Kew’s mother, who lives in Thon Buri, called me the other day, after I left my contact number at her apartment.
'He is entering the monkhood to say sorry for all the bad things he's done, and start again,' said his mother.
'If you go to see him at the temple, you can ask for an apology when you see him, as he did bad things to you, too,' she said.
I lost contact with Kew many months ago, when my cellphone was stolen, and I changed the number.
I had no way of getting to him my new number, I realised the other day, except by taking it to his apartment myself.
Kew and I have spoken once or twice since I moved from Thon Buri, where I knew him, into town.
However, in the more than 12 months since boyfriend Maiyuu and I moved to town, Kew and I have not met.
Then, after I lost my phone, contact ceased altogether.
I recall our last phone conversation, months ago. I told Kew where I was living.
‘That’s so far. It’s a shame, because I really miss, you, pee,’ he said.
Kew has called me many things in the seven years we have known each other, but never ‘pee’ - a respectful term meaning elder, as in elder brother, or older friend. He sounded sad.
Maybe he really was missing me, I thought, as I ended our call.
Kew, 26, stays with his mother and school-age sister at an apartment building about 10min from where boyfriend Maiyuu and I used to live in Thon Buri.
The day before Kew’s Mum called this week – breaking a no-contact drought which lasted more than six months - I took the bus back to the old market town which Maiyuu and I once called home.
From there, I took a wobbly motorcycle taxi to Kew’s apartment, a huge old place with more than 1000 tenants.
It is at least 300m off the main drag, close to a sprawling temple. Eateries, hairdressers and other busy retail outlets line both sides of long, winding roads.
I hadn’t seen the place in more than five years, since I visited the place one day, boyfriend escorting me, to retrieve a guitar which Kew had borrowed and refused to return.
The security guard pointed me to the office. Part of the place looked familiar, but I was beginning to despair of making contact with Kew again. For all I knew, his family may have moved out, and my friend could be living anywhere.
The office looked inviting. A man aged in his mid-40s, and a younger Thai woman sat inside.
'I am looking for a friend who used to live here...,' I said.
I probably sounded a little sad, even hopeless, but what else was I supposed to do?
The manager asked me about Kew and his family.
I described Kew and what I could remember about his mother, hoping he would recognise them.
I didn’t have their contact number, and while I had visited their place before, could not remember where they lived.
‘His mother has cancer and is in a wheelchair. I met her once. Do you have any tenants like that?’ I asked the manager.
He couldn’t remember.
‘He also has a bright, school-aged sister. Kew himself is handsome, and sometimes dyes his hair blond,’ I said. ‘He used to wear a stud in his lip, and race around the carpark here on his motorbike,’ I added.
The manager still could not recall anyone from the family, but I left my number anyway.
‘It might come...my memory just needs time,’ he said.
Kew’s family stays at the apartment, this is true. However, Kew has gone through phases when he lives with friends, or is busy with his girlfriend. Who knows how often he returns to this part of town?
I left the place, not expecting to hear from his family again.
By next day, however, the manager’s memory must have kicked in.
He gave my number to Kew’s sister as she came home from school.
Kew’s mother called me as soon as her daughter handed over the number.
‘Is that you, Mali? This is Kew’s mother,’ she said.
Kew, she told me, is entering the monkhood for three months over Buddhist Lent.
‘He is at another temple preparing to take his robes, but on the day he is admitted to the monkhood will return to a temple close to home. He would be delighted to see you, if you want to pay a visit,’ said Mum.
The big day when Kew gives his vows as monk was to take place this week.
I can't be there for that, but can visit him at his temple on Tuesday.
'If he is making penance for all the bad things he did, will three months be long enough?' I asked his mother.
I was joking, of course. Mum laughed.
‘Should I take anything?’ I asked.
I have seen plastic buckets on sale containing personal effects for monks.
At time of the year, some Thais prepare enter the monkhood for the three months of Buddhist Lent, which starts on Tuesday.
‘Take one of those buckets...they contain items such as soap, toothpaste...,’ she said.
Postscript: I met Kew on the banks of the Chao Phraya river seven years ago, as he sat fishing with friends.
That was the start of an unusual friendship which, despite long absences on both sides, and a hostile period in which I could barely bring to look at my young friend, survives to this day. The first of the Kew stories is here.
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