Upon which I feel it neccessary to partake in a “Blind Date”

Yai is a thai word.  If you use the correct intonation it means “grandma” in the same way that I say “Oma.”  It’s familiar and lovely, and I’m fortunate to have a lady in my life that I can call Yai. 

Yai is approximately 75 years old.  Her face explodes into laughter, her guttoral low toned voice speaks slowly and jokingly almost all of the time.  Her wig, always cocked on her head, shakes when she laughs.  She has hip pain, and walks slow and with care.  She always holds my hand when we’re out and about.  When we sit close her hand rests on my knee, gently tapping for emphasis.

Yesterday I walked the streets of Surat Thani, my old home, for the first time since my yoga course.  The smells were the same, motorbike exhaust mixed with powdery dirt and menthol talc powder.  As I hummed a tune down Donnok Road I heard Yai’s distinct voice across the street… “Lee-sah?”

Delighted to see a familiar face in a place that had become so unfamiliar, I lifted my sunglasses and tore across the street, dodging a cyclo and a few motorbikes until I sat beside her.  She hugged me like a grandmother should, tightly with some firm back smacks, unsure if I was choking on something or not.  She seemed truly overjoyed to see me; her daughters and grandkids are all spread and busy and she has a lot of free time on her hands.  We chatted in Thai for a bit.  I stumbled through sentences, realizing for the first time how much three months speaking mostly English has affected my previously quite fluent Thai.  “Loo-um mak mak!” I told her, “I forgot a lot!”  She laughed and jovially slapped my upper arm for effect. 

Then she asks me about love.  “Mee fren mai?” she asked my love status directly and with no hesitation.  “Mai mee na kaa…” I slowly answered my single-ness, figuring she was just asking out of curiousity.  At this point in the story, Yai’s eyes are sparkling even more than usual.  She claps her hands together and starts speaking furiously, quickly, a morse code of sounds and facial expressions that I attempt to follow for a few seconds… I understood a few words… son… single… Phuket… thai person.  I ask her to repeat this jumble, and she does, the same way I sometimes see foreigners talk to thai people… deafeningly and slowly.  She hollars that her friend the seamster (is that the masculine form of seamstress?) has a son.  He’s thirty.  He lives in Phuket.  Something about a boat.  He is ‘laaaw mak mak’ and I am intrigued… she thinks I’d match with her friend’s superhandsome son?  Now the seamster is digging through his bag.  “Foh-toh… foh-toh!” Yai calls to me that he has a photo of said handsome man.  The passport sized photo is worn and scratched.  It’s a graduation photo of a young thai boy, about eighteen years old, with a tiny head and huge ears.  I mean HUGE.  He has a quirky smile that suggests he’s a funny guy.  I laughed.  “Laaw mai?” Yai presses to ask me if I think he’s handsome.  “Laaw kaa…” I say yea, but under those circumstances with his father looking on eagerly… what’s a girl to say??

Somehow I got talked into meeting HM the following day, at noon.  I wasn’t sure if I was translating correctly, so the following day I casually showed up late.  Yai was there, in her hero pose, on the floor of the seamsters, sipping something brown and smelling of camphor.  She made motions to me that I needed to put on make-up.  I exclaimed that I don’t like make-up, then I started to actually get more nervous than amused.  I’m going on a blind date!  I want to look good!  I smoothed my skirt down, tucked some wisps of hair behind my ears, straightened my necklace. 

Up walks HM.  He is tall, obviously supremely shy, with a deep voice that I imagined would crack if he said more than two words.  He grew into his ears, but they still protruded from his head in a way that made my hello-smile much more genuine.  I tried to introduce myself, but his befuddled expression and nervous body language led me to understand he doesn’t speak english.  Great.  These sort of things are weird and awkward enough in general, without the language barrier.  For the next three minutes we all sort of sat around in silence.  Seamster, his son, Yai, and I.  Twiddling thumbs, gazing at passing motorbikes, trying to figure out something to say. 

My mind was hysterically laughing.  Why do I put myself in these sort of situations?  I thought a second.  “Just to see what happens,” was the answer I came up with.  Just to have a funny story.  And who knows, maybe this handsome man will have a good heart and learn English and we’ll ride off happily ever after.  I’m not really looking for a fairy tale, to be honest, I’m not really looking for anything, I’m just open to the universal possibilities of every moment.

Back in the seamster’s shop, HM excuses himself and walks off.  PHEW.  Crisis averted.  I ask Yai what was going on.  She croaks out that we’re going together.  Huh?!  Going where, Yai?  Going to eat lunch!  Handsome man is going to get the car!  AHH!  So here I am, pressed in the middle of the back seat of some little car between Yai and some handsome man’s momma.  HM is driving, and seated shotgun is a seventeen year old boy who is acting as a terrible translator.  I mean, really.  It took him about 5 minutes to translate… How…. old…. is…. a… you?  I had already asked and answered this question in Thai previously, so I repeated myself. 

HM was constantly checking me out in the rearview mirror, the only real contact we’ve had thus far.  I felt exploited, in the back of this car, yet it gets worse.  Yai starts asking me questions, in Thai, loudly.  “Do you think he’s handsome?”  “Do you love him?”  “Do you want to go to Phuket with him?”  Ohhhh Yai.  Please shhh, I whisper.  She only repeats them, even louder, more hoarsely.  “Do you think he’s very very handsome?  Do you like him???”  Goodness gracious.  Red-faced, unable to break this HM’s fragile ego, I have no idea how to respond.  I hesitate and consider not speaking… but that would come across as rude.  So I finally respond.  “He’s handsome, but he doesn’t talk to me.  I don’t know if I like him.”  It was the truth.  He wasn’t totally gruesome, I could see myself finding some cuteness in his smile.  Yai didn’t like this answer, she pushed a few more over the top questions onto me, to which I brilliantly responded… “Sorry… I don’t understand!”  Why didn’t I think of that line hours ago???

We arrive at the restaurant and HM hasn’t even attempted to look or talk to me once.  Okay.  So I relax and realize this is just another crazy day in Thailand, nothing to get nervous or worked up about.  We eat some delicious seafood salad (you can’t imagine how yums it is unless you’ve tried it), spicy lemongrass shrimp soup, curry crabs, and rice.  I sat near the end of the table so I did my best to replicate what a good Thai girl should do… pass the plates and spoon and fork… scoop rice for each person… fill empty glasses as they empty… etc.  I was proud of myself in that aspect.  If nothing else I can say I’ve learned Thai social grace.

Most of our meal was spent with everyone staring at me, seeing how I eat.  At first I tried to eat daintily like these skinny little sweet thai things, but who eats crabs daintily??  I got to it, and the staring lessened as everyone realized the deliciousness of the gourmet meal in front of us.  After the meal, I helped Yai to the bathroom.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  It startled me.  I haven’t really seen myself in a mirror in awhile, and it was interesting to feel what I felt.  Comfort, like “Oh, there I am!” 

Returning to our troupe, we walked off.  I tried to offer some money, which was turned down by everyone except Yai.  “Money!  Give me money!” she shrieked, caught up in some laughter.  I didn’t get the joke, and started giving her some baht, but she just shook her head and patted my hand.  “Mai ow, Lissa.”  I don’t want it, Lissa. 

The car ride home wasn’t nearly as excruciating.  We had full bellies, and HM’s mom engaged me in some small talk conversation.  She started talking about Thai people who have ‘black hearts’ and get romantically involved with foreigners for their endless plethora of money.  I laughed.  Maybe they think I’m rich, is that why HM wanted to go to lunch?  I felt his eyeballs in the mirror at me again, but I refused to meet them.  I’m not interested in a one-way romance with someone too afraid to speak to me.  Besides, I reminded myself and those in the car with me, I’m going back to the island tomorrow!

After this three hour shenanigan, I was beat.  Physically drained.  I waved my goodbye to Yai, HM, his mom, his dad, the young boy.  I told them I was going to take a little nap, I was tired.  They understood, and nobody tried to stop me.  Not even HM.

What’s to be learned here?  I learned what I don’t want in a romantic relationship.  I don’t want silence.  I don’t just want a handsome face (with protruding ears.)  It’s reassuring to know that people feel the pressure to settle in and settle down cross culturally.  It was a weirdly amusing experience, and if nothing else, it inspired me to write.  Hope you laughed.  I know I did.