The Bangkok apartment seems cavernous. The ambiance resembles a bit that of a public parking garage, albeit a good deal cleaner. There is one very large, very long room that spans the length of the apartment, with bedroom doors opening off to one side. No tactful little corridor here, leading to other spaces, sweetly dividing up space. The big room is so open, that she can see clearly everything her roommate does way off at the other end, in the kitchen area. See, but not hear. When he attempts to work his new cappuccino maker, he cannot hear her shouting his name.
She decides a little diplomacy is needed here. Something to soften the rudeness of the overall effect of fluorescent lighting and dark and thin hardwood floors barely disguising the concrete underneath. They are forced to wear thick-soled slippers to soften the effect on their bodies. She employs different colors of textured art-and-crafts paper to form alluring sculptural forms over the fluorescent pieces. She drapes yards and yards of muslin everywhere, curtains, wall hangings, all in an attempt to break up the space with subtle forms.
When she takes him on as a roommate, all the teachers at their Thai language school assume that they are dating, and wonder at the age difference. She is fifteen years older, and doesn't date younger men. They do not understand the cultural differences, that she would gravitate towards the other American in her class. A polite clean responsible guy makes a good roommate. The Thais do not understand that she does not find him gorgeous. Thai people find his big blue eyes striking beyond imagination. She thinks he looks a bit like a cute goggle-eyed fish. She used to stare at him in class, partially because she stared at almost everyone out of boredom, and partially due to his bizarre expression while listening.
The classes are intensive courses in learning to listen. Ninety percent listening, very few visuals and she desperately needs something to look at to remain awake. She is mostly impressed at his concentration and amazed that he can resemble a goggle-eyed fish even more closely in class. She would often stare at another girl's tattoo for up to fifteen minutes. And that tattoo would hardly rate attention in a true tattoo-friendly community. Some little lizard, or something.
They have parties. They are Americans, living in Bangkok, and they invite all their expatriate and Thai friends. People here are indulgent about noise, as well as of many other things. The family downstairs, composed of the children and grandchildren of the landlord, who lives on the bottom floor, are understanding about all that loud hip hop music booming through the floor at one a.m. They have children, too. It is considered rude to complain about noise levels in Thailand.
No one thinks to complain about the breeding kennel of twenty dogs located on the property directly bordering the apartment. One night when she loses her temper at the early morning barking fits, the American stands on the back terrace and throws an empty plastic bottle towards the kennels. Not much else she really can do about it.
She gets used to it after the first month, and stops hearing the howling.
The parties. One evening, at one of the usual fêtes, with the usual hip hop repertoire with the likes of Missy Elliott, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre. Young Korean friends dance on her cream-colored furry rug.
One evening, she encounters a young Australian woman whose origins are partially Thai. The Australian goes on drunkenly about how she really does not fit in here, especially with her Thai relatives in Bangkok. The young Australian has olive skin, dark hair. She is unsettled, traumatized by culture shock, and something else, perhaps some far-reaching childhood memory. She tells the taxi driver Leo sai. She wants to say turn left, liao sai, but she ends up sounding as if she is ordering a beer. Leo Beer is popular here mostly due to its utter cheapness. Saai, depending on the fashion in which you employ the vowels, can mean transparent. One beer please, and make it clear, none of that thick muddy Guinness stuff. Confusing though, as there is no Guinness here. All beer is clear, in Thailand.
The Australian starts to tear things up. Not in the literal sense of course. She starts to roll around on top of the cappuccino-making roomie. On top of the designer bed-couch with the exquisitely-woven framework. With the overhead canopy constructed to drape fabric hangings or mosquito netting. The American wonders if she should let the girl know that the cappuccino maker is possibly homosexual. He insists he is not. But he does talk a lot about that machine. And his clothes. Rather special, even in a country where men wear the color pink often and flower embroidery routinely. Straight Thai men have their own way to dress gay, in a code that denotes straight. Even the Thai language teacher at school commented on David's clothes. Thai people use the English word for gay, also.
He looks stressed, and not happy about having a pretty but staggeringly drunken girl rolling around on top of him. But he is really so utterly polite, he says nothing. His expression implies more that he just ate something slightly disagreeable. He does not move away, he behaves mostly as if nothing is happening.
The American knows well enough that if there is a woman for David, this one is not it. His crushes are on women who can say "liao sai", even when they are mildly tipsy. They are usually exquisite flowers of unreachable Thai High Society. This is a form of nobility. These families are wealthy. They are purportedly related, even if remotely so, to the Royal Family of Thailand.
The American starts to get mad. Her friends usually know how to make a lot of fun without bouncing off the walls, talking louder than the hip hop music, but this new friend is special. The hostess tells her new guest to calm down. And then something happens. Possibly the hostess, too, has a lot of drink in her.
Sometimes, loosening the mind has unforeseen effects. The American believes herself to be talking, but the more inebriated visitor recognizes someone else. Another presence is present. All happens fast, though the moment seems to stand still, unmoving to the next moment. The woman who still resembles the hostess regards the younger woman in front of her, knows all her qualities and foibles. This is her baby. The soft olive skin, so like her own, and dark thick wavy hair is so dear. Affection and understanding is part of the blood moving through her veins. She speaks and her baby recognizes her and cries out "Baba", or "grandmother". The second-hand on the clock waits still.
In another moment, the hostess comes to herself, only one self now. Despite her minds' current haze, she knows with an odd clarity what she has lived, but cannot remember the exact words uttered. After all, they are not hers, even though the words felt as if they belonged to her at the time. She shakes herself, more dazed than inebriated, moves onto something else, some other party guest. She is unable to address this moment, she is an unwilling participant, and possibly not for the first time. She is exhausted. And annoyed. The energy of so many living noisy beings should defend her from such an occurrence, and this energy is hardly the place for recovering afterwards. More annoyed still at the young woman, whose frank and invasive emotions are so strong, they pulled something out of her at an uncommon moment.
She is past the heady state of the fête, and is aware of that moment when one knows the party is losing momentum, maybe has already lost it half an hour ago, without ever reaching in this particular evening that anticipated ecstatic exuberance of some other night. She wants people to clean their dirty dishes and to stop dancing on her rug. She wants to say "Why don't you all go home?!**" However, talking like that really only sounds right in old Bette Davis films.
"Why don't you all go home?!**" : said by the character played by Bette Davis, in the film, All About Eve.
fiction, by Cho