Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (5 page)

In between smiling at the customers, we would snipe and bitch at each other. She continuously moaned about the customers, whom I considered to be our saviours. They, after all, paid for my sister’s education and the roof over our heads.

Mae
had, until this time, run the business as best she could, but when she settled into city life, her old habits returned. To be fair, she wasn’t as bad as she had been in Khorat. For one thing, her new friends all worked during the day, which ensured they could only gamble at the weekends. But more importantly,
mae
was more careful with money now that it was her own she was spending.

I began dreaming about
por
every night. I found myself wondering how he was coping without us and whether he even missed my sister and me. I eventually decided to return home to visit him despite
mae
’s objections.

I was still hopeful that he might want us back if I could convince him of how much
mae
had changed for the better.

I travelled to Khorat by bus, alone this time. From the first moment I saw him, I sensed that
por
had settled into his new life. This became all the more apparent when I spoke to him of the improvements in
mae
’s behaviour. Rather than beg us to come home, he instead seemed to be personally insulted by these changes in my mother.

He remained quite bitter over the whole episode and was adamant that he never wanted to talk to her again. Although he looked good, and the stress was gone from his face, there was a sadness in his eyes that suggested how much he missed us.

I returned home dispirited. I had hoped for a reunion between my parents despite everything that had happened. Of course, I realised that this dream was to forever remain in the realm of fantasy.

The bonds holding the rest of my family together felt very tenuous, and I feared that we were in danger of complete collapse.

At my mother’s request, I wrote a letter to my brother inviting him to come and see us. We hadn’t seen him since he left Khorat. I was curious to see his reaction to the news that
por
had taken a second wife.

He turned up to have dinner with us some days later. When
mae
recounted the story to him, he was unmoved.

I knew that
mae
’s gambling and long absences had deeply affected him as a young boy, but she didn’t seem to realise this. He could not hide his lack of emotion. The truth was that he had moved on with his life.

He promised he would visit and give us money whenever he could spare it, but I knew that he had emotionally detached himself from us long ago. He had made his own life in Bangkok, and we no longer featured in it.

Although they had never provided a perfect home, they had at least created a semblance of normality. I now felt completely bereft. I feared that I was destined to spend the rest of my life working on a rickety food stall. My life seemed to stretch out before me like a long and neverending road, with no real destination in sight.

Back then, I was what we Thais call a
baan nok
. It is a derogatory name that my people use to describe naïve country bumpkins. I do not pretend that the decisions I made were the correct ones. They were merely short-term solutions aimed at bringing about a change in my circumstances.

The first thing I decided to do was stop working for
mae
and to seek employment elsewhere.

Our relationship had become unbearable. She treated me with utter disrespect in front of our customers, frequently bossing me around and shouting at me. People came from far and wide to feast on my mother’s mouth-watering dishes, but the side-helping of dirty laundry that came free of charge left a bitter aftertaste. I eventually lost count of the number of times my mother caused me to lose face.

When I had been humiliated one too many times, I found work in a nearby factory. Though I earned just 200 baht a day for this menial labour, the independence it afforded me was invaluable. Besides, there weren’t many choices for women with my level of education.

I gradually began to realise that rather than moving towards any particular goal, I was simply standing still. This realisation sent me into a downward spiral of depression.

Mae
’s contributions towards my lack of self-esteem and anxiety were considerable. Not only was I not worthy of education but I was also to blame for not attracting potential husbands. In Thailand, women of my standing are expected by their families to marry anyone willing to take them as a bride; being selective is a luxury we cannot afford.

I had never felt attracted to men. I thought of them as curious creatures, almost like the strange turtles and frogs that swam in the ponds.

Mae
had become fixated on this particular aspect of my life and took it upon herself to play the role of matchmaker. She committed herself to the pursuit of the ideal suitor in the belief that this was what was best for me.

The man she eventually settled on was called Chai. He was reasonably attractive and about ten years older than me. He had moved into our building in Bang Na and introduced himself to
mae
when he heard our family came from Khorat, as he had grown up there.

Mae
considered Chai a true gentleman in the Thai sense because he approached the bride-tobe through her mother. She often commented on his impeccable manners, stylish dress sense, intelligent conversation and Indian-like features.

At first, I paid very little attention to her infatuation with him as I didn’t understand her motivation in forming a relationship with a younger man. It was only as time passed that her real intentions became clear. And Chai, to my surprise, proved to be a willing accomplice.

With
mae
’s approval, he took advantage of every opportunity to engage me in conversation. He reminisced about his childhood, and talked about the different people we were both acquainted with in Khorat. But despite his best efforts, my interest in all conversations with him invariably waned.

He told me that he had been raised by his aunt following the death of his parents, and that he was now working as a bartender. I then discovered exactly what it was about him that had my mother so enthralled: he had inherited his aunt’s house in Khorat when she died. His wealth was of no interest to me, however, and I likened him to a giant-sized mosquito that refused to be swatted away. Our relationship, if you could call it that, was an unfortunate one.

Chai was the only man I knew who spoke about politics and regularly read broadsheet newspapers. A bumpkin like me knew nothing of such things, but I would smile politely and look suitably impressed when he spoke about modern society’s ills and other serious matters.

I tried to find the courage to tell my mother that I had no interest in Chai, but in Thailand, the financial standing of a man is considered more important than anything else when it comes to marriage. The stability of a relationship is decided on a financial rather than an emotional basis, rendering love irrelevant. The fact that Chai would be able to support
mae
and me made him the perfect partner in her eyes.

Chai persevered in his efforts to capture my attention, though at times it appeared to me that he attracted no one’s attention but
mae
’s.

When he did eventually muster up the courage to ask me to watch a film,
mae
almost danced with joy. I was foolish enough to agree to the proposition, and so we went on a few dates. He showered me with presents, like my favourite teen magazine,
Thur Gab Chan
(You and Me), as well as candy and flowers. Gifts had been such a rarity in my life up until then that the receipt of so many all at once left me dizzy with exhilaration.

Although I was not sexually attracted to him, I came to like him because he treated me well.

I cannot help but smile when I think back to those early days of courtship. How naïve I was! The only knowledge I had of life and relationships was gleaned from soap operas and my own parents’ disastrous marriage. Compared to these tumultuous relationships, what Chai and I shared appeared healthier than it actually was. So as time passed, I began to reconsider Chai’s suitability as a potential husband.

During my few casual conversations with
mae
about Chai, his fondness for alcohol repeatedly raised its head. I had never known a man who did not become aggressive after consuming alcohol, or what we call
naam plian nisai
, ‘habit-changing water’, and Chai was no exception. I had seen him transform from his usual kind and gentle self into a sinister and aggressive man after the consumption of a few beers.

Such dramatic changes in personality weren’t confined to the privacy of our own home. Once, when drinking in a local bar, he became very hostile towards the other customers. Convinced that everyone was staring at him, he began shouting, ‘What the fuck are you looking at? What’s your fucking problem? I’m drunk, do you have a problem with that?’
But no one in the bar took any notice of him. We Thais rarely take offence at drunken men because we recognise that they are not in their best mind.

Though Chai was my boyfriend, I was not in love with him. I was raised to believe that girls of my standing in society shouldn’t waste their time daydreaming about romance. I was taught to be pragmatic. Besides, it wasn’t like I had several suitors all vying for my affection, and I also had my mother’s wishes to consider.

So three months after we first met, Chai asked me to move in with him, and I told him to seek my mother’s blessing, assuming that this step was nothing more than a formality.

Chai spoke to
mae
that very evening. But before giving him an answer, she came to me and asked if this was what I wanted. I immediately replied that it was, knowing that this was the only answer she wanted to hear.

Mae
didn’t comment on my decision. We both knew that, should Chai ask, there was really only one answer to be given. Chai could offer us the stability we both craved. And despite his fondness for alcohol, we were both under the impression that he was a good man.

Mae
later offered me a rare nugget of advice that I have never forgotten. She said, ‘I wish you more happiness than I ever had. Use my marriage as an example of what not to do as a wife. Don’t follow in my footsteps. Couples should work at understanding each other, and learn, and—more importantly—accept their partner’s flaws. Nobody is perfect.’

Mae
had never spoken so candidly to me before. It made me realise just how important my union with Chai was to her, as she stood to recoup the financial support she had lost when my father left her.

As we sat alone in the tiny room that had become our home, she admitted to all the mistakes she had made in the past. She conceded that she had treated my father badly. She also spoke openly about her love for gambling and finally admitted that this love had long since turned into an addiction. We stayed up talking into the early hours of the morning.
I realised that I had never really known
mae
. I knew the gambling addict, the disciplinarian, and the drunk; but I did not know the person that lay buried beneath these superficial outer layers.

My wedding was a small affair, hastily organised and held in the one room my family inhabited. Only a handful of friends attended because we could not afford to entertain many guests.

Our ceremony was a
koh ka ma
, which is one that is organised for situations when the bride-to-be is pregnant. The
koh ka ma
is the groom’s way of asking his bride’s parents to forgive him for his transgression. But I was not pregnant— we just couldn’t afford a traditional wedding.

There was no chanting, music, monk, or Buddha involved. The only luxury I could afford was a white, embroidered dress. Chai wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. My pessimism on the day was intense.

Chai did not have the resources to pay a dowry for my hand.
Mae
was unperturbed by this, but I was both surprised and disappointed. Instead, Chai presented
mae
with a tray of lotus flowers and
sai sin
, along with a few thousand baht.
Sai sin
is thread, usually white, which is tied around the two wrists. We use it to wish good health and fortune on a person or couple.

Mae
tied the thread around our wrists and blessed us individually. She asked Chai to take good care of her daughter. Then I knelt in front of her and she blessed me, saying that she hoped we would stay together forever and give her many grandchildren.

After the blessing, we left for a traditional Isan restaurant where we ate a feast of papaya salad, grilled chicken, and the spicy delicacy
neu nam tok
, which is grilled tenderloin of beef.

After much wrestling with my conscience I had decided against inviting
por
to the wedding. I knew
mae
would have been furious and possibly even have objected to his participation. I told him about the event only after it had taken place.

On our wedding night, I moved into Chai’s room. Prior to this we had only ever exchanged kisses on the cheek, but that night we shared our first proper kiss and I lost my virginity.

Thai girls rarely discussed such private matters as sex with their friends in those days, so I had no idea what to expect. We were taught to keep ourselves for our husbands only, unlike men who would be praised by their peers for promiscuous behaviour. In fact, for some Thai men it is a rite of passage to lose their virginity with a prostitute.

When Chai lay down on the bed, I began trembling with nervousness and excitement, hoping that I could please him, though I was completely clueless as to how exactly I should go about this.

Recognising that I was nervous and inexperienced, Chai was quite gentle with me. He turned off the lights, and I instantly felt more relaxed about getting naked, and also about seeing a man’s naked body for the first time.

Chai laid me down on the bed and caressed my body, eagerly fondling my breasts and kissing me passionately. As the naïve pupil, very little was required of me but to offer my body to him.

The consummation of our marriage didn’t hurt too much or take too long. It was a lot more abrupt than I had expected. I had also envisioned Chai and me basking in a post-coital glow, talking about the day’s events and about our future life together, as we lay nestled in each other’s arms. Instead, when it was all over Chai had turned his back to me and fallen asleep immediately. It wasn’t until much later in our marriage that I experienced my first orgasm.

I found sleeping with Chai almost impossible. He snored so loudly the bed trembled beneath us, and his every movement pierced my dreams and sent me tumbling back to reality.

Our life settled into a routine of sorts. We both went out to work each morning and returned home exhausted. Our sex life also became routine. We slept together about five times during our first few weeks of marriage. Chai had a very low sex drive, and I rarely succeeded in inciting any passion in him. He seemed to want me only once a week, which I thought strange for a young, healthy man.

As his wife, I never denied him, no matter how low my own level of desire might be. He was no fantasy lover, but he always tried to make lovemaking enjoyable for me. Unfortunately, he never really succeeded. To put it more crudely, he never turned me on.

A month into my marriage I discovered I was pregnant. It was only after I fainted one morning and spent subsequent mornings staring down a toilet bowl that I decided to make an appointment to see a doctor. I knew nothing of these matters and although I had made several offerings for a child to the four-faced Brahma at Erawan Shrine, I was still surprised when the doctor announced that I was pregnant. Chai was overjoyed; he spent the next few days smiling so broadly I feared his face might crack.

The only cravings I experienced during my pregnancy were for sour fruit like
mayom
and raw mango, which I consumed in quantities that would have satisfied an elephant.
Mae
warned against eating spicy foods, which I had a particular weakness for, lest they burn my unborn baby’s tongue.

In many ways, Chai became an exemplary husband. The impending arrival of our baby made him much more attentive, and he would often do the shopping and cleaning. He also took care of the laundry. He arranged our affairs with military-like precision. My only responsibility was to relax in preparation for the birth, and the days drifted slowly by in a haze of TV programmes.