5 things I love about being a farang

And I just found out I don’t even qualify as one. According to definition, a farang is a colloquial Thai word for a white man of European descent. That’s pretty definitive, if you ask me. And that is Reason Nueng: the sheer ignorance that comes with being a foreigner. You are just a dumb farang (or not, as I have just discovered). It’s my favourite line to use here in Bangkok, when I act like one. I can talk absurd in thai. I once asked for an eyeliner sharpener, and then gestured, the shopkeeper looked horrified, and I will leave the rest to imagination. I can wear a beach dress in the city (I actually really judge foreigners who do that, or walk barefoot down Sukhumvit), and no one bats an eyelid. You can stroll through the narrow alleys of Chinatown at midnight, blissfully safe in not even knowing if it is. Reason Song: Every day is a holiday. Really. When I first arrived in Bangkok, I was overwhelmed, trying to get by and set up in a city where no one understood what I was saying. But now life has a rhythm, and is punctuated by visits from friends at home, who are here on holiday, so we pretend we are too. We eat out, have a Hokkaido ice-cream in the middle of the day, and go on merry go rounds at the riverside. Of course, we work and there’s the baby, and errands, and bills, but those are small details. As people living away from home, you feel a certain lack of responsibility and an excess of light heartedness, which is difficult to simulate at home. You are a tourist every single day. The anonymity. I cherish it. I would never want to give it up, and it’s a huge Reason Sam. No one knows you or cares, so you don’t care when you step out of the house. I can walk out in my frumpiest clothes and it’s all right. I can cycle down the road in rain, and it doesn’t matter. Oh, I’ve had one or two hairy situations where people from Dhaka have spotted me, in less than conservative clothes at the grocery, and invariably it has turned out to be the very conservative accountant from my workplace back home. There are two ways to deal with that: you can be brave, smile, while avoiding eye contact, which can get pretty awkward; or you can walk on, pretending it didn’t happen, and mutter about a twin living in Bangkok the next time you meet. I opt for the latter. Reason Si: and this one I am dead serious about. I call this chapter Zen and the Art of Letting Go. When I first arrived, I would be frustrated often. I once cried at a grocery store not being able to find a clothes rack, and no one being able to understand what I was looking for. And then, slowly, I caught what Thais have, the smile bug. If I get annoyed or angry or embarrassed, I laugh uproariously. It is such a simple way of dissipating any tension and controlling aggression. It makes everything better, except the crow’s feet around your eyes. Of course, lets be real, you can’t always do it, such as that time when the psychotic cab driver screamed f***** farang, apropos of nothing, and kept on glaring back while driving, as I cowered. Clearly, he isn’t aware of the definition either. The fifth reason, or Ha, said in high pitch like a question mark, I haven’t figured out yet. The 7-11s would be it, I think. My heart rejoices at these little convenience stores that are open 24 hours, 365 days a year. You can pay your bills there, return online purchases, and buy all kinds of junk. Plus, they give you stamps, which I haven’t figured out the use of, but heard from sources that if you collect enough, and give it a five-month waiting period, you can get a plastic chest of drawers with Rilakkuma on it. That’s kind of special, right? I will write a whole piece on this later. But for now, sabai sabai from this brown farang, and a quote from Ijeoma Umebinyou that pretty much sums it up for us porobashis, “So, here you are too foreign for home too foreign for here. Never enough for both.”The author’s real name is Gupi Gyne. When she is not writing, or sharing feminist views, or standing up for the downtrodden and voiceless, she is in her basement building a home made, fan blade, one man submarine to take around the world. The characters in this story are real, and any resemblance to fictional characters, dead or alive, is entirely coincidental. For more, please visit her blog at https://gupisworld.wordpress.com/, or email her at [email protected]