Arranged Marriages

A Thai friend of mine had quite a dilemma last year. In order to relate the story I'm changing some details and using one of my "Sunset" photos, just so there's a picture for today's post. Let's call my friend Nong (which means younger, as he's just now 30) and his female friend Bua (meaning lotus flower, as she is a beautiful young woman).

Although the men are usually the actual breadwinners in the Thai culture, many times the women rule the roost at home. It's rarely safe to make blanket generalizations, but this is certainly the case in almost all Filipino families I've known in my life, and seems to carry into most of the Thai families I've come in contact with so far, too. Nong's family is one such group. Nong's mother selected his school, his educational path and nudged him into the stable professional job he now labors away at a good 10 hours a day.

Nong's family is Muslim, the minority religion in Thailand (less than 6% of the total population), but one of quite strong beliefs. His father is quite active in mentoring and educating others in the Muslim ways, and their home is often the meeting place for readings, discussions and celebrations.

While Nong himself is a strong believer in the faith and holds almost all of their traditions to the letter, there's one he's had no choice in, and one that has caused him a great deal of introspection and thought: Nong is a gay man in a culture that finds his natural inclinations an abomination, and there lies his dilemma: unwilling to face what he feels would be the certain loss of his family and the probable shunning by his community, he lives firmly locked in the prison of "the closet," as do many others in this world.

A couple of years ago Nong's mother decided it was time for grandchildren, and that meant Nong must marry and get on the job, so to speak. As is their tradition, Mother found a wife for Nong, a date was set and there was an ornate and festive day of ceremonial nuptials, food and celebration, widely attended by their family, friends and community.

Nong sent me an invitation but my finances and schedule didn't allow me to attend their wedding, although I'd have been more than happy to witness it to provide whatever peripheral emotional support possible from a safe distance, and, of course, to satisfy my own curiosity. In the note he'd enclosed with the invitation he wrote "This day will not be a happy day for me. She is a family friend, but I do not love her." These few words were some of the saddest I'd read in a long time, and with a tear in my eye I wished him well, knowing he was heading down an unhappy path; not alone, but not with a companion of his choosing.

After asking around I purchased an appropriate wedding gift, wrapped it up and took it to the post office to ship to he and Bua, but it wasn't with the smiling anticipation I'd normally stand in line with when sending a similar package.

Fortunately for Nong, he and Bua did become friends. He found they got along fairly well, shared similar tastes in everyday things, and both had the bonds of their faith. He was able to "perform" as expected, but found reasons not to do so as often as possible, aided by both his and Bua's long work days and long commutes to their home. Bua would often stay with her family to save her the two hour commute to their marital home, and Nong worked so late he'd regularly been sleeping on a cot in his office for a couple of years already.

A couple of months ago I received my first phone call from Nong to my home here in the US. He sounded sad, and I sat down to listen to his tale of woe. Despite their best efforts over nine months or so, Bua had not become pregnant. Her patience wearing thin, Nong's mother sent them to doctors to be checked out, and while Nong's "little swimmers" were just fine, Bua's eggs were not. They would not be able to have children of their own. A divorce was out of the question, and many in the family - naturally Bua and Nong, but especially Nong's mother - were inconsolable. Nong was doubly sad: married, gay and unable to make children to be some joy to him.

"NOW what shall I do?" asked my friend, his voice breaking as he began to cry. Wishing I could give him a hug but well aware he was 8,000 miles away I waited quietly while he wept and then composed himself. "What do I do now?" he asked again, and I had no good answer. "Well, Nong, you care a lot about Bua, yes?" "Yes," he allowed "but I still do not love her. I sleep on a mat next to our bed when I am home."

"Then you have two choices," I said, trying to be sensitive, respectful and logical all at the same time, which is not always my strong suit. "You make the best of things as many others do, or you tell your family the truth and take whatever comes after that." "I know," he said, softly. "I will do as I must do."

Nong and Bua are still together, and the only ones who know the truth are Nong and I.