Friends Without Borders (Short Story by Chester Cabalza)

Copyright © 2010 by Chester B Cabalza. All Rights Reserved.

I ARRIVED IN BANGKOK around nine o'clock in the morning and immediately called up my elder brother Kim to fetch me at the sprawling Suvarnabhumi airport.

“I love Thailand!” Kim pompously admitted.

He brought out his tongue and maneuvered it up and down, the way a naughty child licked his ice cream. He shouted merrily. Stretched in the air his hands with a clenched fist and shook his robust body. Bit danced on his seat and expressed a blissful behavior, inside the tuktuk, a local tricycle around Bangkok. Either he whacked his body or rolled his hands and followed the fresh crisp rhythm of Thai pop music that emanated from the mini sound system of the trademark transport around the city.

He mingled once in a while to the driver who just scorned him but he evasively detected my brother’s rude gestures. Kim looked like a native to the driver because of his small tiger-eyes. Then we stopped in front a cozy motel. Directly he went up to a room. His petite nude Burmese girlfriend already lied in white linen bed and awaited him to wallow in over her fragile body. He asked me to proxy him at the forum. Of course, with my oddness as a wannabe physician delegate, I accepted the deal. And so, I hurried off to Thammasat University for the AIDS Conference, annually held in this so-called, “Amazing Kingdom.” By then, I was late for the first talk. I gallingly surrendered when the tuktuk I was riding, sandwiched by two opposing cabs.

“Manila, Manila…” my mind protested in comparison. By then, looking harassed at the situation. I called up Kim, again. At that moment, he already savored the day. Perhaps at the climax of his arousal, as he turned off his cellular phone, so I would not spoil his performance. Perhaps, moaning over and over again while I turned into a fugitive in the bump accident.

As I entered the carpeted conference room, a sweet voice dominated the semi-dark room. This time a gorgeous lady eloquently expounded in English her powerpoint presentation in front of distinguished guests and broad range of health specialists. Eavesdropping to her voice marvelously struck my senses. It was a nightingale’s tone with Thai accent. My heart palpitated. Frozenly standing when I stared at her. My mind's eye flew me away to Phuket in my trunks while she was in her white bikini. She appeared juicy to my thawing eyes.

That was it - I am my brother’s brother...

The presentation ended and ensued by open forum. I walked to the center. I grabbed a microphone and feigned as an expert. I did not know if some felt I was a bogus.

“By the way, I’m Peter from the Philippines,” they stared at me. They wanted to scrutinize my facade. I breathed deeply. And then I resurfaced my apparent huge smile. Prudently asked the lady’s name but psyched experts would chuckle at me as if reminding ‘Does he has to ask her name again?’ but I defended I came late. So I wanted to know her name quickly for the record.

“Pae!” she broached herself in a tonal accent.

“Your name, please?” I pursued again, looking funny around the circle of educated guests. Then she reiterated her pseudonym.

“Well, thank you Ms. Pae,” and smiled gorgeously at her.

“Ah, I just want to comment about your beautiful presentation,” my accolade, “I believe we should really help the AIDS victims. There must be a round of support from our governments. Umm, you know AIDS is one of the biggest dis-as-ter, I me-an, agonies the humankind is suffering, and…” going around the bush made me even vague as she listened diligently. Perhaps she tried to comprehend my philosophy.

I felt numb at that moment. I did not know what I was doing in front of them. I had no more words to utter when the moderator thanked my baloney comment. Uncomfortable in my seat, reflected how unintelligent I was, made me ashamed of myself.

But my heart continuously throbbed for Pae.

That turned out to be so uneasy for me.

I let off myself from the hall and looked myself at the mirror, emerged fizzled, and bothered by my odd sensation inside the toilet. Then I exhaled a breath releasing my apprehension.

When I returned to the circle, men and women conversed with wit during munchies. I rang again Kim to rescue me from hell but I could not reach him. With my disappointment, I shook my fingers with consternation; moved around with mixed anxiety, drank a cup of tea with milk and bit some chips from the platter.

Turning one 180 degrees, Pae seriously chatted with a Pakistani participant. The Pakistani’s eyes consuming her, as if devouring his sight to a cute petite Thailander. As soon as the South Asian man talked, he burst into words, louder so that everybody could hear him.

I wanted to near her and strangle him and maybe to take her away from that onion-scented chap. Because I craved for her precious time; daydreamed that I was talking alone with her but I could not. I had to have a fighting spirit overcoming a faltering strength. So, I stretched my back and slowly moved towards her. But my strength vanished when guys hastily packed around her to receive her calling card. Frustratingly I got none.



Lunchtime, Kim drove a rented car as we reached a modest café across the Grand Palace. Sighted the gold coated walled kingdom, an area of 218,400 square meters, and surrounded by walls built in 1783. Major tourists were mostly Japanese, Malaysians, and Caucasians. They exuded amazement at the 17th century Royal Palace.

I expected my bohemian brother would spend more time with me; either to tour me around the metropolis or treat me to a Thai restaurant. But he was outspoken of his ecstasy yesterday. Kim narrated his illicit affair with his mistress while at the same time we conversed about some ordeals in Burma. Like the rising number people getting infected by AIDS killed in that poor nation. Later that afternoon, we hanged at a simple restaurant near the Royal Palace. Suddenly, a lady drew to our table and interrupted our intellectual talk. Kim stood up and directly shook hands with her.

“Mr. Peter from the Philippines, right?” she sighed.

“My youngest brother,” Kim said and she smiled at me.

“Call me Peter. Common, say it Kim!” I challenged him as I bashfully looked at her confused face.

“Peter Pan!” my brother joked.

“Just call me Pae,” she courteously said, “do you want to explore the Grand Palace?” her hospitable offer to Kim.

“No. Thanks. I have seen it thrice,” recanted my naturalized American brother.

“I want to go and see it. Is it okay with you?” I promptly said.

“How about the appointment? Our appointment!” Kim reminded her. “We can discuss it while touring the palace. Right, Pae?” I said.

‘There you go again…” Kim grinned at me.

I winked at him. I obtained his permission and he allowed me to sightsee the famed palace with the gorgeous lady. I immediately stood up and invited the Thai beau. Still in perplexity whether to accompany me or not because of Kim’s apparent distress painted in his face by naturally deforming his lips.

Ultimately my brother sent his pathetic consent for us to date at the old Siam. Though, he stayed alone drinking his Singha beer. So, Pae and I explored the Grand Palace. Her expanse knowledge about the kingdom could confer her a diploma in Thai Art and History, being the best guide I ever had.

In our tour, I feigned listening to her stories behind the architectures and histories of the Chapel Royal of the Emerald Buddha, the Mahāmontien and the Čakri structures that were built and resided in by King Rama V. We also passed by the Boromabimān building, the venue when King Moŋkut ascended into the throne and where his concubines lived.

But I lavishly stared at her photogenic face. Laughing sometime at myself when my playful mind scrolled to events strangely, and I as the King while she was my Anna. An infallible love story which some Thai historians controvert. I chased her graceful paces as we entered an astounding temple. Its silence troubled by thousands of visitors that day.

She blessed me with bud of lotus immersed over the holy water. And horde of Buddhist novitiates silently passed by their trodden path.

As we left the palace, she scanned details about my brother’s health NGO based in Manila; financially supported by the World Health Organization. She was investigating things that really mattered to her.

On the other hand, I evaded and diverted to some Thai history but she was elusive as ever. Instead we talked about my brother. I would say she was expert in human relations. Witty handling such kind of circumstance when one fooled her around. In other words, she was intelligent yet sensible.

She was perhaps already irritated with my inattentive behavior after she gained few details about my brother’s NGO work. So she immersed and regained my foci and shifted to matters that interest me.

“I certainly agree with your comments this morning?” she initiated.

I blushed. I knew she was just teasing me but I ceased to reply.

“You know thousands of Thai, Burmese, and Lao families die of AIDS every year...” she opined and appeared quite serious. She gradually seduced my thoughts so I could share some opinions with her.

“Thailand must have a lot of AIDS victims in Asia?” I probed.

“It’s the world that we care. It must be prevented...” her add-on.



Nighttime, a queue of bar girls ramped on blinking stage. They sleazed their sizzling bare bodies. Only silk bikini and a pair of glossy stars wrapped them. I imagined them as Middle Eastern belly dancers. They seduced bald Caucasian foreigners (oversex caused baldness? I thought) and slander Asians alike in their tempest shindig. During the show, a lovely girl frolicked her flawless body behind silver bar forming letter S upside down. Then she crawled, tumbled, acrobat around stunning beauties. And after her solo performance, she came down excitedly to our table and sat on Kim’s laps. I never thought my brother would be sexually attractive to a Burmese sex worker. I felt he was cheating his American wife. That same instance, I thought of values my parents imbibed to him.

He was such a deviant.

“Scarlet, meet my virgin brother,” commenced playboy Kim.

“Look who’s talking,” I retorted with embarrassment.

“Kka-mu-ssta...” she greeted in her mangled Tagalog.

I smiled at her. Kim kissed her neck, her lips like a venomous snake did. But I skipped looking at them rather bounced my head to the tune of rhythmic techno music.

Later I got tedious watching those girls. They did not even come down in our table unless tip is offered. I toured around the night market outside the long-stretched bars and left them in their hanky-panky. But it rained. Tourists ran to shielded stores until it stopped. Midnight when we reached Kim’s rented condo unit. Scented incense nursed his painful head. He was already drunk and knocked down as I dropped him on his bed. And then, I lied down in my own soft bed; still alive waiting for sun to shine.

Whenever I could not get my sleep, my eyes would wander and glance at an attractive nude painting, hanging alone like a princess inside my small room. It was a beautiful realist painting. A sexy unclothed Mulatto would always stare at my curious eyes. Her breasts erect and pout so attractive. Lust espoused my thought. Unzipped my khaki pants and masturbated. As I moaned, Pae surprised my desire. In Phuket, she appeared sexy in her thong and pair of glossy stars. She swayed stylishly her body and danced seductively and proffered me a relaxing Thai massage.

The three of us met again. They discussed and signed tie-up programs for their organizations inside a fine-dining restaurant. She sipped a hot tomyang. And then glibly implied her vivid ideas on how people could empathize with HIV/AIDS victims. Those victims she said many times had been a subject to widespread social stigma and other forms of discrimination.

That lunch, Kim was in a hurry, pardoned to depart early and left us in a shallow conversation. He would accompany his girlfriend up to Chiang Mai. At least two days in the cold city would perhaps warmth their love, if true love really exists between them.

Pae was so silent. She chewed very well her food before swallowing it. But her enigmatic presence sometimes intimidated me.

“So you were born in Songkla? I love the beach in the south,” I said.
“Yes,” her simple response.

“I was born in Happy Valley,” I said.

“Is it a beautiful place?” She asked.

“It’s a great place my grandpa owned!” I happily replied.

But she looked at sliced mangoes on the other table.
“I really miss mangoes. Mind you, Philippines has the best mangoes in the world,” I enthused.

“Really?” and she nodded.

Silence enveloped us again except for the mellow instrumentals. I waited a word from her. But she did not bite a word. Then dessert was finally served. A mouth-watering slices of watermelon, pineapple, and mango.

“Among the fruits I love on this plate is mango,” she delighted and picked a slice of mango using her shining fork.

“Because of its heart shape or flavor?” I savored it.

“Yummy!” she jumped into conclusion.

Her phone inside a leather handy bag rang thrice before she answered it. While talking to someone it made me uneasy. Qualms entered my filthy expectation and perhaps that someone could be her husband, or fiancé, or the Pakistani who surely had a crush on her. Petty as it could turn out to be but every suspicion could also lead to speculations. Switching off her phone, she courteously excused and left me to meet someone in her office. We stood up. And I thanked her. This time I wanted to hug her but I could not do it. When I sat down, frustrated but once more replenished by my hope that I would be seeing her again. She had forgotten her pink hanky on the table. And that gave me a greater chance to meet her deliberately. Quickly, I smelled its sweetness yet intrigued with words knitted on it - Friends Without Borders, which my lips read it wordlessly.



That night gave a unique experience for visitors of the city of angels. Dusts in carefree roamed the scratches of busy streets. Traffic jams in wee hours. Temples fascinated sightseers. The ferries that crossed the fabled river brought friendly passengers to their destinations.

My high-spirited mood shoved. Wondering what moved me to a beautiful wooden house. Its exterior carved with wooden murals of trees; traditional costumes of Thai men and women, revered elephants and monkeys. All murals perhaps connote historical importance and architectural symbols designed conventionally. A spirit house laden in the yard decorated around healthy plants and flowers. Suddenly, an aged lady saw me at the gate and I asked for Pae.

“Lampoo, Lampoo someone is looking for you?” yelled her aunt in Thai as she entered the house.

“Oh, Peter. Come inside,” such a hospitality.

I smiled handsomely at her. Inside the house were gamut of antique collections. Thai relics marvelously appeared into my massive thawing eyes. As I strode around the living room, seemed like a museum to me, wondrously amazed at every objects, suddenly, a photo of two ladies struck me, especially a mid-forties woman and at the back a message in Thai penmanship wrote. She came closer and read it for me:
Today, I am ready to open up my heart. To open up my heart is to share my sorrow with others and hope that society will also open up its mind and its arms to me and to all my friends living with HIV – Fongchan.

“That is my sister Jiab with Fongchan. Oh, I miss her so much,” said Pae while I was bewildered with the black and white photo.

“Jiab works for a volunteer group called Friends without Borders,” she softly stated, still looking at the photo. She was proud of her sister’s heroic deed. Spent her life in Burma and provided guidance to many people. It truly lifted her spirit while helping people living with HIV and AIDS.

I quivered at where I stood up and perhaps in aphasia. I was about to tell her something but changed my disposition. Politely, I returned her hanky without saying anything.

“Oh, thank you Peter. Want some tea or lemon juice?” she asked.

But my phone rang and I answered softly.

I turned my back at her. My brows met as I listened to every words of Kim. After his brief instruction, I bowed my surly face. But it shivered Pae’s reaction. I walked off in a hurry. She came with me and we went to a nearby hospital. We searched for my brother who was in trouble.

When I saw him, he sobbed alone outside the emergency room. It disheartened me. That was the only moment I saw him in despair; he was at the lowest point in his life. I slowly neared him. He trembled furiously but no more tears expressed his emotion.

The trip to Chiang Mai was a disaster. Supposedly, they will cross the border and visit his girlfriend’s home in Burma. Scarlet wanted to surprise her parents after discerning she would volunteer to my brother’s health project. Actually, she was about to disclose her infection to her family. It was a communicable disease that the media in Thailand made it seem terrible. Her father admonished her once, if she got the disease he would shoot her but she defied his reprimand. The plan turned hapless when thieves robed all passengers’ belongings in the bus they had ridden. Scarlet tried to hide the necklace Kim recently gave it to her when a devious thief saw it and grabbed from her. She fought forcefully and ended up shot in her chest.

“Please, don’t take her away from me. She was a good friend to me,” he sobbed, “tell to God that she was a great person. Please! Please!” he beseeched his faith, feeling sorry for her fate. That time, he even forgot being a physician, but like a helpless man I clasped my brother.

It reminded me of one simple thing. Life is so short.

Kim often told me that life is like a woven cloth into which one has to pour his heart in order to weave each thread into a beautiful piece of clothing.
Sometimes, I belittled him knowing he did not know how to love dearly, trying to preach love when he could not practice himself. But my chauvinism went badly wrong. Hours had been spoiled that night - midnight and came sunrise. And then, the doctor delivered the results of the operation.

“I’m willing to donate blood. I’m O negative,” said Pae struggling to convince me so Kim would consider her offer. The blood type was rare that only few Asians have it.

Kim was still immersed in dilemma, but as he emerged, he became stronger enough to face the risks and asked humbly Pae’s consideration. He walked slowly away from the corridors, as if searching for answers to his questions. As he descended the stairs, a couple burned incense at the spirit house, making a deal with their God, that if a loved one would survive, perhaps they would love her better and would do good things in return. In that way his troubling heart would be healed.

After that tragedy, I went home to my country with lots of wisdom. I learned true life experiences. From people I had encountered in foreign lands. And traveling was my window of first-hand discovery of unusual cultures and worldviews.
My brother Kim finally returned to New York after his shaky ordeal with Scarlet. He left to Pae all the programs they had to present to the WHO. He hoped their advocacy would be heard and implemented.

Before I left Bangkok, Kim told me he wanted a divorce from his American wife. But his trauma changed him to become a better person. And perhaps promised himself to alter his karma after his girlfriend survived. Had he now realized how much he loved his pregnant wife Michelle? He must have learned something, as well.