While we made up eventually, relations were tense. While we chatted occasionally on Messenger, we avoided talking to each other if we happened to meet. This is a shame, as the young man was charming company for the brief time I knew him.

I have spent many fanciful hours wondering over the years what my young friend was doing with his life and what he was really like. 

Dream's change of heart gave me an intriguing chance to find out, I thought. However, I was wondering about his motives: while I believe he was genuine about wanting to be friends with this foreigner, I think he was also put up to it. 

A close friend of his Mum's, Aunty Lek (as she styles herself) asked him to talk to me that night, I was to find out later. She likes a nightly drink, but needs someone to pay for it.  If Dream and I made up, I suspect was was thinking, this farang with money might turn up more regularly to see him - and shout her booze by way of saying thanks.

Cynical?

Let's take a step back. About a month ago, I started dropping in to see his mother Orng and Lek after an absence of many years, though I held out no hope of getting to know Dream as I thought that phase had passed. I had visited three or four times at most, stayed half an hour, and left again.

On the night Dream and I reunited, I had dropped in after work. Dream's mother many years ago started inviting friends to drink at her place at night, and one or two locals in the soi would cook up delicious Thai meals for those who came.

On this night Orng and Aunty Lek were sitting outside the house. Dream himself was wrapping up a drinking session with a group of his own friends at a separate table in the concreted area out front. 

Seeing me turn up, he noisily announced his intention to clear the air with an expansive remark aimed ostensibly at his mates, but really meant for me:

"Mali knows what my temper is like, don't you Mali?" he said at the tail end of a conversation as he farewelled his friends, referring to our argument many years before.

Orng's place is in a slum alleyway in Klong Toey, close to Talad Penang market between my condo and office. 

I used to walk to work back in those days when we first met. I would cut through Dream's soi as it's quicker than following the main road.

He was often chatting to mates outside his house. We'd exchange greetings as I walked to work and back again. I didn't think much more of it than that.

Then, as I was heading home on New Year's Eve 2013, my young friend, then 18, thrust a glass of whisky into my hand and invited me to sit with them to drink in New Year.

Most of the regulars were friends and family of Orng's and included some colourful locals from the soi. We enjoyed many boisterous nights sitting at the rickety wooden table outside her place as I got to know the crowd, some of whom, such as Aunty Lek, had been drinking there for many years.

Aunty Lek, a family friend rather than a blood relative who calls herself "aunt" as befits her middle-age, quickly asserted herself as the genial hostess, pouring drinks and introducing me to the others.

When I wrote my first post about this family, I had been drinking there the previous three nights. On night two, Aunty Lek paired me with Dream as foster father/son, even though I barely knew the lad. 

I suspected later she had motives of her own: Lek, a cleaner, is a sturdy drinker who needs her nightly alcohol fix. She saw me as a financial enabler, as cynical as that sounds.

She figured that if she could persuade me to take an emotional stake in the family's life via Dream, I was sure to come back regularly. 

Once there I could be persuaded to help pay for her drinking, Lek barely having the financial means to do so herself. At the table she took on the role of barman, in return for which regulars were expected to keep the alcohol flowing. 

In that first post, I wrote it up like this:

We have drunk together for the past three nights. As the only farang to have joined their group, I am the star attraction.

The first night was for introductions; the second, family bonding.

On family bonding night, I had only just joined the table when Aunty Lek asked me if I wanted to be Dream’s foster dad.

Being hospitable Thais, they are anxious that I keep myself stress-free and happy.

‘Yes,’ I said.

A few seconds later, Lek, who appears to enjoy stitching together the emotional fabric of this family, asked Dream to join us.

Dream, head bowed, quietly took a seat next to me.

‘Farang Mali says he wants to adopt you as his foster son. Do you want farang Mali as your foster dad?’ she asked, getting straight to the point.

Dream, who can be as boisterous as any teen when it suits, gave an emphatic ‘Yes!’

I was surprised, as I thought they were just having fun.

Since then, the family has introduced me as Dream’s foster dad.

No one has explained how this is supposed to work, though for the moment I am happy just to go with the flow.

Our falling out came a mere few weeks later. At the time I wrote:

In the past week or so, I have called and he didn’t answer.

I send text messages, often prompted by snippets of information his mother has given me about her son’s day-to-day goings on, only to get no response.

I was tired of his lack of interest, and told him so when I tricked him into answering the phone one day. I called him on a number he does not recognise as mine, and he answered.

‘What do you think you are doing, ignoring my calls?’ I demanded, swearing at him.

‘You have no right to talk to me like that. You are someone from my home life. When I am at work, I focus on answering work calls,’ he replied.

'Many people enter my life. I am not dependent on you, and can pick and choose,' he said confidently.

now, see part 2 

Young man between jobs (part 4, final)

Man, showing off the tatts

My parents' reply was sane and sensible:

'Make friends but please do not give them money. These people will take everything you give them, start to expect it, and become resentful when you stop supporting them.'

I was to take their advice, as I didn't feel comfortable handing over money. Man was able to help himself before I came along; even if he had to ensure a bit of hardship, I am sure he would have coped. I replied:

'I am not prepared to just cut off support as he won't have petrol to get to work nor food to eat. However, I am sure he can make do with a bit less than I have been giving. When this is over I will confine my help to meeting them as a group for a meal.'

After Man's finances improved, I started seeing him less, as he was working long hours. However, we kept in touch for a time on social media. 

At first man was responsive to my messaging; one day he posted sadly about loss of his Mum and I suggested he light a candle for her and wai before her portrait, as I had seen him do previously on Facebook.

A year later, on the anniversary of her death, he posted a similar message and I left a similar suggestion. By this time I had stopped giving money and Man ignored my advice. In fact, he didn't even bother with a reply. 

This did not really surprise me: I always get the impression with social media addicts that they would rather be talking to someone else.

The friendship had started to peter out well before then, when I visited the gang at our old haunt on Chua Phloeng Road one night and saw them in a different light: just a bunch of tatty teens.

"Man's here, Man's here," his mates said, ushering me towards a dark corner where I found him sitting in a smart soft collared T-shirt and pair of shorts. They knew we were once close, and recall that I supported him for many weeks when he was in need of help. 

I had also help steer him towards young adulthood, in the brief time we were together, encouraging him to come off the drugs, quit smoking, eat properly, get sleep...

Despite his financial problems, Man always looked well dressed. When I asked him about that once, his reply was frustratingly, vintage Thai: "I am up all hours of the night and day. No one understands how I live."

On this occasion, I barely talked to him. He gave me a big smile but somehow looked less than the person I had known previously. Everything, in fact, looked diminished.

It took me 10min to cycle there from work, but surveying the uninspiring scene before me, I lost interest in conversation and decided to leave.

Man looked shocked when, with barely a word, I turned on my heel. He could see the spell was broken. I see him pop up on social media, but we have not met since.

Young man between jobs (part 3)

Another shot of Man

In a lengthy email to my parents about Man and his mates, I described things this way:

"He chews through the money a bit, and thanks to my help is certainly doing well compared to some of his mates over there, who go without some meals because they simply have no money. 

"I met some of his mates over there again today, and the lack of money to buy food appears to be a common problem...two complained of being hungry. I helped one youngster but I can't give money to everyone. 

"I wonder how they feel when they see me helping Man but rarely them. 

"Anyway, Man and I are developing a relationship of sorts...I find I have to tell him what to do often, as kids his age appear to have few ideas, though he generally does better than I expect he will. 

"Today he opened a bank account and organised an ATM card and Thai ID card, all without adult help. I was impressed. 

"I had arranged to meet him so I could give him a bit of money to cover his expenses, but when I turned up, found he had already left.

"I sent him a message saying he would have to wait now until evening, and he put up a sad post on Facebook (our way of communicating when he is not happy) where he wrote in English: 'I asked someone to be sincere...'  I retorted that I asked someone to wait (but he wouldn't)." 

When I went to see them again he was asleep at a friend's house in a slum off the main road. I had forgotten how mixing with teens could be so chaotic. I take up the story here:

"His mates were sitting on their motorcycles outside and told me how to get there. The place was a wreck...it's a family home, but there was bare cement on the walls, a mere fridge dividing the parents' bed from the one occupied by Man's friend, called Por. There were clothes hanging from the ceiling, the door was falling apart. 

"I gathered one of his mates, Arm (there's a big lad called Arm and a little one by the same name; this was little Arm) had let a third youngster take Man's motorbike out to buy something...Man was worried he would run out of petrol on the way to work. 

"Yet another youngster berated Arm for lending the bike, as it was not his, although both Man and Arm work together at the brewery (Thais do everything together) and probably go on the same bike, so maybe he thinks it's almost like his own. I told Man amid this hubbub that I was impressed that he managed to open his bank account and get the ID card, but I doubt he was even listening.

"I haven't told Maiyuu about my new friends, as I decided to put all this child-support stuff behind me years ago, and he would not be happy to hear it had started up again. Normally I keep my money to myself but in this case I decided to help." (email, Aug 18, 2018)

now, see part 4

Young man between jobs (part 2)

'I have only you (to look after me)': another FB post

This drama followed a clash between the two groups in which both sides armed themselves with iron bars, planks of wood and so on and attacked each other. One lad showed me his injuries which he suffered in the clash, which thankfully did not result in any serious bloodshed. 

They had gone to the police, who called in both sides for a chat. However, the police had not advised the parents of any of the youngsters involved, Man and his mates told me, as at age 18 or thereabouts they were now considered young adults. The case had resulted in police charges, and some of the cases were likely to end up in court.

Chua Phloeng Road is known for its clashes between rival teen groups, though I am not sure I had heard about this one. Never mind...we would just have to keep ourselves out of plain sight, in case the gang with the handgun came back for a reprisal clash. 

I drew closer to Man, the lad who took me on his bike in search of ya dong on our first night, because his life story seemed so sad. He lived alone after losing his mother to cancer three months before; he showed me pictures her funeral. He had an elder brother, but he, like their father, lived elsewhere. Man still lived in the rented place he had shared with his mother in Suan Phlu, about 15min away.

Man and a mate at their meeting place on Phra Ram III Road

Man, in common with one or two others in the group, also had a young child of his own, despite his tender age. The little boy stayed with an "aunt", really a close friend of the mother's, he said.

Man and the child's mother, herself a teen, had broken up after the lad was born and she was not interested in raising the boy herself. 

When we met, Man was about to end a no-hoper job lifting goods somewhere, and had applied to join a German brewery-cum-restaurant on Phra Ram III Road. 

I was to help him over the next few weeks meet his expenses, as the first pay he received from the brewery, where he worked six days a week, was only just enough to cover his rent. 

I told him I would look after him until he starts getting paid properly (normally they are paid every month, but he had started in the middle of the pay cycle).

now, see part 3

Young man between jobs (part 1)

Man, telling me I let him down

'I asked someone to be sincere...'  lamented a young Thai friend, Man, writing in English on Facebook.

Man, 18, was upset that I failed to meet him that day as arranged to hand over money. He was about to start a new job and at his boss's request had to get a Thai ID card made, and open a bank account.

Man was about to start work at a German brewery on Rama III Road. We had arranged meet on Chua Phloeng Road, across the way from my condo, where I would give him some money to get to the get the card done at the local body office, and also visit the bank.

I was taken aback to see his FB post, accompanied by a staged picture of himself, no doubt taken where we were supposed to meet. He was looking at the camera, and holding up thumb and finger in the shape of a heart.  

I suspect he had friend take the picture for him; he and his mates, social media addicts all, routinely take pictures for each other as they dream up their next FB post, I was to discover. It was the first time I had seen the heart gesture, and marvelled at how youngsters have time to arrange these set-piece stunts for Facebook when they could be doing something useful like - well, working.

I did make our meeting as arranged, as it happens - he had left early without letting me know. His friends told me Man had already left for his errands. He borrowed money from them instead.

I met Man and his teenage friends some weeks before on a lone walk one night across from the slum community in Klong Toey where my regular drinking friend Ball lives. 

Ball and his younger brother were seldom home since they started working as chefs at a restaurant in town. I was at a loose end, and decided to go for a walk to see if I could find anyone in the neighbourhood still selling ya dong.

I came across Man and half a dozen mates in a shadowy corner as I walked along Chua Phloeng Road. Some lived in the slum community behind the road frontage; others, like Man, had gone to school in the area and perhaps even lived there once but since moved away. However, they would bike back to see their friends, usually after dark, as they liked to take drugs, shoot the breeze, and race their motorcycles up and down the road late at night when the traffic eased.

"Do you know anyone around here who sells ya dong?" I asked Man and his mates. Man knew of a trader further up in Phra Ram III Road and took me there on his motorbike. 

"Watch out, the farang might seduce you," his friends teased him good naturedly as I climbed on the back of his bike. Unfortunately, that vendor had closed for the night, so Man took me back to see his mates and I shouted everyone beer instead. It was raining as we made our way back, but I held up a small folding umbrella I had brought along to shield us as Man steered his vehicle. 

This was to the first of a series of after-dark meetings which seemed to grow with new cast members every night. Many of the youngsters in the neighbourhood go to the same state school. The primary school is adjacent to my condo; the secondary campus about 200m down the road. 

Occasionally lads from over Ball's way would pay a visit to see Man and his crowd, or we would head over to Ball's side of the road for a meal close to the local 7-11 where a dozen or so traders open food stalls at night.

The first night, we posted a picture of ourselves on FB, and within 24 hours I had 30 or so new FB friends, all of them youngsters who knew Man and his mates. 

When I asked why they seemed to be hiding in the dark, they said a gang of youths had gone past and shot a handgun at them a few nights before (they showed me what looked like a bullet hole in a corrugated iron frontage to some old guy's place). 

now, see part 2