The conjugal bed sans children.

I dialed my maid's phone number excitedly, it was that time of the day to give my children a call while I am away romancing the stone with hubby in chilly Luxembourg. My son's voice came on, "Mommy, I miss Mak Ngah." he said simply. "I know darling, she'll be back soon. I'll be back soon alright?" I reassured him.

Then we went on to the business of how school had been that day, were the big girls still bullying him in the school van. He sounded so sad while he spoke to me that I just had to ask, "Darling, why do you sound so sad?" No answer, just the sounds of wrackiing sobs came through the line. "Darling, I love you sweetheart. Mommy misses you so much. Please don't cry." More sobs. Hiccups. Garbled words.

"Sayang, I can't understand what you're saying."
"Mommy?"
"Yes, my darling?""Mommy, I MISS YOU!" more great gobbles of sobs.
Hand on my mouth in great restraint. I moduled my voice to embody singular calmness.
"Mommy misses you so much. I can't wait to hug you, kiss you. And when I come home, we'll cuddle up in bed, alright?"
"(Hiccup) Okay mommy...(sobs)...(more hiccups)"
"Darling, I'll talk to you tomorrow okay? Don't cry please. It makes me feel so sad."
"Ooookkkay Mommy (hiccup)."

I put down the phone, shoved it at my husband as great big sobs broke out from me. I bawled like a baby.

The conjugal bed without the children is a very big and empty bed.

Mr. Somporn

I’m running around getting ready for my visit to Taufik’s school; re-enrolling him before I run off to Luxembourg. I take huge bites of my home made bruschetta as I go about in mad dashes looking for missing undergarments and make up.

I rush down looking posh enough for my meeting, but with garlicky breath and plonked myself down in the taxi. Mr. Somporn, my maid’s husband is my chauffer for the day. Taufik has seated himself, like a King who knows his throne, majestically in the front seat.

I know that times are hard now for Mr. Somporn. Not many tourists nor expats around with the current political upheaval. The economy is sluggish, the industrial areas are seeing many factories shutting down. His car is constantly breaking down, and with the optimism of a person that has faced even harder times, he had recently cheerfully repainted his taxi a bright pink and white in a bid to attract more customers.

Before me is a poster he had created with a help of a regular customer. Stated in it in impeccable English is a list of services that he provides. There is a picture of him in fake Ray Ban sunglasses, oily faced with his arm congenially around the said customer, a white British lady with unwashed dreadlocks. And yes, this picture is meant to be reassuring.

I’ve always admired hard working, salt of the earth people like Mr. Somporn. He leads a hard life that entails working each and every day of the week, one that begins in the morning and ends in midnight. There is no end in sight for a better life, of a redolent and easy going old age to look forward to. Only more work, and always more ways to make ends meet.

His taxi is his second home. In addition to those posters, he adorns it with scribbling in white chalk on the roof of his car, blessings from his monk I assume. A Buddha talisman hangs on his rearview mirror. There are various knick knacks on his dashboard, and as he chats about his inefficient metabolic rate, “Madam, I don’t eat much. But I fat.” he whacks his steering wheel for emphasis. To prove his case, he pinches a pink romantic album from the pile on his dashboard, and flips to the last page.

It’s a picture of him at 23 in his military uniform. He cuts a dashing figure, a glaringly slim dashing figure I shall emphasize here. I tutted appropriately, gasping in awe at his tiny girth and exclaimed in shock (until I realize that this was not entirely appropriate) at how handsome he was (Am I trying to hint that he is no longer just that? God forbid!).

He talks on of his past life in good nature. He flips and shows me the early pages of his album which is dotted with foreign currency. Each note is accompanied by a little script stating the name of the person who gave it to him. The notes were so crisp I am convinced that they were ironed before finding their honoured place in his album.

A sob finds it way to my throat. I am touched.

His little collection of foreign currency, his extensive collection of foreign stamps, the little knick knacks on his dashboard that advertise to the world who this man is and what he enjoys doing, and that little note book that he loves to take out when learning a new English word – well it’s about to do me in.

I ask myself, (and I hear my husband asking me “Why do you punish yourself this way, baby?”) would I have risen to the occasion the way Mr. Somporn and Na (my maid) has? Had the cards been dealt differently, it would have been me in Mr. Somporn’s position. Me driving my life and health to tatters trying to make ends meet. But the cards were dealt differently, and instead of finding myself in the driver seat, I am the one being driven.

Would I have started a little collection of something, and shared it proudly with Mr. or Mrs. Hi-So? Would I polish my collection of coins? Decorate my taxi with a sense of pride that it is my prize in life? Would I wear precisely ironed shirts, with my hair well combed back? Fluffy regularly washed cushions at the back seat, so that customers with children will find the comfort handy?

I am grateful for the good things in my life, for the luxuries in my life. But I am humbled to know that I am not as tough, as generous, as optimistic, as good natured, as Mr. Somporn is if I had found myself in his shoes. I would like to think that I am, but I have a strong conviction that I am probably not. That fact, is truly humbling, and makes him a bigger person than I could ever be.

It brings to mind those unguarded times when I watch pityingly families being ferried around by the only vehicle they could afford – the motorcycle. Their child’s head hanging precariously to one side as he falls asleep, fortunately safely sandwiched between his parent’s bodies. But before I delve too deeply into my sympathies, I think, I may be driving a vehicle of comfort here in this world, this ‘Dunia’. But who is to know that they might be driving a Bentley in the hereafter, and me with my at times heedless ways, is in danger of driving (if I am lucky) a bullock cart.

As always, it is food for thought.

A conjugal matter.

I have been dithering, unable to decide to go to Luxembourg with the children or sans children. Inaaya needs to bond with her father. Taufik misses Kim to bits. But both would hog their father, Kim and I would find ourselves on each end of the conjugal bed with the children right in the middle. Oh it was a difficult choice.

The mental struggle must have been rather palpable to those around me back here in Thailand. A few has volunteered their no holds barred advice.

I spoke to Teacher Kid, he together with his partner whom we call Teacher Noni runs the day care downstairs which Inaaya attends. They also own the apartment restaurant with the name “Be My Guest” and the tag line, “Be My Taste” – which I approved of when asked at a very distracted moment (picture - children screaming like mad hogs) when asked about the quality of the grammar. This I will regret to my dying day, for my reputation as the resident English expert here will become questionable with such a tagline (which they are ‘damned’ proud of).

Now where was I? Oh yes, Teacher Kid said to me, “Four years you spend with children. Now it is time for married. It is man culture, he, Mr. Kim will not tell you he want you only. But I man, I know. You go shopping for Mr. Kim. You know him, I cannot tell you what to buy, I don’t know him. He different from me.” Are we talking lingeries here? I thought rather dumbly. Once that thought was digested…which unhappily was later that night in bed, I realized that I had indeed forgotten completely that side of my attire. Pre Teacher Kid discussion, on my laundry list was my favourite cotton pyjamas that will fail to excite even Santa Claus himself!

Naturally I was wrong. I found out later he had really meant a proper gift, Teacher Noni, his girlfriend, generously enlightened me on this matter by suggesting that I buy Kim a watch or perhaps even a picture of myself that his gaze could linger over in those moments of great missing. Thank you for the tips my dears.

Then there was the encounter with Uncle (he is ‘Uncle’ only behind his back, to his face he is of course just ‘Shehryar’). He is a fascinating Pakistani in his late 50s married to a classy young Thai wife. He speaks the Queen’s English impeccably, the result of public schooling in the UK. He looks exactly like my father, with a strong Pakistani flavour. Used to have a love for bacon with eggs but has now gone completely off pork (“I have no idea why whatsoever, my dear.” he says quite astounded).

“Darling (he drawls), going there to your husband without the bratty children entourage is exactly what the doctor has ordered. Is he traveling a lot?” he inquires quizzically.

“Yes he does, to other parts of Europe. And should he find the need to travel while I am there, I shall just tag along.” I answered.

“Well in that case, be sure to give him enough time to cancel all his appointments. Time to reorganize meetings with the ladies at the various port-of-call if you know what I mean.”

“Well you’re the epitome of reassurance aren’t you?” I retorted.

He laughed heartily.

“No, my dear. But it is better not to know. Take it from one who has been there and done that.”

Then he continues, “Looking at you, there is with certainty zero percent chance that you would be unfaithful to him. Notwithstanding the two bodyguards you have here with you. But take into consideration your upbringing and culture. Not forgetting, Hidayah there, your mullah sister would be throwing the first stone if you committed adultery.”

He laughed again, even more heartily than before.

Always amusing, Uncle Shehryar, who has stated before in no uncertain terms that he refuses to sit down with my husband for drinks because Kim was a teetotaler. “What kind of a man is this that you have married?” was his remark when he found out. “There is something I find uneasy about getting sloshed with a person that remains completely sober and clear minded. Mind you, I also never drink tea.” An avid whisky lover he is, make no mistake.

And so my mind was quite made up, Pak Ngah of course was the one that started the whole idea of going without the children. With Mak Teh and Mak Dah reinforcing the message but I was still heedless. It was not until Pak Ngah looked at me in terribly worried way when he heard that I had decided to live apart from Kim for the sake of being with Inaaya. that I realised I could be in hot waters. For if carefree Pak Ngah was worried, I had to be tossing about having sleepless nights over this. The alarm bells rang.

So I find myself with a ticket for one, headed for Dusseldorf this coming Wednesday. Wherefrom my husband will be there waiting to greet me, and we will enjoy (inshaAllah) a lovely drive back to Luxembourg.

And selfishly the conjugal bed will be completely ours.

Raya wishes to all!!

Hi Peeps,

Past couple of months have been a great month with many family get togethers, planned and unplanned. Nina, with you being back in KL, it gave us all reasons to meet up and get together. Also gave the little ones an opportunity to get to know each other more. I remember growing up as a kid and the few times that my dad let me play with my cousins, it was for sure lots and lots of fun!

Mak Dah's place in Lembah Ledang was a treasure cove of activities! and one that i remember so vividly is sitting on a tilam and going down the stairs over and over again with ail, adin and hussein. And when that wasn't enough, we took a tikar out to the small bukit outside the house and went down that bukit. Boy that was loads of fun! If my dad found out I did these things, he would have been upset big style! he he he..

I wonder if the kids today are doing the same things.

Nina, now that you're not in KL, I hope you would keep us all posted with your activities over there.. and also how you're coping being in a new place and all.

Julia, its nice getting updates from you too. When are you coming back to KL for a visit?

I'm worried that this blog is reaching its end. I sure hope not.

Love y'all.

Y

Tiger in the midst

Here's the latest picture taken recently at the Annual Richhill Heritage Festival in mid-September 2008. We were staying at Stephen's brother's house when all of these were happening so I thought I might make full use of the time when everything is geared up towards the children.... mind you Jasmine was pretty knackered with all the attention she's getting being the tiger in the midst - see the makeup and got her picture taken for the local newspaper. So that's good! I didn't manage to take any pictures of the other activities that she went for aka the bouncy castle but I took a video of her jumping for joy as she loves jumping up and down, sideways and upways so forth.