The trauma of moving house has been slightly softened by the novelty of a new neighbourhood.
Although I have lived in my old house for decades, it has been very much a city environment, where neighbours nod and smile shyly at each other and perhaps exchange a few pleasantries about the unseasonal rain or the traffic, which always makes for a good conversation topic when you have nothing else to fall back on.
There is very little interaction, and everyone keeps very much to himself, perhaps not so much because of any urban snobbery as such, but more so the pace of life where everyone is rushing off to work, to school, to buy and sell, to catch buses and skytrains and whatever else it is that city people do.
But now I've moved a little way out of the city into what can only be referred to as suburbia. It's just off the busy Bang Na intersection, but the lifestyle is way more laid back that what I've been used to.
My little townhouse is in a cul-de-sac where the neighbours gather as soon as the scorching afternoon sun begins to morph into a gentle evening breeze. They chit-chat as the kids trundle along on their tricycles and bicycles, little dogs yapping behind the cast-iron fences. Soon a bottle or two of local beer is brought out, and the social interaction begins in earnest.
On my first day, I was greeted on arrival by the neighbourhood welcoming committee, as they introduced the members to me in rapid succession that I had no way of remembering who was who.
"Don't you have a lot of things!" they remarked blatantly but good-naturedly. "Normally people come with three pick-up loads of belongings, but you've got double that!"
It's nice to know that my every move is being scrutinised, and that everyone knows my fridge is too big to fit into the door. However, the lady two doors down reassured me that I was in a safe and secure environment.
"In the evenings, kids have priority here over cars," she announced. That sounded perfect to me.
"We are all very easy-going, and you'll love it here. You can park in your house, in front of your house, or if you have another car, then you can also park it down the street by the park."
No complaints.
"Oh, by the way, just dont get too friendly with the people in the house on the corner. They are a bit unpredictable, and its better to keep a safe distance."
She made it sound as if there was a serial killer hidden behind the facade of the pretty plant-covered trellised house. This whole suburbia thing was reminding me too much of Wysteria Lane, where the desperate housewives would meet up on the pavement, heads huddled as they shared some recently discovered secret of a community member. And everyone could tell who it was, since the ladies would inevitably be glancing wide-eyed at the house under discussion.
Yet I was soon introduced to the friendly neighbourhood spirit when they noticed that a large shelf was still lying in my driveway. Two sturdy young men were quickly rounded up, and pretty soon they had carried it up the tiny stairway to my son's room. And with a smile and a wave, they were gone.
My colleague was quite envious of this phenomenon. "I don't have a neighbourhood as such," she moaned. "On my soi, we live our own little lives, and when there was a fire next door, I ran about banging on their doors for help. No one came out!"
So I am thankful for my little community. I took it in my stride when the house next door asked me to move my car forward a bit so they could lay out a mat just outside their driveway. The gang gathered, and the noise and laughter increased with the number of beer bottles they opened. A massage session was going on at the same time, and kids milled about to pick at the snacks.
The next day I arrived home to find my usual parking space taken by a large pick-up truck carrying what looked like a life-size Japanese superhero in its trunk bed. In fact, the entire soi looked like a pick-up truck convention had just convened.
And sure enough, there were two huge clusters of people in the opposite house. The men seated on mats in front looked set for a long night of beer bingeing. Through the window, I could see another cluster, mostly women. I don't even want to guess what they were up to, but I wouldn't be surprised if cards or dice were involved.
I quickly retreated to the sanctuary of my room where the drone of the air-conditioner helped to drown out the music and laughter from across the street. It's going to be an interesting six months.
Usnisa Sukhsvasti is the Features Editor of the Bangkok Post.