Bangkok Boy Read Free

at the time. I haughtily sped by my poor schoolmates as they walked or peddled their rundown bicycles, hoping to make it in time for the morning National Anthem. My parents always made sure I had large notes in my wallet when realistically all I really needed was a few baht to pay for my lunch and the odd snack. Such displays of extravagance were just a few of the ways in which my parents earned face.
    As the eldest son, I had the responsibility of excelling at everything I did, both for my own sake and for that of my parents. If I did well, it would reflect positively on them, boosting their reputations. My father instilled in my young mind that a good education was my main priority in life. Given my enterprising background, it wasn’t surprising that I excelled in mathematics and often got straight A’s on my report cards. I also developed my business skills by bringing sweets to school from our grocery store and selling them to my schoolmates for personal profit. Also, I was often elected class head and the teachers frequently entrusted me with extra responsibilities. Although I was a high achiever, I was by no means the teacher’s pet, and although I generally got along well with the boys, I was less successful with the girls. I thought they were peculiar creatures and I rarely interacted with them.
    After school, my father regularly assigned extra homework and I wasn’t allowed to go out to play until I’d completed it. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel any pressure to be a good boy; rather, I was naturally inclined to want to make my parents proud.
    Our one-storey house was large and I often helped Mae with the chores, after which I was rewarded with coins and notes. From a young age, I was used to seeing and handling large sums of money. In the absence of meaningful conversations and guidance, I began to believe that the ability to provide for others was an important expression of love. To be fair, my parents were affectionate, but had they known the problematic relationship I would later develop with money, they would have undoubtedly been more austere and less indulgent. They meant no harm, but the fact is that they spoilt me terribly. I never had to work in the rice fields after school like other less fortunate children. Instead, my parents employed farmers to carry out this labour while I read books, played with friends, and fished in the various ponds around my village. I’d cast my fishing net and lazily recline in the hammock I’d strung up between two trees; I would then while away the time reading books or watching ants busily going about their business, while the birds sang cheerfully overhead. When the sound of fish fighting to wriggle free from the net awoke me from my blissful reverie, I’d gleefully pull in the catch of snakeheads, catfish, anabases or barbs.
    While my early life was idyllic in many ways, it was not as sheltered as one might think. I craved adventure and derived great pleasure from participating in daring games. From a young age, I revelled in the sense of belonging. My group consisted solely of boys, and our games were very true to our gender. Brandishing slingshots and stones, we hunted poor unsuspecting birds and then proudly brought them home to be cooked and eaten. We made ‘bullets’ out of small balls of clay that we would lay out to dry in the sun until they were sufficiently hardened. Armed and ready for war, we divided into two teams, firing our ‘bullets’ in an effort to defeat the opposition. While we had a lot of fun, many injuries were also incurred. Sometimes, we would get carried away and substitute clay bullets with actual stones to maximise the damage. ‘War’ was an aggressive and adrenaline-charged game but thankfully, no eyes were ever lost.
    Although I spent a lot of time with my peers, I was also fond of solitude. My favourite solo activity was hunting small lizards which required serious concentration and dexterity. I’d make whistling and clucking