Authors: Chai Pinit
I gradually began to lose interest in playing chess—it was too slow-paced. So instead I started playing cards in a local gambling den. My parents never warned me against following in their footsteps. They didn’t consider themselves heavy gamblers as they never spent a lot of money at one time. Instead, they lost small amounts but over a long period. They claimed they only played for fun and as a way of passing the time.
Gambling greatly contributed to my obsession with money. The more I lost, the more I wanted to play to win it back. I saw money as a source of power and an excuse to show off. I developed a cocky habit of counting thick piles of banknotes in public places so that people could see how much I had. In the school canteen, while queuing for my seven-baht meal, I’d nonchalantly flip through a wad of banknotes. Money made me feel superior to both teachers and friends. When asked where the money had come from, I would boast that I’d won it in the gambling den. This was a complete lie because I generally lost far more than I ever won. It was almost impossible to beat the house; so to stay afloat I ‘borrowed’ money from the cash box in my family’s grocery store.
To substantiate my claims, I would buy schoolmates meals and snacks. All the while, my teachers would watch on disapprovingly, but I interpreted their reaction as mere jealousy. I was persuaded by the behaviour of the likes of Loed and Pisut that, like them, all teachers harboured dirty secrets. So they had no right whatsoever to judge me.
My friends, who praised me for my generosity, fed my ego all the more. I foolishly thought the friendships were genuine and failed to see what an idiot I was—all it took was a few false compliments and I readily parted with my money. It’s only now that I understand the real reason for my teachers’ disapproving looks—they were looking at a good boy transforming into one that was pathetic and deluded.
Even though my parents’ grocery store sold alcohol, it wasn’t until my mid-teens, and after I had met Loed, that I started to become dependent on it. I frequented dens where gambling and drinking went hand in hand, just like sticky rice and chilli paste.
Noi, an older boy from the same village, recruited me into his gang of ruffians. I didn’t think twice about befriending him or his fellow members. I considered it perfectly normal having these scoundrels as allies, for my father had associated with the same type of people when he was younger. By sixteen, I was drinking, gambling, smoking and hanging out with a gang. I began stealing liquor from my parents’ store and would often share it with my friends.
The first pistol I ever owned was pawned to me by a senior member of the same gang. I thought of the gun as an accessory more than anything else. I started bringing it to school in my schoolbag, along with a bottle of liquor, so that I could show my friends how bad and
cheng
(cool) I was. I began associating being a ‘good boy’ with boredom. Adolescence is undoubtedly a time for finding one’s sense of self and for rebelling against authority figures, but I took it too far. I started showing up at school drunk and reeking of alcohol. My attitude screamed loudly that I no longer cared about the place . . . or very much else for that matter. Teachers occasionally asked to see me after class to tentatively enquire after my well-being and whether I was experiencing problems at home. I revelled in the idea of being a problematic student—I wore this label as a badge of honour and loved being the centre of attention.
I drank so heavily that my face became bloated and I started to neglect my appearance. There were times I was too drunk to care enough to shower. I began to skip school which caused my grades to nosedive, and I lied to my parents that my schoolwork was as good as always; sadly, they took my word for it.
Wherever I went I was armed with a bottle of booze. Girls were attracted to the bad-boy image; but ironically, despite the charisma I projected, I was still too shy to make the first move, restrained by a combination of fear and pride. I was terrified I might perform poorly in bed revealing just how inexperienced I really was.
Fortunately, by the time my alcohol addiction had become fully fledged, I simply didn’t have enough room in my life for other dependencies. My friends offered me a variety of drugs, which I always tried for fear of being called a sissy. I sampled marijuana and sniffed glue during my final year of secondary level. Marijuana made me smile and laugh a lot but that was about it; after its effects wore off, I never craved it as I did liquor. Sniffing glue didn’t really appeal to me either; I used amphetamines on and off but I found the effects torturous—they kept me awake half the night and I couldn’t sit still for longer than a few seconds at a time. Alcohol was therefore my first choice.
I soon became known as one of the biggest troublemakers in my village. I would pick fights with anyone who gave me a disapproving glance. If someone crossed me, I spitefully ordered a member of my gang to slug him.
My parents grew increasingly concerned. My mother despairingly said she wanted her old son back; conversely, my father advised me that if I was going to be bad then I might as well be terrible. He wanted me to pursue an honest path in life but, as he said, ‘You’re on the back of a tiger now. There’s no point in getting off or it’ll eat you.’ I think he meant that through my actions I’d already made a lot of enemies; it was too late now to do a U-turn and become a better person—there would be too many scores to settle.
In retrospect, I underestimated my parents concerns.
CHAPTER 3
I can only lament as I recall those times. When I ran out of money, I stealthily snuck into my home like a starved dog, seeking out booze and banknotes. I quickly set to work pocketing bottles of whisky and stuffing money into my jeans before making a speedy getaway on my accomplice’s motorbike. I avoided my parents and siblings, all of whom by then were gravely disappointed with me. I had alienated myself from my own people —from those nearest and dearest to me. I was a thief in my own house.
As I grew into my late teens, the neighbours gossiped about my faults and failings. I became hardened by a lack of conscience and I didn’t feel nor fear their contempt. However, the real victims of this ridicule felt everything. My parents’ child-rearing abilities came into question and they were deeply hurt by the harsh criticism they were affronted with. The scornful murmurs became more prevalent when my family’s financial status started to deteriorate. There were huge gambling debts mounting with creditors demanding their dues. Additionally, my parents ran our grocery store poorly and neglected to use even the most basic accounting. Furthermore, my father’s misguided generosity of supplying food and beer to his friends made matters even worse.
My parents hastily sold off some of their land, and took out a loan in order to repay the most urgent debts. The rest of us chipped in any way we could to maintain face within the community. Although I was selfish in the extreme, I cared about my family’s reputation. There’s nowhere to run in such a small village, so keeping our standing intact was of the utmost importance. My younger sister Nuan had never showed much promise at school and was the first child asked to sacrifice her education. After all, education was considered a waste of money and time for girls when they could easily be married off and taken care of by their future husbands. Over the next few years, the rest of my siblings were requested to sacrifice their schooling for the sake of the family’s reputation, and in order that I might pursue higher education. At the time I simply took all this for granted.
While many factors contributed to our financial woes, I was the main cause of my family’s downfall; after all I was stealing their money to throw away at gambling dens and to maintain my friends’ loyalty. There is a Thai proverb that states
Tam di, dai di, tam chua, dai chua,
‘Do good or bad and you’ll be rewarded accordingly.’ I was soon to see just how much my behaviour would take a hold of my life and rob me of my future.
My parents sadly informed me that they couldn’t afford to send me to the prestigious school in Ubon Ratchathani Province, as they’d always planned. A minority of the more fortunate children from my village were sent to this school. This was viewed as a great achievement and another way for parents to earn face. Not that I cared about study, but I’d dreamt of using such an opportunity to make my name known in Ubon. I also desired to be far from my parents in order to pursue my ruffian lifestyle freely.
I took the news very badly. I didn’t hide the fact I blamed my parents for destroying my noble aspirations and I openly railed against sticking it out at the local no-name school for three more years. I chose to free-fall headlong down an even more destructive path just to spite my parents. I thus became more aggressive and violent than before.
When I came to be the
luk pi
or ‘leader’ of my gang I spent even less time at home and school. My favourite pastime was making grandiose entrances at local temple or makeshift fairs. My hooligan image was bolstered by the cronies sauntering obediently behind me. We liked to shoot off our mouths and flex our muscles at these celebrations, which often resulted in bloody fights with opposing gangs. Eventually my reputation preceded me and organizers, who were afraid that I was going to ruin the event, made it clear that I was not welcome.
At one such temple fair as I was dancing, a much younger boy from another gang walked straight up to me—probably in response to a dare—grabbed my collar and held his fist up ready to hit me. I stood still and stared at him, taunting him to throw the punch.
‘Go ahead. What’s stopping you, you little bastard?’ Due to my posse looming in the background and my fearless stance, he chickened out and retreated quickly.
‘I’m going to teach this sissy a lesson!’ I shouted and I ran to a food cart, took a glass bottle and headed towards my assailant. The fair attendees gasped as I raced by them in hot pursuit. With a swift blow, I smashed the bottle on his head. Blood poured down his face instantly as he collapsed to the floor. I threw the remainder of the bottle at his prostrate body and marched off in a proud huff.
Once his family learnt about his public humiliation, they demanded an apology and 10,000 baht in
kha tam kwan
, compensation to help them come to terms with the situation. I adamantly refused to entertain their requests. They stated that the boy had dignity and I had no right to take that from him or them. I responded that he was the one who provoked me and I also had dignity, which I merely defended. I pointed out that my father was a teacher and my mother a renowned medium and that they were only poor farmers, so I didn’t understand what the boy had to be proud of. I justified my actions because he was beneath me and therefore it was I who had been gravely insulted. His family backed downed and never bothered me again. On reflection, their attempts at recovering face and my defence of my own seems trivial and childish. Sadly, this petty victory emboldened me to believe that I could take on anyone.
Inevitably, there were plenty of folk who wanted to put me in my place. When I did go to school, I was a drunken nuisance. After hearing the teachers’ complaints, a seasoned, local soldier thought he’d bring me down a peg or two. He took it upon himself to enlighten me as to what tough love meant.
I was blithely drinking in the schoolyard when he marched over to me and slapped my face indignantly. ‘What utter rubbish you are! Pull yourself together!’ he barked inches from my face. I was shocked but managed to shoot back an angry look before he slapped and punched me repetitively until my nose bled. My face was numb, and my ears rang—I feared I’d become deaf. Some schoolmates looked on in complete disbelief, having moved a safe distance away. These dared not interfere; meanwhile others obviously took pleasure in my utter humiliation. Undoubtedly, they thought it served me right to be attacked in such a manner. As I came to my senses, I turned red with fury, I could feel my indignation rising, ready to explode. As soon as he turned his back on me, I lunged forward, grabbed him in a headlock and began punching at his muscular body. He was almost twice my size and shook me off easily, and wailed into me some more. All I could do was to wriggle out of his grip and run for my life before he inflicted serious damage. It was my first taste of being reined in, but I didn’t learn my lesson. If anything, it fully reinforced my resentment of those in charge.
On another occasion my cousin and I spent the evening at a busy fair. This was comprised of makeshift shops, amusement rides, games, a boxing ring and an outdoor cinema. I was already flying from one too many drinks, while my cousin was at least sober enough to talk reasonably. Eventually, he wanted to call it a night but I desired to continue carousing and insisted he stay. A fight quickly erupted. We wrestled, yelled obscenities at each other and made a grand disturbance. I chased him around playfully but it must have looked as if I was bullying him.
Suddenly, I felt a heavy blow to my stomach which sucked the air out of me and caused my legs to collapse. A group of men, led by the village chief, grabbed my arms and dragged me to a deserted field nearby. It was dark except for the ominous circles of light emanating from their handheld lamps. Apparently, it was the fair organisers’ complaints about me that prompted this response. A lamp was held to my face as one of them yelled, ‘Who the hell do you think you are to disturb others’ fun, huh?’ I observed that they’d encircled me and were armed with thick planks. They were more than ready to beat the living daylights out of me; in fact they looked as if they’d relish it. My tough guy persona dissolved as I knelt shivering like a newly hatched bird. It might sound strange to you but this was the village chief’s method of keeping peace. Thais call this local justice san tia, that is, taking matters to the lower court. This was the way goons were taught their lesson, although sometimes things got too heavy-handed.
‘Let’s beat the bastard to a pulp, sir!’ one of the vigilantes shouted as he menacingly pointed a board to my head looking to the village chief for approval. Fortunately, my victim’s relative had seen them drag me off and came running to my rescue. He begged them to spare me and deliberately dropped my father’s name as he pleaded for mercy. The chief narrowed his eyes angrily, then reluctantly told his men to release me. He squatted down, looked into my eyes, and poked my forehead with force. ‘Worthless waste of life that you are, I’ll let you go this time. I’m well acquainted with your old man and he’s all right. Don’t let me see you around here again, or else . . .’
I have no doubts that they would’ve savagely beaten, or even killed me if it hadn’t been for the good deeds my father performed for the village. Good deeds or not, the villagers would have thought the chief had done them a favour by eradicating another troublemaker. It was a close call!
The first thing that came to mind after my fear subsided was my father’s words. I couldn’t as yet come down from the back of the tiger as there were still other people who wanted me dead. Standing alone I most likely would not survive.
One last incident that helped drive this point home happened when, as usual, I was drunk. I happened upon the village inspector—a local sheriff—named Chit. I held a deep-seated grudge against him for I perceived he’d been acting aloofly towards me. He used to be one of my many drinking buddies before being elected to his new position. Suddenly he had become too good to drink with the likes of me. So I sent out a challenging insult.
‘Chit you pompous snob!’ It was ridiculous for me to call anyone else arrogant, but in my conceit I did. My pride directed my temper and my mouth followed suit.
‘Look who stoops to grace us with his presence. Do you also expect us to bow to you, oh mighty toad? Was it not recently you who came begging my parents for their votes? You wouldn’t have your position if it weren’t for the likes of us.’ My friends cheered and let out peals of laughter as they applauded my rebukes. I threw down my final challenge ‘Come on. I can take you out with a single punch!’
Almost as soon as these words rang out, all laughter ceased. Chit pulled out his pistol and aimed it at me. While I carried a gun, sometimes it wasn’t loaded; this was one of those times. So I did the only thing I could, I ran for my life. Chit pursued, propelled by rage, threatening me with all sorts of retribution once he caught me. I flew into the sanctuary of my home and hid behind my father who was stationed in the doorway. He quickly realised what was about to ensue and begged Chit for mercy. My parents pleaded and reasoned that he shouldn’t have taken offence at the words of a drunken, stupid man. He eventually conceded and walked away after much grovelling and pleading on my parents’ part. I could only cower behind their backs. I had dragged my parents into a dangerous arena because of my mischief and put them at serious risk by forcing them to protect me. Shame engulfed me as I reflected on my parents’ love and willingness to do anything to safeguard me, their ungrateful son, even to the point of standing in the way of a possible gunshot.
That was the last straw. I realised there would always be someone bigger and meaner out there who would be ready to take me out. I couldn’t stay on top forever. I concluded that my drinking buddies could easily become my enemies one day. All it would take was a small misguided tilt of a whiskey glass or a misunderstood word. There was no shortage of gunmen for hire in my tiny lawless world. I’d erroneously thought I had been working my way up the ladder of power while, in reality, I was digging myself deeper into a hole. This hole looked like a game at first, but as the stakes got higher, I knew I could never win. I had to stop playing for good.
I was too afraid to face the person I’d become or to ask for help. Instead I poured drink down my throat, temporarily sending my mistakes into exile through merrymaking. Even though I was drunk most of the time, I managed to keep my head down over the following months and avoided trouble in order to finish high school.
I barely made it through. I failed in English and physics because I didn’t complete the specified assignments. I was granted an additional month to work on the AWOL assignments in order to finally pass. In the meantime, other students were preparing for the national entrance exam to compete for a place at university. I’d lost the drive to participate in the upcoming tests.
My days continued in the same negative fashion for the following year; the only difference was I was not out challenging others to fight. My father had had enough of my purposelessness and instructed me to look to my uncle Mana as an example. Pa told me that his little brother left Sisaket to find work in the seaside tourist town of Pattaya and had been doing exceedingly well. Uncle Mana didn’t ask for monetary help from anyone to start his venture, in fact he sent money back to his parents every month to help support them. As a Thai, I knew all too well that this was expected of a child—to show gratitude to his parents for giving him life by supporting them in their later years. Pa insisted that I should ask Mana for help to find a job in Pattaya. I’m sure he hoped I’d also send him and Mae support. With an ever growing record of embarrassing failures and with my list of enemies growing, I decided to flee to the safety of Pattaya and start my life anew.
After a long bus journey, I arrived at what seemed to be a brightly lit world of fun and pleasure. I was exhausted yet highly surprised. It was as if I had stepped into a red-light funfair with streets full of fancy hotels, exotic foreigners, and sophisticated women, and a nightlife that made Pattaya a far cry from my rural village.