GOLD FOR PARTYING?

It was one of the best days of my life since…uhm… I don’t know when. AH! Since that search-for-the-legendary-creature-turned-catastrophe in Patagonia, and that row-with-the-rebels in Mindanao Island and…Oh-oh! And that 120-hour-party-marathon in Alia Napa in 2000…and many others. LOL.

I and 27 other BISEANers attending the biggest party on Earth (the Olympics) is one hell of a logistical nightmare. We have to be everywhere and anywhere Southeast Asian athletes are competing – for the first 3 days, at least, anyway.

We had to party with the other camps too, I’m afraid – since most BISEANers are half-this and half-that. Bonding with Belgians, allo-allo with the Frenchies, guten-guten with the Germans, genki-genki with the Japs and many others…we ended up partying for the rest of the Olympics in hotels, pubs, discotheques and just about anywhere with willing strangers! And totally forgot the Olympics is actually a sporting event. *sigh*

I was thinking... if there was an Olympic discipline for PARTYING – I would have bagged Gold for Thailand (or Belgium, whatever). Ha! And mind ya, Sofia would also bag a Gold for SHOPPING and SPA MARAUDING! Haha! And Morgan?...Bronze. He’s just for Bronzes. It’s a no brainer.

Now that the 2-week-long World Party is over (but still suffering galactic hang-over) maybe I guess we can get on our “regular” parties in the region –

Chiang Mai, Phuket, Pasir Mas, KL, Singapore, Surabaya, Cebu, Cagayan de Oro, Vigan, Dalat, Hanoi and Sihanoukville –

HERE WE COME.

A LITERAL BLIND ITEM: Are We Allowed to Help?

Luang Prabang, Laos -- I got up very early in the morning just in time to catch the monks do their morning rounds. They walk about town in a single line, collecting food for the day from Buddhist devotees like me attempting to improve our karma. Get it? Anyways…

I waited and waited at the side of the road, looking left and right expecting a trace of saffron/orange would emerge from afar – sticking my neck out…Nothing. No sign of ‘em.

"This must be a bad location." I said to myself. My eyes gloomily fixed on my offerings in a rattan tray. I got fruits, sticky rice and sets of brand new tooth brush and tooth paste – seems like I’m going to feast on these myself. *sigh*

*cough cough* It’s almost 7.15am…I wanted to give up OR go to the temple myself and give ‘em my offerings personally – But I don’t wanna do that. I wanna stay here on the side of the road and WAIT…

…Suddenly, just across the road from where I was standing -- Two dudes came out from nowhere walking in a single line. No, they aren’t monks. They must be office workers on their way to work -- Yeah, on their way to work. BUT WAIT!

The older dude behind is wearing dark sunglasses and his left arm is on the other dude’s left shoulder, leading him. “Ah! A blind dude!” I mumbled. No walking sticks? Very brave.

I am trying my best not to watch them go about. And I SWEAR – I didn’t mean to stare. No, no. The dude leading him is wearing a school uniform – must be his kid. Yeah, must be his son. And no, I didn’t intend to notice that detail either.

*gasp* they stopped! They are going to cross the road to my direction! Gahd! The kid must’ve seen me staring! Darn! There goes discretion. Whew!

The road is muddy and trickly uneven - patches of water here and there. The lead man stopped right at the edge.

I was carefully watching them (although I don’t intend to, I promise)… My eyes going back and forth from the lead man’s face and the muddy water in front of him…he took a step –

BAM! His right foot is ankle-deep in the mud!

“Whadda?!” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I WASN’T watching them, remember?

But he wiggled his right foot in the water! “Waaaah! Don’t do that!” I wanted to yell at him. He kept wiggling his right foot on the mud! “Are you mental?!!!” I wanted to run up to him.

He swiftly followed his left foot – SWOOSH! I could hear the water like a tsunami washing my guts away! NOW BOTH HIS FEET ARE ON THE WATER! Hey!

The blind dude behind -- left arm still firmly anchored on his son's left shoulder started to panic! He called out “Wait, wait, wait!” in Laotian and he didn’t know where to look (oops! I didn’t mean to say that!). I mean; he wobbled his head like Stevie Wonder. Yeah, like Stevie Wonder.

ALAS! A great secret was uncovered – the lead man is blind too! A blind leading a blind. What a cliche! Argh!

They both stood right on the same spot for a full minute, talking to each other -- planning a move. Lead man on the water, the tagged-along at the edge -- Then they decided to take 3 steps back and took another spot to cross the road.

That was really something. It caught me off-guard and sricken.

Now, my question is…Since, I have never encountered a predicament like this first hand all my life…ARE WE really ALLOWED TO HELP THEM? I mean when we encounter them like this?

When I had the urge to run to their rescue, the first thing that came to mind was – “What if they don’t wanna be helped?” Those blind dudes must be very proud/independent walking about without sticks or any indication they are actually blind.

If I help -- What if they get offended? Shall I take all their beating till their walking sticks are broken on my body?

Or shall I take all their verbal wrath BUT I would swiftly go right behind them so I won’t be so hurt? They wouldn’t see me anyway!

So tell me, my dear readers… Are we really allowed to help?

****

--Pisanu in Luang Prabang
29 July 2008

AFTER-THOUGHTS FROM 2008 MISS UNIVERSE

There was a bit of “uptightness” */if there’s such a word/ to it. The audience were strangely “behaved”, edgy and there wasn’t much “fans” that came. It was dry, dry, dry as a nerd's convention.

I've been attending Miss Universe & Miss World live for the past years and never seen an event as “bland” as this…

Is it because the lady Vice President was there, sweetie? The President himself snubbed the worldwide event, maybe he was still in bed */it was quite early in the morning/. Sorry to say but there was a bit of “we-are-a-bunch-of-communists” looming above the whole ambiance. I certainly did not enjoy it. No cameras for the non-Press people. Whatever.

Where were the unruly */but fabulous/ Boriqua fans? The Mexicans made their presence known alright but where were the Asian fans? It was more of a diplomats-and-embassy-employees-get-together.

I wasn’t surprised with Thailand’s Best National Costume Award. */It was painstakingly chosen from 897 designs on a national level/ I just knew it would be the one. ไชโย !!!

Although online forum posters “encouraged” massive cheating and rigging the online voting…nope, their candidate did not make it. Sorry, sweetie. MUO has learned their lesson. The Miss Photogenic Award was scraped out because of this. I was told.

From where we were seating... We were quite sure Spain would win. But when she came out with that “fresh-out-of-the-living-room-window” evening gown…we changed our mind and picked the USA. But still...

When she dove butt-first on stage…we shifted to Russia because there won’t be any thrill at all if we chose Venezuela. Venezuela is a safe choice annually.

It was the right girl. Venezuela was loving it. During commercial breaks, she was very natural and at ease. She keeps talking to other candidates unlike Colombia and Dominican Republic who are sooo into the audience. Colombia reminded me of Thalia -- that Mexican soap actress.

During the whole program, Morgan, Pisanu and I, wasn’t choosing where our money went. We bet online for Japan, Korea, Canada and Singapore. Only Japan made it, but not quite enough though. So, we lost $3,000 on betting. Fokken out!

Riyo came out wearing a tux! Japan won’t stop with these “statements” to the last moment, would they? She just landed again in MU history as the first */and only/ to do such! You are forever genius, Miss Ligron -- Utterly genius!

I don’t think Miss Universe would come back to Vietnam soon, sweetie. It was a disaster. It was supposed to be enjoyable, not uptight. It’s about time to bring it to Europe, so the girls won’t be walking around with their sweaty dresses and oily make-ups. */Pfffft!/

-- Sofia in Nha Trang
15 July 2008

MY NOSY HOUSEKEEPERS

Most of you may not know – Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand are big importers of Nepali migrant workers. They take mean jobs like sweepers, fast food servers, domestics and others. But they take pride with what they do.

Two of my housekeepers in Bangkok are Nepalese. They have been with me for the longest time and god knows they are the best household workers in the whole dang world *although not the best cooks, that's for sure*

When they knew I was going to Nepal, dinner suddenly got tasty!

“Amrita, what did you put in my chicken curry?” I said without looking at her minding my pleasant dish.

Amrita rushed out of the dining room without answering me. Seconds later, she was tagging Panya…”P’Dekdek?”

I hate it when they call me that. “Pee” in Thai is like older big brother and “dek-dek” is a small little kid – so, which is which?! Godammit!

They must’ve got it from my mom when she calls me “dek-dek” and Amrita and Panya just added the “pee” for respect, I guess. BUT IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE! Ha!

Anyways, they didn’t answer my question about dinner but they posed their own question instead…

“P’Dekdek, *argh! I hate it!*… when are you going to Kathmandu?”

“Ahhh! Checking out my mails again huh?” I said to myself. I didn’t answer them. And how did they know???

“P’Dekdek, is it okay if I send a package to my family?” Panya said, Amrita pinched her at the back. “…and Amrita too.” She continued with unsure smile.

“Ahhh! That’s why dinner suddenly is tasty, isn’t it?” I said again quietly. Now I know.

Isn’t it against the law to carry packages for others? Especially if you have to take the plane? How would I know what’s in the package? Open it secretly? Do I fucken look like a fucken UPS man? Huh! What if they frame me up? Wait! Why would they frame me up? Waaaahhh! – Questions rushing through my head. My brain's yellin' I D O N T W A N N A A A A A!!!

Awkward silence. The sound of cutlery against my china is unbearable to the three of us…

“But you’re not from Kathmandu.” I said with concern. Hoping they would stop this non-sense...

“Yes we are!” they said in chorus. “Our families would meet you at the airport in Kathmandu on Wednesday morning. Please give the packages to them. Thank you!” then both of ‘em rushed out of the room without my reply.

“WELL I’LL BE DAMNED. They even knew my flight schedule?”


****

THE EURASIAN FAKER ON A RED FERRARI

I stepped out of the gym around 3pm at Jalan Sultan Ismail which is a block away from my loft.

By the way, I don’t really workout, I just watch MTV on the telly monitor to kill time. Anyways…


There’s this flashy bloody-red Ferrari, YES!.. You heard me…a friggin’ Ferrari! -- Parked along the side of the road just in front of Standard Chartered building blinking hazard lights and all.

Nobody’s in the car -- Either he’s applying for gym membership or he’s at the 7-Eleven next door.

Y’KNOW WHA’?! He shouldn’t be parking here! *Me, getting irritated mainly because I don’t have a Ferrari* This is a corner for christssake! N-O-P-A-R-K-I-N-G!


I looked at the plate, ready to call and report to the KL Traffic Police when... *gasp!*… a Thai license plate!!!

OMFG! It’s B1 and B2 in Kuala Lumpur!!!

The brother-sister tandem who is so engrossed on being Eurasians though their parents are pure Thais! *my left eyebrow refused to rise so the right one did the raising. Ha!*

B1 and B2 are notoriously in denial. They would insist of coming from a lineage of Europeans, Australians, Americans, or just about anything “white” including doves and Beluga whales, ha-ha!

And the painful part of it is… they “prefer” to ONLY hang out with “fellow” Eurasians and Luk kreungs much to my group’s irritation. *that nose-job isn’t fooling me dude. Uh-uh!*

Let me explain “irritation” before you leave a bomb on my doorstep or go “high-almighty” on me…

When Eurasians (like the BISEANers) sit together, we don’t talk about being Eurasians or how pointed our noses are. We don’t talk about how long our legs are or how curly our eye lashes gets. No.

We don’t talk about the glory of our white ancestors either -- We’re just ordinary people who talks about nuclear physics, meta-calculus and anthropology – hahaha!

My point is… we don’t talk about being Eurasians. It has nothing to do with us as a person. Period.

Going back to B1 and B2…well, they do all of these. They would give us bullsh*t stories on how they became Eurasians and why we should hang around with them over and over again.

What’s so special with being Eurasians anyway? – Aside from being hot, gorgeous and attractive? *wink wink* Well, B1 and B2 are certainly NOT any of those 3!…So what’s the point?

By the way... forget about that traffic police. 7-Eleven is just next door anyway...

...I wonder how green Slurpee would look on a red Ferrari. Ha!


****

"I am a Bisean."

I got so much respect for the nomadic peoples of the world. There is no single place they call home and roam around as if the whole world is their “proverbial” home. The Bedouins of the Middle East, the Mongols and of course, the Gypsies of Europe whom I share part of my blood.

My friends and I were talking the other day about our life being nomads. I have been doing it for the past 10 years and some of them have been doing it for 5 -- Living in Southeast Asia as if it is just one single country.

So how do you call the nomads of Southeast Asia?

The closest are our Sea Gypsies. The Badjaos of Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei and Indonesia are the largest group. The Mokens of Thailand (Chao Ley) and Burma are the 2nd biggest group. But we can’t call ourselves Badjaos or Mokens, can we? Because it is obviously ethnicity-based.

If we use the term SEA Gypsies, which obviously stands for South East Asia, we might be confused with the Badjaos, Orang Laut or the Mokens – we certainly don’t look like ‘em! Thank you very much.

So we came up with a solution: Let it be known from this day forth, that we are coining the word “Bisean” as the modern day nomadic peoples of Southeast Asia.

There. Take that!

****

A LUNCH WITH PHILIPPINE POLITICIANS

BISEAN sitting down with a couple of Philippine politicians at lunch watching a “hearing” in the Senate about some corruption scandal against the government.




ON TV:

Star Witness: “Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah. Smiles. Blah, blah, blah.

Accused: “Blah, blah, blah.”

Star Witness: “Blah, blah. Yaddi -yaddi -da-da”.

This went on for like half an hour.


ON OUR TABLE:

All quiet, trying to focus on the proceedings. Sofia forking her dessert, Morgan studying the center-piece flowers and I… having a headache trying to decipher the Filipino words they are saying…

When the Star Witness’ face was focused again on the TV, Tommy blurted out…

“HE’S A BIG LIAR! Can’t they see it? The eye movements, the muscles on the cheeks, the lingering of words! He’s lying! His shoulders gave it away! He’s making up stories!”

Every one on the table was startled. Tommy didn’t know that all those politicians on our table are pro-Star Witness and against the government.

Hahaha!

Frankly…I also know that witness is adding and sensationalizing facts! Tommy is a Doctor of Psychology. He’ll spot a lie even before you open your mouth.

****

EVERYBODY’S HAPPY, EXCEPT ME

Hello sweeties and thank you for dropping by our blog. I wasn’t blogging anything much lately so I decided to write something for the heck of it.

For those who didn’t know; Pisanu, Morgan, Tommy, Sucre et moi flew back home from Laos last Saturday for the annual Leela-Anont Family get together-slash-raffle-draw-slash-car-extravaganza. Fokken out!
Here…let me expound it for ya, sweetie…

Every first Sunday of February of every year, all of Pisanu’s relatives come to Bangkok because he gives away cars and SUVs he used in the past year. This year, he gives away 6! Gives away – did you hear me? G-i-v-e-s a-w-a-y! And what I’m upset about is I didn’t get any! Don’t laugh. I’m dead serious honey.

I have to fly back to Bangkok to witness this crazy event? For what? Nothing? Not even a stupid Expedition? Nothing for me?!

What I’m so upset about is…once Pisanu is on a car-buying-spree again, he’ll drag me with him to all the car dealers around the city. And what does it make me feel? He can buy and I can’t? That bast*rd!

Here’s a tip for those new friends of Pisanu. Never ever tell him your dream car. Because he’ll buy it and make you jealous till you throw up. What kind of human is he? B*tch!

Anyway, so much for the free cars. We’re off to Indonesia tomorrow till Friday. Then the Philippines for a few days then Malaysia and Vietnam. That is, if there won’t be anymore of that stupid car give away extravaganza. Pffft! What a show off.

THE HOUSE WHERE A VIETNAMESE LIVES

The last time I visited my grandparents in Ayutthaya was April last year. So I went for a visit today. It's an hour drive from Bangkok. And as usual, I came unannounced because I don’t want the whole town waiting for me at the gates.

Ayutthaya, for those who don’t know…is the ancient capital of Thailand with lots of historical ruins, old ancestral houses and quite sleepy. Ok? Ok.

This is also a chance to see the old house again where “lives a Vietnamese.” A very curious house I have to pass by on my way to grandma’s.

When I was a kid, mother and I used to pass that old house. She would always point to the second floor and say: “There, lives a Vietnamese.” She always does this each and every time we pass the darn house as if a 6-year old kid gives a sh*t! *Ha!*

So, like an experimental chimp in a laboratory, mother conditioned my brain that “There, lives a Vietnamese.” *Ok, ok! I got it! Shut it already!* – And now that I’m grown up, I still remember that “There, lives a Vietnamese.” Although I never have actually seen the Vietnamese she was talking about. Duh!

Grandmother, as usual, is tending her acres and acres of orchids when I arrived…

“Hello, grandma.” I went to hug and kiss her.

She frowned. She hates it when I don’t "wai" and greet her in Thai. I could almost taste dinner as extra-extra-extra hot later on. This is her way of letting me know she’s pissed. She adds more chilies to the already hot-as-hell food to get me.

To calm her down, I spoke in Thai… (But for your sake, I’ll write it in English)

"Grandma, does the Vietnamese still lives in that old house down the road?"

Without looking at me, still tending her darn orchids, she said annoyed “Can you stop doing that stupid accent?”

"What accent?”

“That! That accent! Speak proper Thai. Didn’t your mother teach you proper Thai?” I can tell from where I’m standing, grandma is pissed.

“Grandma, I just wanna know if that Vietnamese still lives there. Why are you so angry?” I said softly trying to calm her down.

She ignored me, silent treatment. This is how they are -- traditional old people want you to submit to them. Ok, I’ll play the game…

In a calm voice, I said slowly “Grandma, I just wanna know if that --“

“What Vietnamese?!!” She retorted.

*sigh* “That old house that mother used to tell me when I was a kid, over and over, that a Vietnamese lives there.” I said trying my best Thai intonation. “Maybe he was a refugee in the 70s war?” I added, winking my eyes trying to be cute.

“Why would she tell you that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Keeping my Thai enunciation in perfect form.

“Tell you what?”

*sigh* “If that Vietnamese still lives there! GRANDMA!” I said the ‘grandma’ part with a little hint of impatience, so I brazed myself for retaliation. I looked away.

Then grandma spoke in a manner of a true Thai aristocrat... her choice of words were obsolete and will haunt me forever…

“I lived all my life in Ayutthaya. On this same road, on this same house….”

I was listening intently, mesmerized. Then she continued…

“There was no Vietnamese that ever lived in that house.”


MOTHER, I KNOW YOU ARE READING THIS.

I WANT A WRITTEN EXPLANATION. NOW!

IRRISISTIBLE BI-MEN: Their Strategies Revealed

They are the epitome of a walking mystery. Not just by choice, but by aura. Bisexual men are in our midst and although some of them will be totally outright proud to be one; others will never reveal their true persona and will keep you guessing till it hurts. Why are bi-men exceptionally irresistible? Let me reveal some of their strategies…

Their armada – striking features, confidence, confusing scent, mysterious aura, the bed skills and unending tenderness. These are their strategies when they are out on a hunt.

Bi-men are gorgeous and they know it. They launch this squadron of striking features with charm and nobody; men or women, can ever resist this wonderful assault on our senses.

I used to date a bi-man who is so gorgeous... everybody, wherever we go, would shamelessly turn their heads and stare. Are bi-men born with it or is this part of the confidence factor? – That they are so beautiful, they can get away with anything? I tell you honey, both.

I also used to date a bi-man who would wear “confusing” scents as a strategy. A personification of the proverbial “tall, dark and handsome”, he would deliberately wear women’s perfume. The “Confusing Scent” strategy is to make women think that other women have already stroked their bodies all over him – hence, desirable. This strategy is also done to baffle other men; confusing their subconscious mind that they are actually looking at a potential mate. And I’m telling you, other men do check him out and women are bedazzled. If you are alone in an elevator with him, your imagination would really run wild.

Another version of this strategy is the “Drunk Angel” tactic – a term I learned from Pisanu [babe, please forgive me for name dropping =)]. How does it work? – He would sport a clean-shaven, well-kept haired good-boy-look and spray “brandy” all over. Now, this strategy is original! Here comes a gorgeous clean-shaven-guy, the type you’d like to bring home to dad; but when he comes by you…he smells alcohol! Don’t we just like our men a little naughty?

Bi-men are also known to exude higher pheromones at will; adding to the confusion. How can you not notice a gorgeous guy, oozing masculinity with a scent of a woman?

Some people would think that when they’re out with a bi-man on a public place, he would check out every single attractive girls and boys he would come across. Some women would joke about having to compete with not just other women but with men too! This is not true – real bi-men would NOT check out anyone at all! It’s part of the strategy. Gay men would think he is straight because he won’t return the eye contact and women would think he is gay for doing the same. Real bi-men will not return any eye contact no matter what. The mystery, the mystery, the mystery. They feed on it. Get it?

But how do you know if a bi-man fancies you? [Let’s say in a public place] It’s very simple. Remember the “confusing scent” strategy for subtly getting attention? It will be followed by “flattery” (confidence strategy) and strike a conversation – a confident man is never shy. A bi-man swept me off my feet when he said: “I know a lot of people maybe telling you how beautiful you are all the time, but your eyes are the best I have ever seen.” [Sweet!] I don’t know what they say to men though.

A bi-man is a real man in bed. While most straight guys would give you 3 minutes, 5 the most; bi-men would give you an hour for the foreplay alone. Their ability to stay aroused for hours is legendary. Why do you think that they can go to bed with both sexes? Libido, sweetie. Lots of it! -- Get it?

The softer and gentler side of a bi-man will come after the sex. They will hold you close for hours, gently touching you all over and whispering sweet nothings to your ears. Plus, you don’t have to worry about the kiss-and-tell because bi-men would not want to reveal anything to anyone or it will ruin the whole armada.

--Sofia

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THE LOST IRISHMAN

Phnom Penh, Cambodia -- I was having my morning latte at the coffee shop next to my hostel. I was eagerly waiting to meet Arunny, our Cambodian blog mate who strangely speaks English in a Louisiana accent. *I didn’t believe she was actually Cambodian until I personally met her* Anyways...


I was watching the people go by and closely observing how the Cambodians drive their motorcycles when a Caucasian with an Irish accent came by…obviously a backpacker…

“Hello, how’re you doing?” he said taking his big bag off his back.

“Good morning. How are you?” I smiled. “You seem lost dude.” I added.

“Yes, maybe you can help me. I was walking all morning trying to find the Cambodian Embassy.”

*me, staring blankly* A slip of the tongue? I wasn’t quite sure I heard his last words but I think he is lost – R E A L L Y L O S T ! – So I didn’t reply, pretending I didn’t hear him.

He lit a ciggie and said “I want to go back to Thailand for a couple of days and I am looking for the Cambodian Embassy to apply for a visa. So when I come back here, I won’t have a problem.”

Hmm…seems like he knows where he is anyway. I continued observing him because I really don’t know how to answer his question.

So I asked “You from Ireland?”

“Yes.” He was beaming with pride.

“Is there any Irish Embassy IN Ireland?” my left eyebrow started to rise. If he answers “no” then he answered his own question; if he answers “yes” – then we are both in deep sh*t…

“YES.”

OMG…I don’t’ wanna laugh out loud. Brad Pitt in Snatch and Tom Cruise in Far And Away clearly depicts Irishmen with exceptional boxing skills! So I kept it to myself – but what am I gonna do? I really wanna help this poor guy out…

“Alright dude, here’s the deal…” I looked directly to his eyes. “They moved the Cambodian Embassy to Bangkok a couple of months ago…so maybe you should try and get your visa there?” *my hands were shaking, ready to run...*

The Irishman gave me the look, stood up, took his big bag to his back and said “Just my luck. They should’ve kept the embassy here. After all, this is Cambodia…thanks for the help.” Then off he went.

Well I’ll be damned.


****

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THE DREADED QUESTION: Manila-Style

*Me, sitting at Greenbelt Park enjoying my afternoon latte while Sofia, Akihiro and Morgan are shopping to death…*

“Hello! Where do you come from?”

OMG! No-no-no!…not this conversation again! Am I back in Thailand? Huh!? Nope, the sign clearly says Greenbelt Park, so this is Manila. But why am I getting this dreaded question again? No, no, no…there’s gotta be a mistake. I’m not gonna fall for this again. “Excuse me? What did you say?” *oh shoots!*

“You look like a tourist. Where are you from?” the guy said smiling.

“Oh! I’m from Thailand.” I quickly replied, sipping my latte.

“You’re from Taiwan! My sister is a factory worker there. Many years already.”

YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! This is a new conversation after all!


“No, no, no…Thai – land.” I studied his reaction… NOPE! It didn’t register. So I changed my statement…

“I’m from Bangkok.” There! I think he would recognize my city.

“Wow! You speak Tagalog? Anong bangko?”

*gasp!*

He meant -- “What bank?”!!!

I’M OUTTA HERE.


Related Article: ”Wer You Cam Phom?”

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ONE BIG FILIPINO-STYLE WELCOME

Tuesday, our 3rd day -- I’m beginning to think this Manila trip is pre-empted. I mean, we can’t go out on our own. We have schedules to go here and there, visit this and that and we are always driven home early! I really wish they would lend us a car to go around without a chauffeur. So, we planned to break our way out! Ha!

Akihiro phoned a taxi because we wanted to go to P. Burgos St. and visit Jools or Mogambo to see a hundred girls in bikini. But the governess told us that the taxi was turned away at the gate. And if we try to walk our way out the village, we might be turned away too on our way back! *Whadda?!* This is not good. No siree!

So what’s for us to do? -- We called Trouffles. The youngest member of the XXXXX clan (our hosts) and asked her if she can drive us around. And what do you know – she said yes, BUT – after she parade us in front of her friends and classmates on a nearby mall! *This little girl needs some serious spanking, I tell you*

“Ok, ok! Just get us outta here!” I yelled on the phone. I planned to manipulate her to ditch her friends and bring us to P. Burgos instead. Ha!

A few minutes later, here she comes with her full entourage of 5 cars! OMG! What in the world?! I thought the classmates would be at the mall?!! “Oh! They don’t want to wait, kuya.” Trouffles said. (“Kuya” means big brother in Filipino). “Ok let’s go, LET’S GO!” I’m not really sure about this – I wanna call it off! It turned out that all of the 5 cars have a personal driver-slash-bodyguard on it! *sigh* There goes Jools and Mogambo…

The girls (and boys) in the car knew a lot about us. I’m not sure if they have been reading our blog or Sofia is being a big mouth donkey again. A few minutes more and a couple of “wave-your-phone-in-the-air-and-say-cheese”, we were on this mall called Market Market to meet some MORE friends! *Oh! C’mon! Akihiro, do sumthin’!*

The excessively hospitable Trouffles and her friends took us to Dusit Hotel Nikko and for some reason, picked a Thai restaurant called Benjarong Royal Thai. *yeah right, don't we like eat Thai food like everyday?* Afterwards, we went to a nearby mall and we were also “showered” with Selecta ice cream which they said is a local brand (we actually have it in Thailand but its called Wall’s). What happened to Magnolia, by the way?

Just as you are beginning to think this is already the icing on the cake well, you’re wrong! -- The parents started to show up one by one (I mean, pair by pair) to say hi! The girls and boys called them to meet us! *Ugh!*

And they didn’t come empty handed -- We got miniature jeepneys, a rosary *huh?!*, 2 teddy bears wearing Barong, 3 peuter ashtrays with “Philippines” etched on it, a small clock with seashells, a mini Bible *huh?!*, a box of polvoron sweets, 4 packs of dried mangoes…what else…ah! The Maria Clara Barbie doll for Sofia. I think there’s more, I just forgot the rest.

Akihiro and I was in total awe!… Here we are, complete strangers whom maybe they just heard about from their kids, meeting us for the first time and we were showered with gifts! We never felt so welcome in our whole lives! This is “Welcome” – Filipino style.

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* We later met Sofia and Morgan to go to Malate District. I think Sofia blogged about it already, yeah?




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A DISTINCT SOUTHEAST ASIAN RELIGION?

“Do you have a Lord Brahma image?” I asked the old Indian lady manning the shop in Kuala Lumpur’s Little India.

She only gave me an unsure look and smiled. I was scuffling back and forth the aisle barely containing the Ganesha images in my arms and I so need to find Lord Brahma’s small figurine so I can go home.

Seem like she’s not gonna answer me so I went on looking through hundreds of stuffs in the shop.

After 10 more minutes… "No, we don’t have.” -- OH THANK YOU LADY! *And you figured the answer after 10 years? Ha!* I went up to her to pay for my stuffs.

“Are you Hindu?” she asked me. I said “No, I’m not. I’m Buddhist… Well, sort of…” Handing her my Ganesha images. “How much for everything?” I added.

I know what she was thinking all along -- I don’t look like South Asian, I’m not a Hindu but I hoard Ganesha images and looking for more Brahmas. So, I took the initiative to explain before she spends the rest of her lifetime figuring out what in the world am I.

“I’m from Thailand.” I told her. “Although we are mainly Buddhists, we revere Lord Ganesha, Lord Brahma and the Trimutri…We have a version of the Ramayana and we know Hanuman, Erawan, Indra… ” mentioning every familiar Hindu characters to ring the biggest bell on her ears.

Then she was like “well-I’ll-be-damned!” giving me the “bewildered-little-girl” look. And I was like “cool-isn’t-it?” giving her the best Thai smile I can ever display.

A major part of Thai culture is defined by Buddhism -- but Hindu deities are part of our beliefs too. We share the same concept with the Laotians, the Burmese and the Khmers.

When Buddhism and Hinduism are assimilated together –
is this a distinct Southeast Asian religion?


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"WER YOU CAM POHM?"

“Wer you cam pohm?” An almost musical, Thai accent-voice came from behind me.

“I don’t wanna look. I don’t wanna look. I don’t wanna look.” I said quietly to myself. I have answered this question a million times and when I entertain it; the conversation will not end as soon as it should. I will not entertain it this time. No! Period.

“Hey you! Wer you cam pohm?” the voice seem closer now. But I’m determined not to look behind. Maybe he’s not talking to me anyway although I’m the only one on this bench. Queen Sirikit Park got lots of foreign joggers in the afternoon, so maybe he’s asking somebody else.

I tried to ignore him. All I wanted was to enjoy this horrible vegemite that one of my readers in Australia sent me. But I’m really sorry – it’s already half the bottle but it still tastes like dust! *smirk* Shall I give the rest to the “wer-you-cam-pohm” guy? – I looked behind me…oh shoots! I said I won’t!

“Wat you eet?” he said smiling. I didn’t answer. “Wer you cam pohm?” the dreaded question came again.

“I’m Thai.” I said in English.

“You not look lai Thai people.” he said like I’m bullshitting him.

*See?* This is why I always avoid this question. I know how to answer it but people seem to have a hard time comprehending it.

“Roo krub. Pohm pasaa Tai dai krub.” (I know. I can speak Thai )*teasing him with the weirdest accent I can muster*. “I’m also Belgian” I continued like I was talking to a 2 year old.

He gave me the “I-didn’t-f*ckin-understand-what-you-just-said” look so, I enunciated “BEL-YIAM” in Thai accent. He got it! Whew!

“You not look lai Bel-yiam people.”

*See?* I told ya -- This conversation won’t go anywhere and I bet his next question is if I like Thailand.

“You lai Thailand?” *Aha! See???*

I’m really determined to finish this conversation…so, I stood up…raised my right hand to my chest and sang: “ประเทศไทยรวมเลือดเนื้อชาติเชื้อไทย เป็นประชารัฐ ไผทของไทยทุกส่วน…” [The Thai national anthem]

I think I embarrassed him. He walked away.

And I forgot to give him the horrible vegemite!


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THE REVENGE OF THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY Part 2

Music class, 15-16 years ago, Belgium: I was about 9 years old and all I wanted is to become a singer like Luis Miguel, play the piano and fly an airplane. The class was given musical instruments to play and for some reason, Mr. Van Riemsdijk insists that I get the drum – although he knew I play the piano!

The drum was ok but I’m the only one with it. My classmates either get a flute, a violin, or a guitar. Mr. Van Riemsdijk even gave the piano to a boy with 2 left hands! I didn’t know what he was thinking! *grrrr*

“Hit the drum on MY cue.” he would say…and one nod from him, I go: “BOOM!” When he nods twice, I go: “BOOM! BOOM!” And it doesn’t stop there! I have to take his cue to hit the goddam drum “soft”, “hard” or “real hard”! – I was just 9 for f*ck sake!!! I wanna hit the drum as many times I want!... OH! 3 nods!!! I go: “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” And I was like: “Waaaahhhhh! Get me outta here!”


On some days we get voice lessons from Mr. Van Riemsdijk...he would yell “YOU!” (it means me, because he never calls me by name but sometimes he calls me “Gypsy”).

“Stand up here and sing with your drum.” he said -- always in Dutch. Although he knew half of the class DON’T speak Dutch. *and who sings with a drum? Honestly? Pffft!*

Then I go: [BOOM] “Des yeux qui font baisser les miens...[BOOM BOOM]...Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche [BOOM!]...Voila le por..."

”NEXT!” he yelled so hard that the elephants as far as Laos would die of a heart attack! “I haven’t finished my first line yet.” I said quietly. He always does that to me…But when other kids sing…he let ‘em finish. *sigh, darn!*


One day, the boy on the piano didn’t come to class. I thought it was my chance! Imagine a 9-year-old boy raising his hands so eager to get the part -- “ME! ME! ME!”.... And you know what he did?... he picked another boy who can ONLY play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”!!! -- with one hand!!! HOLY GUACAMOLE! I can play Rachmaninoff at that age, thank you very much!

The horror of a half-breed little boy, living in boarding school with people like Mr. Van Riemsdijk to terrorize me for 2 years is just too traumatic to bear. I never become a singer, I lost interest playing the piano and never flew an airplane. If Mr. Van Riemsdijk did all those things on purpose to destroy my dreams, he really did succeed.

After 15 years, I am again face to face with my tyrant -
– in Bangkok! Of all places! -- V is for vendetta. Ha!



TO BE CONTINUED...last part tomorrow.

THE REVENGE OF THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

I had the pleasure of meeting a group of visiting bloggers from Scandinavia last Saturday night. Since most of them are Bangkok first timers, I took the liberty to show them my city as unfairly depicted on magazines, books and the internet – party, booze and lots of sex. Knut *don’t even try to click that link, his blog is crap! LOL! Just kidding.*, Marithe and Jan blindly followed wherever I lead them.

After some serious bar hopping, we had coffee at Starbucks Suriwongse just across Patpong. The three of ‘em went in to get coffee while I sat outside to smoke.

On my 3rd puff, an old-fat white bloke went up to me and shamelessly asked for a stick of ciggie; the sweat, the slippers, the smell and all! He must be Dutch basing on his accent. Farang (Caucasian) beggars are “normal” sightings in Bangkok so, this isn't exactly new to me. He went to sitting next to my table, took out a box of match sticks and enjoyed his newly acquired cancer-stick.

I gave him an indignant look when he took a cup of half-finished left-over coffee on the table that other customers left. I don't know if I will feel sorry or feel really sorry for him. I observed a little more…he looks kinda familiar. I wanted to give him some money to buy fresh coffee and a pack of ciggies, but I'll wait till he asks.

*I didn’t care if he see me shamelessly observing him, I’m pretty sure I met him somewhere… *

And then...among the noisy tuk-tuks and taxis...the old bloke started to sing! Oh my god, he lost it! He's singing eyes closed, emotions and all!..He sipped the last drop of left-over coffee…THEN IT STRUCK ME!

“MIJNHEER VAN RIEMSDIJK?!!!!” I called out so loud he dropped his ciggie.

I didn't mean to startle him out of his wit but... Oh my god! It’s Mr. Van Riemsdijk! My music teacher in Belgium! What is he doing here? What happened to him? Why is he begging like this? Last time I saw him like, what?...15 years ago? What happened?



TO BE CONTINUED…

PhotoCredit: Mark G. Capitella