My Thai Girlfriend’s Family Took Over My Home

The day I realized I’d lost control of my own home, I was standing outside a spare bedroom asking a man I’d known for barely three weeks why he’d put a padlock on the door. He smiled and said, “Ask my sister.” His sister was my girlfriend and I was still paying the rent.

I’m Peter, 61, from Adelaide. I’ve lived in Thailand nearly 4 years. I retired here after 30 years of shift work because I wanted a quieter life. And for a while, I had exactly that.

I rented a three-bedroom house outside Korat for 16,000 baht a month. It had a garden, parking, and a quiet terrace. Then I met Som. She was 42, divorced, and worked in payroll for a transport company.

We met through a mutual friend at a restaurant. She spoke good English, had her own motorbike, and didn’t seem interested in what I could buy her. She kept her own room near work for the first 6 months. We went out together, and she sometimes paid for groceries. When she moved in, it felt like a proper relationship.

4 months later, her mother needed medical appointments in Korat. Som asked if she could stay with us for a week rather than travel 2 hours each way from her village. I said, “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

Her mother arrived on Tuesday with two bags and enough food to feed a small army. She was lovely, actually, quiet, polite, always cooking. I had no problem with her being there.

On Friday, Som’s brother, Wit, arrived, 34, recently separated from his wife, apparently looking for work. “Just a few days,” Som told me. We had a spare bedroom. I agreed. Then Wit’s 9-year-old daughter came for the school holidays. Suddenly, there were five of us. I liked the girl, but nobody had asked if I wanted a family living there.

Rising Bills and Wit Borrowing My Scooter

The first argument was over the electricity bill. Normally around 2,000 baht, it was now almost 5,000. Air conditioning all day, television all night, and Wit sleeping until lunchtime because he was supposedly searching for jobs online after midnight.

I asked Som if her brother could contribute a little. “He’s family, Peter. He’s having a difficult time.” Fair enough, I thought. Until my motorbike disappeared.

I kept an old Honda scooter for shopping. One afternoon, it wasn’t there. Som said Wit had borrowed it. “Why didn’t he ask me?” “He needed to go somewhere.” He returned with almost no petrol.

I told him he was welcome to ask, but not to take it without permission. “Okay, Peter,” he said. The next morning, the scooter was gone again.

It wasn’t the petrol that bothered me. It was that everything I owned had quietly become available to everybody, whether I agreed or not. I told Som her brother needed to find somewhere else to live. She promised to speak to him. A week later, he was still there.

Then, I came home one evening to find six people around my dining table. Som had invited an aunt and a cousin. Food everywhere. Bottles on the floor, my favorite chair dragged outside. I smiled, said hello, and went to my bedroom. Som followed me an hour later.

“Why are you being rude to my family?” “Because I don’t know who’s living here anymore.” She said I’d embarrassed her. I replied, “It’s my house, Som.” She went quiet. “Your house? So, I’m just a guest.”

I explained that I meant I was responsible for the rent and bills. Not that she wasn’t welcome, but she heard something different. “You want me here, but you don’t want my family.” I tried explaining that visiting and moving in permanently weren’t the same thing. We went around in circles until I gave up.

Strangers in the House and a Padlock on the Spare Bedroom

After that, the atmosphere changed. Her mother looked upset whenever I walked into the kitchen. Wit barely acknowledged me, and he seemed to have stopped looking for work. He spent afternoons on his phone and evenings outside with friends.

One morning I nearly tripped over a stranger asleep on the sofa. “Who is that?” I asked Som. “Wit’s friend. He stayed last night.” I told her I wasn’t comfortable with strangers sleeping in my living room.

“You don’t understand Thai family,” she said. That became her answer to everything. The electricity bill, my missing scooter, extra people sleeping in the house. Apparently, every boundary I tried to set was a cultural misunderstanding.

I started staying out for hours. I’d sit in a coffee shop with my phone, then come home and go straight to the bedroom. Imagine paying 16,000 baht a month for somewhere you don’t want to be.

Then came the padlock. I’d spent two nights in Bangkok visiting a friend. When I returned, Wit had fitted a lock to the spare bedroom door. He said he bought furniture and wanted his belongings kept safe. “Safe from who?” He shrugged. “Take it off,” I said. “Ask Som.”

That evening, I told Som he’d have 7 days to move out. She said he had nowhere to go. I pointed out he’d had over 2 months to find something. Then she started crying. “My mother and brother think you don’t like them because they’re poor.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d fed them, housed them, and paid every bill. Now I was insulting them because I wanted my spare bedroom back. “Then maybe I should leave too,” Som said.

And I made the mistake I’d been making since the first week. I backed down because I loved her and didn’t want to lose her. Wit stayed. Som sometimes slept beside her mother instead of with me. Nobody was happy, least of all me.

Renting a One-Bedroom Condo on the Other Side of Korat

Then my landlord messaged. A neighbor had complained about motorbikes outside and people arriving late at night. He reminded me that the tenancy was in my name and I was responsible for what happened at the property.

I asked when my lease ended. 6 weeks. I asked how much notice he needed if I didn’t renew. 30 days. For the first time in months, I could see a way out that didn’t involve another argument.

I found a one-bedroom condo on the other side of Korat. 9,000 baht a month. Balcony, swimming pool, parking. It was smaller than the house, but that was the point. I paid the deposit before telling Som.

“What about my mother?” she asked. “I don’t know.” “What about Wit?” “I don’t know.” She stared at me. “You expect everybody to live in one bedroom?” “No, Som. That’s exactly why I’ve rented it.”

She was furious that I’d made a decision without her. I couldn’t really argue with that, but I’d spent months asking her to make a decision with me, and nothing had changed. Then she said, “You can’t just move out. What will happen to everybody?” I said, “That’s what I’ve been asking you for 3 months.” She didn’t appreciate that.

Over the next fortnight, the story kept changing. Her mother was upset. Wit had found work. His daughter would miss me. I felt awful about the girl because she hadn’t done anything wrong. But I wasn’t going to keep renting a house full of adults because I felt guilty about a child.

Eventually, Som asked if she could move into the condo with me. “Yes,” I said, “but only you.” She agreed. I wanted to believe we could go back to how things had been before all this started.

Moving Day and Refusing to Take Som’s Mother

On moving day, I’d arranged a truck for my furniture. Wit sat outside smoking while I carried boxes. Som was packing in our bedroom. Her mother was cooking. Then I noticed three enormous bags beside the front door.

“Whose are those?” “My mother’s,” Som said. “Why?” “She’ll stay with us a few days. Wit needs time to arrange somewhere.” I actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I couldn’t believe we’d arrived at this point again.

“No, Som. We agreed it would just be us.” She started crying. Her mother came out of the kitchen. Wit wandered in and suddenly everybody was talking at once. Then Som said, “If my mother can’t come, I’m not coming.”

“Okay.” She stopped crying. “What do you mean, okay?” “I mean, you can stay here.” For a few seconds, nobody spoke. I don’t think she’d expected me to accept it.

She asked if I was really leaving her over her mother. “No,” I told her. “I’m leaving because I’ve spent months asking for one thing, and you keep deciding it doesn’t matter.”

She called me selfish. Maybe I was. But after months of feeling like an unwanted guest in my own home, selfish sounded pretty appealing. I finished loading the truck and drove away.

The landlord later returned most of my deposit. I lost a little for cleaning and repairs. I didn’t care.

Living Alone in the Condo and Ending the Relationship

That first night in the condo, I ate takeaway on the balcony. No television blasting, no bikes arriving after midnight, no stranger on the sofa, nobody asking for my scooter keys. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed silence.

Som called the next day. Her brother had apparently found somewhere for them to stay. She wanted us to start again. I told her I needed time. She said she loved me. I said I loved her, too. Because I did.

We met for coffee a few times over the next few weeks. Sometimes it was easy to remember why we’d been happy together. Then she’d mention how lonely her mother was or how hard things were for Wit, and I’d feel that familiar pressure creeping back.

Eventually, I told her we shouldn’t continue. She didn’t shout. She just looked disappointed. “I thought you wanted a family,” she said. “I did. I just thought we’d build a life together before taking responsibility for everybody else.”

That was about 4 months ago. I’m still in the little condo. Sometimes I miss Som more than I care to admit. Last week, while I was having breakfast, a message came through from her. Three words. “How are you?”

I stared at it for 10 minutes. Then I put the phone down and went for a swim. I still haven’t replied because I know I’d ask about her mother, then Wit, and before long I’d be worrying about problems that weren’t mine to solve.

I came to Thailand for a quieter life. It took me nearly 4 years to find one, and I’m still not sure whether I’ve lost Som or finally got my life back.