wishful drink

She is a woman in her early sixties.

Haughty, without apology. She made sure that her house is clean, spic and span, her kitchen immaculate and she will have no excuse for her (now grand)children’s sloppiness. She believes in discipline, as her years enduring the toughest nursing career had shaped her.

I was having lunch with her when I brought the bowl of rice to her plate, while she demanded her glass of water She wasn’t even beginning to eat when she scowled. “You know my son Joe will never forget my drink.”

“How do you expect me to eat if there’s no drink?”

“Do you want me to choke?”  

I felt clumsy . And inefficient.

She continued to  fuss about it, threatening to not eat at all. I had no notion of hinting to her that I was just a visitor, just finalizing some legal documents and still I was subjected to her wrath. But I said nothing and brought her glass of water. Then she began telling me years of good upbringing had weaved her Joe to become a gentleman that he is, forever putting her as his first priority. I sat, listening and slowly munching my lunch. It felt like a stale bread.

Then dinner came.

Her four children joined us for dinner. Being a guest, and with that I afforded myself with not doing anything, while her children busied themselves manning the dining room. They helped themselves with curry, salads and then they sat down for dinner. We were beginning to eat when the old lady raised her voice the first time in the evening “Where’s my glass of water?”-

No one remembered her. Not even Joe.

Joe studied his mother, hesitantly motioned her sister to pass the jug of water to the matriarch. She sat still, unknowing of what to do with her own expectation of her children. Still she had to take her own glass from the kitchen cabinet.

I saw the hurt in her eye, for her belief had shattered right before us. Before the guest for the evening, especially.

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Lief story

Little Lief.

Many wonder where did I get Hanzalah’s screen name from. It originated from Dutch, meaning Lovable/Beloved. But honestly, I got it from an online store (gasp!). 

Don’t be put off just yet, the story how an online store inspired me is as memorable that I nickname our Mr. H in that way. 

I’d like to believe that I’m an easy going Mother.

So simple that Little Lief had not been wearing socks since he was 1 m.o, to much annoyance to traditional mothers. Its not that I have my own (anti-angin) theory, but its because at 1 months young, Hanzalah had outgrown most of his stockings.  His weight doubled to 6kg, so it left me with sudden overwhelmingly short of socks.

Of course, the ‘aunties’ bunch were not happy. Its not like I intend to.

[Dalam hati rasa..eh anak aku dok Malaysia kan. Why do I need to overbundle him. Tengok anak Areej yang dok uk OK je takdok alas kaki). But to assuage them all, since I’m an inexperienced mother so better to listen to any possible passable logic. So I thought, I’ll buy him Shoes for him to wear during the outings (where the ‘aunties’ bunch can be met). So ada la jugak alas kaki kan.

So I online shopped and came across this gorgeous semi boots:

Lief! Stoer Brand. Comel kot.

Everything is ok, the boots are still in stock and payment for the Dutch flown boots are about to be made. But Angie from mybabypitstop, the online store owner called me personally, and asked me if I’m a muslim.

Of course, I told her.

So she told me, she’s not selling the boots to me.

……………

“because the boot has pig-skin lining”.

Siapa kata..China(wo)man pikir untung saja? Angie could have just sold the boots, and our family wouldn’t have known et all, but thinking that it would somehow detriment our belief in any way, Angie did not. She could have made her sale that day, but she did not. She respects our belief despite 'its all business'.

[Although she offered me different shoes afterwards, I didn’t buy. Picky BUT easygoing mother. But Amy’s still cool about me not buying anything]

Honest business people. Just like the Prophetic tradition.

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wear 'em

Probably I should not.

But I always cringe to people who wear 'their sins' on their skin, like a scarlet letter. Negative energies, (which I find it hard to control),should stay within oneself. Unless you let it out, it won’t go a-bombing. That is why I love to see people wearing their wedding band, it signifies family, bond and love. It’s a whole lot different matter if you see people with self-inflicted scar ‘down with capitalism’. (Please, no hate mails).  It just goes on to show differences, hate and, negativity. But most of the time I just put a sock in my mouth, to avoid any nasty exchange of ideologies. (Well, there’s various ways to channel your frustration. Wearing ‘em is not- IMHO).

That's why when I pointed to my opponent's left arm, with a tattoo inscribing a date – I assumed it was dated for a happy, joyous moment in his life. “Wedding huh?” ice breaker my foot.

gambar adalah hiasan. Google of course.

He said, “No, it’s the worst day of my life”.

I should keep my trap shut but instead there goes Afzanic blurting “why would you want to be reminded of something that makes you sad?”.

Okay preachy me.

He simply retorted with a kind voice “so that it can remind me  that I wouldn’t be that monster anymore”.

“You see, before that date, I couldn’t even talk to anyone without raising hell”

Here I am. Hot in court. With a 6 footer opponent with yakuza tattoos and I’m poking into his personal life. But still he told me he got himself and his family into so many trouble because of his ways. He sought fulfillment through quick, wrong ways. And the tattoo-ed date was the end of his evil ways. He didn’t tell me what happened on that fateful day, but I guess it made him whoever he is today.

To tell you the truth, he had been a wonderful opponent (which is quite rare, coming from the legal field). Soft spoken and always cooperative.

I guess I could make amend with modern day scarlet letter wearers.

Just that it’s not for me.

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