.: A little taste of obscurity :.

:: Tuesday, May 08, 2007 ::

weekend tea

She closed her eyes and turned the knob. She jumped a little as a spray of icy cold water fell evenly on her body. It was about 7:15am, the usual time she'd spring out of bed and head straight for the bathroom.

After that, she'd open her cupboard and let the smell of mothballs awaken her a little more. She'd pull out a set of neatly folded and ironed clothes and put them on before brushing her hair. Then she'd sigh a little at the mirror when she sees the white overtaking the black on her head.

But it wouldn't bother her for long, because she knew she had far better things to worry about.

She'd hop on her trusted bicycle and take a nice ride to the market. The morning sun would focus on her hair colours, but she didn’t care because it also brought out the beauty of the flowers on her blouse that danced in the breeze.

As she cycled, the usual line-up would greet her: Mrs Tan who lived down the road and always wore far too much brown; Mrs Michaels the resident 'ghost lady' or otherwise known as a Caucasian in the other parts of the world; Uncle (nobody knew his real name) who spent most of his time pruning his bonsai into an animal army; and Miss Judy whose colourful lifestyle put her on the tip of the neighbourhood's tongue.

And of course, there were also the birds she could never see but whose chirping would make her feel incomplete had she not hear it for a day.

She'd push her bicycle through the market and stopped at the stalls she that sold the things she needed. That morning, she bought five kembongs to be stuffed in chilli paste and then grilled, a nice bunch of kangkong to stir-fry with garlic and dried prawns, a chunk of lean pork to stew in dark soy sauce, an assortment of potatoes, onions, tomatoes and chicken carcass for a steaming pot of soup and a whole chicken to be made into a curry for lunch. There was also the odd char siew pau she bought to give to the stray dog that always loitered near the house.

She'd always arrive to an empty house. The father and mother would go off to work and the children to school. Unless it was the occasional time where one of them fell sick and couldn't go out, then she'd have to spend some time to nurse them a little. Otherwise, she'd start on the usual housework: the sweeping, dusting, scrubbing and tidying.

Whenever she had the free time, she's sneak into the living room and watch some television. It wasn't that she needed an escape, she just enjoyed watching other people live. Sometimes, she'd also imagine herself in their lives. More often than not, she imagined her son's life which she was detached from.

He brought her the most joy she could ever want. She had watched him grow from a stuttering toddler into a full-grown opinionated young man. From a baby who couldn't pronounce 'Mama' into a man who wrote stories that could touch people from different walks of life. From a boy who would use his hands instead of a spoon to eat, to a man who could use the guitar to tell of stories she never heard of.

He told her many times to sit back and relax. After all, she's old and deserving of leisure. But she'd always reply with a smile. And follow it with "I know you care a lot for me. But I like it here. I treat them as family, and I'm so used to this lifestyle anyway. What if I were to watch television all day? It would be so boring!"

That was what he loved so much about her. She was so complicated yet so simple. And she had so much to tell but so little to say. And she was so weathered yet so young at the same time.

How does one tell this woman that she is so extremely special?

He didn't know what to do, really. There is nothing in this world you could possibly give or do for her that could equate to her.

All he could give her, in the simplest act of giving, was a nice cake every year. He always took the time and chose a cake that represented her most: the one with a rich base and without an extravagant topping.

She always wanted to tell him that the cake really didn't matter. All that mattered was him.

But she could never find the right words to say. And she'd always end up giving him a smile and a tight hug. And she'd share the cake with everyone.

This year, she finally found the courage to tell him. That instead of the cake, she wanted to imagine herself in a different time and place. A time when she didn't have all these responsibilities. A place where she didn't have all these social obligations.

All she asked for were ten sticks of satay. Between you and me, it's nothing much. Hell, they were nothing.

But they were the epitome of her carelessness. A snippet from the past when she could do as she pleased. When charming young men would take her out for dinner. And she could order whatever she wanted and not worry about money or people or her weight.

And this year, it was all she wanted. To return to a time and place and life that held more importance than anything else.

Would you help her get there or would you rather give her what's best?

:: Another emo-ambient rambling at 10:48am ::