I promise this will be my very last piece about the flood _ for this year, at least.
I know I should diversify and write about other topics. In fact, I did consider commenting on the much-talked-about results of the 2011 Durex Sex Survey in which men from Thailand were rated worst, among 36 countries polled,
for cheating on their other half, with Thai women coming in second among female respondents for the same tendency, But I concluded that this subject was just too hot for conservative me to handle, so I decided to stick with the flood, and its aftermath, however mundane or morbid that might sound.
And I have reason to linger there. By the end of this month the party is supposed to be in full swing and the flooding a distant memory. Indeed,
our attention is already being diverted to more exciting news regarding musician Sek Loso; and about Ah Koeng, the 61-year-old whose questionable text messages landed him with a hefty prison sentence after he was convicted of lese majeste.
Last, but not least, there was the Demi Moore-type statement by writer and critic Kamphaka who used her upper torso as a canvas to protest the treatment meted out to Ah Koeng.
With such sizzling, sexy and controversial matters to choose from, who'd want to read about floods?
But for six million victims, 10% of our population, this disaster was more than just news. For some, it's a bit of history, both personal and collective, that needs to be recorded and remembered since the event really touched us and could continue to affect us for many years to come.
One of those six million is my old pal "Ter", someone I've known since my schooldays more than 30 years ago.
Sitting in a coffee shop in high-and-dry inner Bangkok she clicked a button on her mobile phone to show me photos she'd taken a few days previously when she returned to her inundated house for the first time in a month.
"This one is the least scary. Now that the floodwater has gone down, it just looks like a war zone," she said, skipping on to other images. "It's all too haunting," she concluded.
It was her birthday and I had taken her out to celebrate. She had been in limbo, holed up in a condominium unit since late October when the floodwater reached her housing estate in the Ngam Wong Wan area, behind Khlong Prem Prachakorn.
She moved out when the authorities ordered the evacuation of her neighbourhood.
"When I visited my home for the first time after the water subsided, I thought I'd collapse or tear my hair out or burst into tears and go berserk.
But I felt strangely calm once I was outside in the open air. Living in the condo was worse, somehow; it was cold, lifeless."
Fetid floodwater enveloped the ground floor of her house and turned her well-tended garden into a miniature version of Suan Siam, the aquatic amusement park. Her piano and chinaware collection were submerged.
It was the most deadly serious birthday I'd ever spent with her in our three-decade-plus friendship. She listened in silence as I shared my thoughts on flood management; as I talked about a conspiracy theory of mine (that the government had unfairly used the western part of Bangkok as a floodway).
She continued to listen quietly while I babbled on about "big bags" and flood-flow direction in her area. Then I got onto what I term the dichotomy of sacrifice.
That, for her, was the final straw.
"Who made the decision about which parts of the city should or shouldn't be flooded?" she asked. "We should all have borne our share of the sad burden."
A frown had crossed her face earlier when I'd mentioned words like "fairness" and "sacrifice". (I bet she was wondering how I had the temerity to come up with all these theories when my own house had escaped the worst.)
Was she angry that some districts of Bangkok had managed to stay dry?
No. In fact my friend seemed to take a very rational view of the whole situation.
"It wasn't fair that one community had to suffer for the sake of others. But there was also the issue of priorities. We couldn't afford to let some areas get flooded. I do understand and accept that."
And her house was in one of the most badly affected parts of the city. "Well, we were luckier than others," she said, in a resigned tone of voice. "The people of Pathum Thani and Bang Bua Thong suffered more than I did."
Her experience of the flooding was raw and painful. Mine mostly comprised watching the TV news, reading reports and interviewing a few victims. Little more than the role of an armchair critic, you might say.
At one point during the developing saga Ter had taken a taxi back to her neighbourhood to monitor the water level in Khlong Prem Prachakorn.
Her housing estate is located in that flashpoint zone where enraged Don Muang residents, led by MP Karun "Keng" Hosakul, removed a section of the controversial "big bag" barrier.
After that tense stand-off, groups of evacuated locals would board large military trucks on a regular basis to go out and check on the levels of flooding around the canal. I assumed that this collective action must have brought Ter much closer to her neighbours.
"I do miss my community," she confirmed. "The people there really did help each other a lot."
I encouraged her to sue for damages, reasoning that several Bangkok communities have already filed charges against the government or the Bangkok Metropolitan Administration, accusing them of gross mismanagement.
She considered this suggestion for a moment, looking contemplative.
"You know, I was able to live with the fact that my home was going to get flooded. But what I couldn't stand, and still can't understand, is why Nonthaburi Municipality used piles of metal sheeting to prevent canals overflowing.
Isn't it illegal to build structures next to public canals? But municipality workers did this and the floodwater came into my community [as a result].
It is totally unacceptable to me that one municipality can break the law in order to protect itself and then this action causes flooding in other areas."
Ter returned to her house again last week. She was in for a surprise.
"It's unbelievable! The wooden floor tiles are still intact. They're not even swollen even though they've been submerged for more than a month! And the china that my grandmother gave me was all under water, but none of it got broken."
Minor miracles, but no less appreciated for all that.
Nor did any of the houses in her estate get burgled, as was widely anticipated.
"Several crocodiles were seen in the neighbourhood," she recalled. "When one came out to sunbathe, everybody ran amok. The burglars probably left us alone because they were afraid of the crocs," she said, laughing.
So what was looking like Ter's worst birthday ever, concluded on a more cheerful note. Things are rarely as bad as they first seem.
Again, my friend, a belated happy birthday to you!
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