The Redheaded Falang
-November 2005
I want to get a shirt that says ‘YES, I AM A FALANG AND I HAVE RED HAIR’. But then the Thais who stare couldn’t read it anyway and I’m the only one who would find it funny. Maybe I could get it written in Thai. But then that would only attract more attention to myself and besides that’s something Julianne would do, not me.
Unlike most redheads I never really thought of my hair as a curse until I moved here. Well, if I had any notion that I could go unnoticed in this city of six million people, I was wrong and it’s largely because of my damn red hair.
Falangs get stared at most of the time as it is. They don’t need any help with unusual features. Every morning I leave my apartment (ie. bed and toilet) building and walk down a few sois until I get to the main street I have to cross to get to the university. First I pass the lady cooking these huge sausage things, then I pass the owner of this karaoke/northern food restaurant gutting fish, then this old man who sits on bench reading a newspaper with no shirt on who never says hello or smiles and an assortment of other regular characters, including a garbage sorter sitting on a stool. But it’s like I’m the leader of a falang parade every day. They all stop what they’re doing and stare at me. They don’t hide it, either. Always, there are dozens of eyes watching your every single move. At least I give them a little entertainment with my clutsiness. I often twist my ankle in the potholes wearing these enormous heels because that’s what women wear with their skirts (I’ll tell you a story about that too), or I slip in the rain puddle or trip over a daft dog or nearly get run over by a motorcycle taxi coming out of nowhere.
Yesterday I turned onto a soi and heard a baby crying. There was probably 10 people trying to find a way to entertain the kid long enough to shut it up but she just wasn’t going to stop. As soon as her mom saw me she nudged the little girl and said “falang, falang” and pointed at me. (falang means foreigner and it’s not quite as awful as it sounds). At first I was unimpressed. Does she really think I don’t know what falang means? But then the little girl stopped crying because she was staring at me and my damn red hair. When I realized what the mom was really doing I smiled and waved at her daughter. As soon as I turned the corner, she started wailing again. Too bad you can’t get falang dolls.
Two days afterwards I was coming home from work carrying my bag of spring rolls and fresh pineapple for dinner and I saw the same family sitting in the same soi. The little girl, somewhere between one and two-years-old, opened her mouth and said ‘falang’. Her mother shrieked and, in Thai, told the people inside their house what the infant said - one of few words she’s ever spoken. Hey, I’ll take it.
I want to get a shirt that says ‘YES, I AM A FALANG AND I HAVE RED HAIR’. But then the Thais who stare couldn’t read it anyway and I’m the only one who would find it funny. Maybe I could get it written in Thai. But then that would only attract more attention to myself and besides that’s something Julianne would do, not me.
Unlike most redheads I never really thought of my hair as a curse until I moved here. Well, if I had any notion that I could go unnoticed in this city of six million people, I was wrong and it’s largely because of my damn red hair.
Falangs get stared at most of the time as it is. They don’t need any help with unusual features. Every morning I leave my apartment (ie. bed and toilet) building and walk down a few sois until I get to the main street I have to cross to get to the university. First I pass the lady cooking these huge sausage things, then I pass the owner of this karaoke/northern food restaurant gutting fish, then this old man who sits on bench reading a newspaper with no shirt on who never says hello or smiles and an assortment of other regular characters, including a garbage sorter sitting on a stool. But it’s like I’m the leader of a falang parade every day. They all stop what they’re doing and stare at me. They don’t hide it, either. Always, there are dozens of eyes watching your every single move. At least I give them a little entertainment with my clutsiness. I often twist my ankle in the potholes wearing these enormous heels because that’s what women wear with their skirts (I’ll tell you a story about that too), or I slip in the rain puddle or trip over a daft dog or nearly get run over by a motorcycle taxi coming out of nowhere.
Yesterday I turned onto a soi and heard a baby crying. There was probably 10 people trying to find a way to entertain the kid long enough to shut it up but she just wasn’t going to stop. As soon as her mom saw me she nudged the little girl and said “falang, falang” and pointed at me. (falang means foreigner and it’s not quite as awful as it sounds). At first I was unimpressed. Does she really think I don’t know what falang means? But then the little girl stopped crying because she was staring at me and my damn red hair. When I realized what the mom was really doing I smiled and waved at her daughter. As soon as I turned the corner, she started wailing again. Too bad you can’t get falang dolls.
Two days afterwards I was coming home from work carrying my bag of spring rolls and fresh pineapple for dinner and I saw the same family sitting in the same soi. The little girl, somewhere between one and two-years-old, opened her mouth and said ‘falang’. Her mother shrieked and, in Thai, told the people inside their house what the infant said - one of few words she’s ever spoken. Hey, I’ll take it.
posted by Natalie at 8:50 AM
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