“No, ya loony. Dull and stupid aren’t the same.”
P'Fueang used to say when I asked him if I was stupid.
“Eh? If dull doesn’t mean stupid, then what does it mean?”
“Dull is… like yer dull. But stupid is like yer just stupid.”
Phooey… Bro, repeating the same words doesn’t make it any easier for me to see the picture. Luckily, his girlfriend, Miss Ai, was sitting beside him and she explained.
“Dull means not sharp, or blunt. We can also say obtuse. Simply put, it means your thinking isn’t complicated and you don’t compute things ahead too much. Your focus is simple and you pay attention to only the obvious things in front of you. Like, what would you think if girls stared at you?” She asked me.
“Uh…” I thought it over. “I forgot to zip up or there’s something on my face?”
She smiles. “Wouldn’t you think they’re staring because you’re handsome?”
I shook my head. “No way, Miss Ai, who would?”
And that made Miss Ai and P'Fueang laugh.
“Alright, Mork, that’s what we call dull.”
Since then, I still haven’t figured out the differences between dull and stupid or how far apart they are, but at least now I know people like me are called dull, not stupid. And the reason why I don’t understand the differences is probably because I’m dull.
Under my photos, it shows the number of likes they earned from hundreds of people. The photo where I smiled the widest has over a thousand, and a ton of comments. I tap and read some of them.
“Which soi is that? I wanna go and lick him from the lamp post and through.”
(Scary again. And what kind of idiom is to lick from the lamp post and through? I’m confused.)
“Not very handsome, but charming.”
(Thank you.)
“This guy! This, this, this! I used to be his passenger. (And she tagged her friend.)”
(Really? Which passenger was that?)
“A real driver? Not just a setup for staged photos?”
(......)
And a lot more which I get too lazy to keep reading.
I catch a glimpse of a name among those who gave my photo a like. Tawan Tisawong, spelled with English alphabet. Okay, you might be a little surprised, I can read some English. I’ll tell you, I learned English through my ninth grade, before quitting and entering a vocational college. I can spell basic words.
Back to Tawan Tisawong, if I pronounce this name correctly, it must be Doctor Tawan’s name (I can remember the name on his gown.) Right, I guess? Oh shoooot! He liked my photo too? I check all four of my photos on the page, and Tawan Tisawong left a like on every one of them. So, I tap his name to check his profile and fulfil my curiosity.
My cellphone loads for a while, and the timeline page of Tawan Tisawong appears. When the eyes complete loading, I instantly recognize him. This is really the doctor’s Facebook. Oh, wow, doc, you liked my photos, are you secretly feeling something? I think and laugh to myself.
Oh... Since I’m already looking at his timeline, why not snoop and see his posts as well?
It appears that his timeline is empty… Almost as empty as mine.
Besides the info that says he lives in Bangkok, he posts almost nothing. There are about six or seven photos of him that other people took, uploaded, and tagged him. All seem to be from his friend’s Facebook. Ah, I can remember this one, Doctor Nadia, his best friend. Besides those, there’s no text and no photo that he uploaded, except the profile picture. It shows him in his short gown, leaning back against a wall, with a hint of smile on his face.
I scroll down and look at his relationship status. Single…
Seems like he’s been too busy to remember changing relationship status. Damnit, doc, you have a sweetheart already. Don’t leave your status on ‘single,’ the other person might see it and start sulking. Oh, wait, his sweetheart is a boyfriend, maybe he doesn’t sweat the small stuff as much as Fern did. Or maybe he is about as busy as the doc, and his timeline as deserted, even.
My hand hovers over the button that says “add friend.”
Hmm… Should I?
I’ve made friends with him. But how much of a friend are we to each other? Is our level of friendship enough for me to send a friend request on Facebook? Or does he simply see me as his regular ride? A motorcycle taxi driver who’s just a bit more special among others?
This is a tough question. When I was a kid, if someone said we’re friends, that means we play together, prank other people together, go to places together, and can sleep over at each other’s house.
But now as a grownup, I feel that we use the word “friend” in a much different sense than in childhood. I heard there are friends who “sleep” with each other (if you catch my drift.) Can we freaking call that a “friend” as well? There are also chat friends and “just talking” kind of friends (and I have no idea how different it is from chat friends.)
Or is it like “let’s be friends” which Fern said to me when she left for another guy? Now we barely talk and I don’t know about her life at all. She doesn’t pay attention to my life progress, either. Is this yet another type of friend?
So, I have no idea what level of friendship it is for Doctor Tawan and me. And do I have the right to press this button to add friend? I stare at it, pondering back and forth. Okay, man. Leave it be. Forget about it. Don’t press the button.
It’s not like I use my Facebook often enough anyway. My Facebook ID is only good for registering for games. Whether or not I add Doctor Tawan to my friend list doesn’t affect our friendship in real life.
After closing my Facebook screen, I play a mobile game for a while before falling asleep on it. But I do remember that for a moment before drifting into my sleep, I feel somewhat happy that Doctor Tawan liked my photos. I’ll have to tease him about it someday.
…………
It is five o’clock. Five in the morning, that is. Not 5 p.m.
Yet, the blood sample collection queue is already extremely long...
Hospital visits are like some kind of competition. We have the appointment slips which show the estimated time slot. But there is so much more to it before we can see the doctor, especially for diabetes patients like my uncle and younger uncle. They have to get their blood samples taken, first. And the blood collection queue is a separate one, they run it on a different system with its own queue number. I thought we were early, but the queue has already become long.
I turn and tell my uncles. “Thirty more until your turn.”
Loong nods. “Better than last time, it was fifty-eight.”
Ar nods in agreement. All three of us walk towards the end of the line and, on the way, happen to pass a donation box for the hospital’s funding. Ar takes out a one hundred bill and puts it in the box.
“We come here receiving free treatments and medications. We should support the hospital sometimes, so they can keep on being our hope. When we visit a temple, we make donations for their water and electric bills. The hospital saves our lives, so we should help out too.”
I smile… Ar has always been kind. He puts others before himself. I steal a glance at my own uncle and see him smiling at a corner of his lips. Maybe this is why he loves Ar… The “kindness.”
When I’m with kind people, it feels like I’m in a cool and aromatic place. It makes me feel cozy and want to sleep, never wanting to leave. I think for two people to go steady, it’s not just love that is needed, but also something else. And for these two, perhaps that something is Ar’s kindness.
This reminds me of when I was with Fern. Although she’s not a kind person like Ar, she’s not selfish (okay, let’s not count when she cheated on me, that was a one-time thing) and we stayed together for quite a long time. Oh...or was it me who was kind and it held us together? … Fern often said I was a kind person.
I was lost in my thoughts for a while, and both uncles have already finished having their blood samples collected. How fast
! I wonder if the freaking nurse in blood-drawing room is actually Dongfang Bubai,[37] throwing ten flying needles at a time and drawing the blood samples in the blink of an eye. Tadaa! Blood collection for all thirty patients completed so damn quickly. That’s some super skill.
“Hey, Mork, go buy something for your Ar.”
“I guess we better wait until we can go for breakfast together.” I disagree.
“The cafeteria won’t open until sometime after six. You find some milk or a quick bite to last him until breakfast. If we wait for the cafeteria, he might faint. He always eats on time.”
Loong’s last sentence has me wonder if he said it with worry or mock-grievance.
I am just opening my mouth to ask what all I should buy when someone taps me on my shoulder. I turn around to take a look.
“Oh...doc.” It’s Tawan. He’s wearing a short gown which I’ve grown familiar with. But his hair is all disheveled and his eyes look exhausted.
“Wow, doc, you’re working so early.” I stare at his spiky hair that goes in every random direction.
He shakes his head. “Nope, haven't slept yet. Been on duty last night.”
“Haven’t slept? Since when?” I’m curious.
“Uh… All night. I took the duty at 4 p.m. yesterday and have been doing the Serng[38] until now.”
“Serng?” I’m not sure if I misheard it. Why and how does a doctor have something to do with Serng?
Tawan laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Serng is our slang meaning a brutally draining duty, because we’re so busy doing things as quickly as the music beats in Serng.”
“And what if your duty is super very extremely busy? What do you call it, doc?” I ask him jokingly, with a dose of smartmouth.
“Serng so fast the jar breaks and the fermented fish flies everywhere?” He laughs in return.
“And what are you doing here, Mork?” He asks.
“Oh shoot! I forgot. Doc, these are my uncles. Here’s Loong Cheep, and this is Ar Dej.” I gesture at my two uncles who are uniformly looking at Doctor Tawan.
“Loong, Ar, this is Dr. Tawan. He’s...uh...my friend.” I hesitate at the word because it’s awkward and I’m afraid the doc might dart a look at me and say he never counts a mototaxi guy like me as his friend.
“Nice to meet you. My name is Tawan. I’m Mork’s friend.”
Tawan humbly and politely salutes both of my uncles. “You took them here for a routine check-up? Did you get the blood drawn?”
“Yah, diabetes and blood pressure check-ups. Blood drawing already done.”
I reply and nod towards the cotton balls plastered on their arms to compress the wound and stop the bleeding. “And how long until your duty ends?” I look at the time, it is now a quarter to six.
“Going on until eight. Then hit the showers, and start examining more patients.”
“Shoot! No way. What about your sleep and when?” I am genuinely shocked. He’s not getting any rest? Coming off duty and going right into the examination room. How can he keep up with it?
“Tonight. Oh, wait, tonight I have more duty. A friend asked for a slot trade. So I’m taking two slots in a row.”
Besides wild hair and tired eyes, Tawan also looks incoherent.
“Are you really alright, doc?”
Shoot, I shouldn’t have asked that. If he says he’s not alright, what help can I even offer?
“No, but I can’t stop working. As you can see, there are so many patients. If I don’t stay, my share of responsibility will fall onto some other doctor’s shoulders. Alright or not, I have to keep working, because illness doesn’t have a day off.”
Strange. On the surface, this sounds like only a simple complaint. But I can sense the “kindness” from Tawan’s message. Sometimes kindness is not displayed through gentleness, soft touch, charming words, or caring eyes.
Sometimes “kindness” shines through a sense of “selflessness” just like what Doctor Tawan is doing. I can feel the cool and aromatic air of kindness from within this tiny, incoherent-looking, and spiky-haired doctor who’s standing in front of me.
“And where are you going?” He asks.
“Oh… I’m going to a convenience store to find some snacks for Ar.”
“Ah, I’m about to go for a coffee. Wanna go together? I’ll show you the way.” He volunteers, so I nod.
“Make sure you get regular milk for him. No sugar.”
Loong reminds me before I leave. I turn my head back and nod to him, then follow Doctor Tawan along the dimly lit corridor that weaves around inside of the hospital building. The sun is coming up, so the automatic ceiling lights have turned off in some areas. But the sunlight from the horizon is still too weak, resulting in the dim surroundings. No wonder some people are scared of the ghosts in hospitals.
“Hospitals look kind of...spooky.”
I start a conversation to get rid of the ghostly quiet air around us.
“You feel like it’s spooky just because you are unfamiliar with the place, no? Like when you helped me to the dorm.”
Tawan looks at me with a smile. The smile, however, cannot ease the evident exhaustion on his face.
I shake my head. “Nah, doc. That doesn’t matter. Look, it’s really scary. There are lots of dark corners, everywhere. It’s almost dawn already, and it’s still so eerie.”
“Yep, all because you’re unfamiliar.” He shrugs at me. “Just imagine if this were your own house, when you wake up in the middle of the night for the bathroom, would you feel spooked?”
I try to think before answering. “Nah, doc.” Shaking my head as I reply.
“Why is that? It’s dark too, isn’t it? In the middle of the night.”
“Because that’s my home, doc.” Saying that, I start to feel unsure if I really mean it. It feels more like an automated answer. But I really am unafraid of the dark inside of my house.
Tawan nods.
“That’s right. Because it’s your home. You’re used to the dark and every corner of the house, so it doesn’t feel eerie. But this is a hospital, somewhere you don’t know well. You don’t know what’s in the dark, so you think it’s scary.
“Fear comes from imagination, Mork.” He stops walking briefly to meet my eyes. “When it’s dark and we can’t see, our thoughts grasp for whatever imagination that we link with the darkness. When in reality, there’s nothing underneath the dark. But we feel scared because the imagination manipulates it.”
“Oh...really?” I nod before asking. “So, doc, you aren’t afraid of ghosts in the hospital?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of ghosts in the hospital. I’m familiar with every inch of it. And even if there really are ghosts, I think I won’t be scared, either.”
“Eh, why is that?” I guess maybe medical students are taught not to fear ghosts.
“Why? Well, ghosts in a hospital are most likely the ghosts of patients. They won’t try to haunt doctors.” Tawan gives me a playful answer instead.
“Heyyyy, what kind of reason is that, doc?” I laugh. Is he cracking a joke?
“My kind of reason. If I believe in it, the ghosts will believe, too. Don’t argue with me, I’m a doctor.”
“Okay, okay, doc. I won’t, then. Hahaha!”
We arrive at the convenience store and I watch him grab a large cup and head to the ice dispenser, before filling his cup with ice. He then goes for a mix of half coffee and half Ovaltine. “I like it this way, the Ovaltine smells nice.”
I nod. “I like it too, doc. I’m just surprised that you drink 7-Eleven coffee as well. I thought doctors prefer the best coffee from luxurious coffee shops.”
Tawan finds my comment funny and smiles. “You know what, 7-Eleven coffee is a doctor’s best friend, because the caffeine is so strong. When I need maximum strength of refreshment and awakening, coffee from 7-Eleven is the answer. It gives the best boost.”
“To me, there’s nothing that can be the absolute best.”
He approaches and stops righ
t next to me at a shelf packed with rows of milk bottles and cartons, where I am scanning the labels for sugar-free milk.
“I think there’s only the most suitable thing at that specific moment. For a morning after such a draining duty, the most suitable thing for me is this cup of coffee.” He swiftly sneaks two sips before refilling his coffee.
Whoa...that’s a first!
I thought this cheat was only popular among us, the mototaxi drivers who live hand-to-mouth on daily wages and also rely on 7-Eleven coffee. In fact, even doctors do it too. After knowing Tawan, I start to see doctors in a new light and from more perspectives. I feel he is just an ordinary person like me.
Ah...there it is! Sugar-free milk.
I open the refrigerator to grab two bottles of unsweetened milk, check the label to make sure there’s no sugar, and check the expiry date. After that, I walk over to the cashier and order two steamed buns with black bean paste filling, also asking for a reheat. Guess that’s enough for Loong and Ar. We can head to the cafeteria later, once we secure the queue slot.
My Ride, I Love You Page 12