This past three days and the coming week is going to be pretty jam-packed as it is the week of my grandfather’s funeral. And thanks to his rank, it is yet again another tedious royally sponsored funeral that will require me to act and dress much more proper beyond my own character’s comfort.

My grandfather has been hospitalized for quite some time already so it was something we expected. His heart rate dropped Wednesday, and him being almost 90 years old, all the family members agreed that he had a great life and that it was time.

I have a very few memories about him. He used to live alone somewhere in Chonburi in his beach house and we would go visit him. I was too young to even remember the details. More vivid memories came later when he was already sick and had a hard time to remember us and our names. All I know is that he was a war veteran, an army general with a heap of subordinates who are now more powerful and at times infamous than he was. The first day of the funeral we received a blessed holy water for the watering rite from the palace, and the funeral itself is also sponsored by the palace, from funeral staff to the food and drunks. The first day was also attended by Prem Tinsulanonda and Surayud Chulanont who was apparently one of his subordinates back in the day. I didn’t even know my grandfather was such a figure in the army until now.

Surayud in white, Prem in black behind him

Living in this family I have had a fair share of over-the-top rites of passage, whether they are birthdays, engagements, weddings, and of course funerals. Everything has to be more complicated than it should be. Like this one for example. Seven days of sitting hearing a group of monks chant incomprehensible verses, seven days of dressing up like a character in a Thai period movies just to pay respect to all the decorations and golden pagodas that come with my grandfather’s ranks and titles back when he was alive.

I know it is something to do with respect, something we can do to honor him, his legacy, his history and his life. Of course I would have loved to have such a thing for my own funeral. but in the end, whatever you did while you were living, no matter how much money you made, what title or name you had, when you die it all becomes pointless anyway. I think a funeral is just this one last place for us living to deal with the death of our loved ones. Without it, we will not have this one last thing to hold on to.

But I’d like to propose a change to this last thing we have for our loved ones though. Stop with the eulogies, the gloomy colored clothes guests have to wear, the lamenting music and the haunting chants of the monks. And definitely, stop the whole stressful arrangement of some over-the-top rituals for someone who’s probably not in the room to appreciate. I don’t think my grandfather would even care anymore if he was a big shot general back in the day.

I have decided, when my time comes, just do one session of funeral where guests are allowed to wear whatever color and clothing they want and instead of sitting around listening to some emotionally tormenting singing, just have a party. A concert. A DJ session playing whatever music you think I would have liked. That’s how you’re being remembered–as someone who doesn’t put pressure on how they’re supposed to feel and act.

When I was sitting next to my grandfather at the funeral, I was playing Cooking Mama on my iPhone and chewing Sugus. The living would have scolded me but I knew my grandfather was somewhere he was comfortable, more peaceful than having to deal with the antics of his oldest granddaughter.

Rest in peace grandpa. And please somehow tell Dad to stop bugging me about what I wear to your funeral.

So I sent my roll of negative from my very first try on the 30-year-old Olympus OM-1 when I was in Phuket last weekend today.

I am extremely happy with the results. The process of getting these developed? Not so much.

If there’s one time I truly hate the famed Thai mindset of “mai pen rai” is when it comes to the topic of service quality–especially when you’re on the customer side.

I had my mom drop my film at Eastbourne in Paragon this morning as she was just shopping there. She called me when she was there because apparently their “fast, reliable in one hour” service is no longer applied for film developing since they moved out their machine. So I asked what would be the earliest that I could get my film and CD, mom asked them and got a confirmation, “Not later than 4pm”.

So alright. Fast enough. And I wouldn’t be done with work until 6pm so I asked my mom to go ahead and pay for the extra speedy service and I would get it after work.

I went there at almost 7pm, all excited to see my very first photos, shot on film with a real manual camera and not a Lomo toy. Extremely happy, I handed the slip over to them, which clearly stated the time of the drop off, the time of the pickup, and the price my mom had paid for.

A girl clerk came to me after checking the inventory and said, “I’m sorry but your film is not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here. See I dropped it off today at 10am.”

“We don’t develop films here”

The heat started up a bit in the back of my head. The girl then went and fetched the middle-aged scrawny manager person, who then immediately realized what film I was looking for as, apparently according to him, no one does film anymore. Shouldn’t be too hard to remember.

“Looks like you’re going to get the photos tomorrow. The branch that develops our negatives is already closed, it’s 7pm.”

“Then why did you say I would get them back at 4pm at the latest? Why did I dish out that extra fee for your fast service? I chose to have this service with you and I expect you to deliver what you promise. Refund then?”

“Sorry. We cannot do refund for you. I will ask my staff to call the branch.”

The girl who apparently just realized what the workplace actually does, called the branch. And judging from the amount of “How are yous” *giggles* *giggles* “No, you’re crazys” *giggles* *giggles*, I bet her priority was clearly not concerning my film. After finally settling down her girly antics, she talked business, hung up, and came to us and said:

“They didn’t send the film because we didn’t put on the envelope where the film should be sent to after.”

I’m sorry. You guys just made it clear to me that I am still the only freak in your Bangkok customer base who is still shooting film, and you guys could not figure it out that the only roll of film that was sent to be developed once in the blue moon would be from the branch that sent it you and not any other?

“So here’s the thing. We forgot to write down that it was from Paragon.”

“And then? Isn’t this your fault?”

“Please pick up your film and CD tomorrow.”

So bad service and no refund and I should just go along. Oh no no no, you didn’t know Gnarly Kitty.

“I am not leaving until I get the confirmation from you that I will get my photos today, as stated in the slip, as I paid for.”

After a few exchanges of eye contacts to prove that I wasn’t kidding, they managed to get Giggle’s boyfriend, who’s also a staff, to take BTS to Sathorn to get the film. And that I would get my product 4 hours later than what they promised. Or yet, 7 hours later than what was advertised.

So I cooled it off with Dairy Queen Kid’s burger set with refillable Coke and a piece of ice cream sandwich. After I was satisfied gastronomically, it was time to get some emotional and intellectual satisfaction.

“Here are your photos. However you will have to pay B30 more. I charged you wrong at first, I thought it was a Digital-to-CD package, not Film-to-CD package.”

OK wait a second, when my mother handed you a ROLL OF FREAKIN’ FILM, you assumed it was a memory card and rang up the B30 cheaper package?

“OK, let’s see. I’m your only film customer of the day, probably of the month. You did not deliver what you promised. It was YOUR fault that it was late and it was YOUR fault that you couldn’t tell the difference between a roll of film and a memory card, and I’m going to have to pay B30 extra for the already EXTRA fee for a service that I did not get?”

“Fine. Here. Take it.” and he shoved the envelope onto the table.

“Nice.”

Don’t you just love Thai service?

You know what I think most security guards are? People who are not capable enough to be a cop and yet try to act like one.

I can’t count how many times I get into a fight with these ‘yaam’. Not because I’m doing something wrong, it’s always due to the fact that they seem to have a wrong impression of what the job entails.

Some of them are great, polite beings who actually make our lives better. And then there are the plain brainless self-absorbed idiots who have nothing better to do than playing cops with customers.

We got into the parking of CentralWorld today and as always at 6 o’clock it was pretty full. I told my friend to go to the Platinum area as I have the card. We saw an empty lot, pulled up, and a security guard soon approached our car looking like he owned the world.

He made a hand gesture of a rectangle. I gave him a visible nod before I started to reach for my wallet.

He came over and asked us to roll down the window.

As I was reaching for my wallet, he shouted into the car and said,

“มันต้องเป็นแพลตตินั่มน่ะ” (It has to be Platinum, you know?)

I said yes and told him I was getting it out of the wallet right now if he could just wait.

Then that piece of little human shit shouted back at us:

“มีกับเค้าด้วยหรอ” (Like you? Have a Platinum?)

That was it. I got out of the car and was ready to stunt his sorry face.

“Who do you think you are? What’s wrong with asking politely? There’s no need to be rude and insulting.”

“อะไร ดูถูก ผมไม่เข้าใจ” (Insulting? What’s that? I don’t know what it means.)

“A human like you don’t know what insulting means?”

Then out of the most ignorant randomness ever he stared at me in the eye and said.

“ผมเคยเป็นทหารนะ รู้มั๊ย” (I was a soldier, OK?”)

Haha. At home, army cadets wash drive our car and do gardening.

So I pointed to his ironed on badge on this chest, so close almost poking it, and said,

“Well, can you read this? It says you’re just a parking lot security guard, now. What are you gonna do to me huh, yaam?”

It's been a hectic week and I'm late for an interview for my story. Why? No not because I lost track of time, car didn't break down, there's no accidents.

Just so happens that Siam Paragon is having a "store opening" and that the roads has to be "closed" for this auspicious occasion of another launch of another product of another store that no one gives a shit about.

Everyone hates this "auspicious" blockage of traffic but who can complain? I mean CAN anyone??

~

Sent via BlackBerry® from AIS

OK first of all let me just say that I do have a fair share of Chula-graduated friends and most of them are a pretty sane bunch (right, Namizon? Korbua?).

But then there's another group of people that breathe and live the pink pride. It pains me. And what I hate more is their tendency to try to convert people around them to have the same ideas and opinions.

It's like almost like cult.

What sparked me to write about this post? I just went to Chamchuri Square to check it out for BK and it wasn't a kind of experience I would like to relive again (http://www.bkmagazine.com/blog/alisara-chirapongse/2008/07/28/not-so-cheery-chamchuri). It was a pure example of the kind of people representing the Chula stereotype. Traditional and uptight.

But anyway as I got off the Sam Yan MRT, I realized that I have landed in the Chula turf, thanks to the pink tiles, symbols and colors that are decorating the walls of the station. I didn't have to wait for long for a gigantic sign saying "This property is built upon the Chulalongkorn land" to appear. Yes, we know.

Don't you think Chula is such a vain institution?

As I grew up in a pretty traditional Thai environment where every family member was educated in the Chula umbrella in one way or another, I was surrounded by the Chula mentality all my life. The mentality that requires you to NOT think outside the box, to not defy the powers of the adults and to always know my place and be aware of the fact that since the days you opened your eyes your future was already set in stones not by just your parents but aunts and uncles, grand and great grandparents.

I have always been the odd one in my family. I was never in the family's systematic series of education. Everyone else did. You have to start your education at Chitlada and continue your university in Chula. Peroid.

What did I do? I went to a Catholic school, then into a Brit system and ended up in a private university. Boy were they pissed when they saw that my university did not require me to wear ridiculous white shoes and skirts covering my ankles.

When I was in my second year in ABAC I was called in by my great grandmother to discuss "my future". She sat me down, while I was wearing my university uniform, and she went, "So when are you going to get into Chula?" I got so pissed. If she wasn't tiny, old, and my own great grand mother, I would have punched her in the face.

The rumor had it that the reason why I was in ABAC was because I wasn't smart enough to get into Chula. Right. Like the Rote-learning style of exam would improve my braincell count. I CHOSE ABAC, solely because I did not want to be sucked into the system that I loathe. The system where uniforms for university students were not enough, you still have to follow a strict dresscode that makes you look like you just stepped out of a 1950s poster. The same system that the way you tie your hair or the way you dress OUTSIDE the university perimeter can also decide whether or not you will get your degree. It's the same system where teachers should be revered and feared like gods and where your involvement in abusive freshman hazing has a say whether or not you will go through your four years of college as an invisible person of no importance.

Funniest thing is, I heard about all these rules and "customs" from real life Chula graduates and yet they spoke of these with such utmost love and respect.

My cousin posed in a swimsuit for a magazine once and she almost got suspended. A friend did not wear proper white shoes as stated by the university and she had to write an essay about it. And all this happened in the 21st century.

OK, Chula is the first university in Thailand, named after a king, has bred nation's finest and has the best educational facilities and resources the country could ask for.

But there's a difference between being traditional and outdated and they should start acknowledging it.

But then again if people are still raising their children under this mentality, like the "traditional side" of family, it will never be out of the cycle.

Oh well, at least I never got in.

~

Sent via BlackBerry® from AIS