Love in a (half eaten) Pancake

Love comes in many forms. 

Some come in the form of flowers and gifts. 

Others appear as hugs and kisses. 

Sometimes, it comes in the form of a half eaten pancake. 

I don’t usually post much about Le Son. Boys being boys, and amplified by the angst during the man-teen stage, abhors any form of affection, spoken or physical. 

It also doesn’t help that communication and consideration aren’t exactly his vibe. 

Hugs will be pushed away. 

Motherly concerns of any kind will be rebutted with snarky remarks and/or sarcasm. 

Physical gifts are rarely heard of. 

I also recently had to call him out for finishing both my bag of chips and for constantly chugging empty the freshly bought carton of milk. 

So it was such a surprise when he texted recently if anyone wanted pancakes since he was getting one. 

Since all of us replied in negative, he didn’t text any further. 

When I came home that night, he told me brusquely that he bought two pancakes and ate one. The other one, was for me. 

(Additional info no one asked for - I am also his go-to sweet tooth partner.) As I was still full from dinner, I told him that he could have it if he wanted to. 

Imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning to see him affronted that I did not eat his pancake last night. He then told me that he would eat half of it for breakfast and leave the other half for me. 

For someone who usually eats thrice more than me and gobbles up whatever goodies I buy, leaving one half of a small pancake actually meant sacrificing a lot on his end. 

He could have easily eaten both pancakes yesterday, or finish it this morning without telling me. 

But when I went to have my coffee later that morning, I found the half torn pancake, chocolate oozing and all,  proudly awaiting my arrival on a plate. 

I ate the pancake. 

The Verdict? 

The pancake was cold and hard. And the chocolate filling was gunky from being exposed out in the open.

But my heart? 

Filled to the brim with warmth and fuzziness.  

It was the best pancake I’ve ever had.

Sometimes, love shows up in the form of heart to heart chats, thoughtful notes and gentle company.  

And other times, love appears in the shape of a half eaten misshapen pancake with thoughts that are not spoken out loud.  <3

Grief stained tissues

Carelessly strewn onto the seats of the columbarium hall were used tissues. 

Some were balled tightly into small rounded blobs taking after the shape of the palm it was clenched in. 

Others were crumpled haphazardly into loose balls. 

Then there were some others folded into neat little squares to better dab into corners of eyes. 

To the eyes of others, they were only a pile of waste and there was nothing wrapped in those tissues. But yet, standing there in the hall and sharing the grief with my cousins, aunties and uncles, they held much. 

Within, it held the weight of sadness and sorrow. Invisible to the naked eye, the tissues contained grief that overflowed from the soul. 

They contained the anguish of the people left behind, and the fears and uncertainty of how life will become in the absence of their loved one. 

They contained regret. Of the things that were not yet done, and the reality that there was no longer any time left to complete it.

They contained whispers of unspoken words never to be shared. Of remembrance and how life was like when my aunty was still around. 

Held within, were the tears of yearning, of denial, and of the intense pain of loss. 

 

The intricacies of grief are hard to describe. 

With layers of sadness wrapped one upon another, upon another, they transcend all words into these tears of heart wrenching and flesh cutting ache. 

If grief had colours, that pile of discarded tissues would be stained with shades of greys and blues and muted yellows.

Different people handle grief differently. Some with stoicism, standing strong and silent in a corner. Some wallow openly with red swollen eyes and tears streaming down their faces. Then there were some gripped with utter despair and fear, and had to be supported by concerned family members in a corner. 

We all stood there watching as the coffin rolled slowly into the chamber.  The closing of the door signified the end of my last walk with her. But for my cousins and uncle, it was the beginning of life without their mother and spouse. 

While the pile of tissues could be discarded at the end of the day, the emotions that it contained cannot. Grief and loss will linger on and as reality settles into the days ahead, life in the following weeks and months will be difficult. 

In all his stoicism, my cousin had told me “I am fine. I am fine. As long as you don’t mention her, I will be ok.”

But you don’t have to be ok. 

And you don’t have to be fine. 

You can wail and cry, and shout and laugh. 

You can miss her loudly. 

You can miss her quietly. 

And no matter how hard things may seem right now, there will come a day when that stabbing pain in your heart will ebb away, and the ability to smile through the memories of her will return.  

Till then, my thoughts are with you. 

Strangers with familiar faces

The doorbell startled us when it rang at 10pm. We were slightly alarmed at the time of visit. 

I peered out from the peephole and there, standing outside my house, were the familiar faces of a couple - my upstairs neighbours. Still, I was puzzled at their purpose of visit at this strange hour. 

I opened the door and greeted them. The look of confusion on my face must have been very obvious as they hurriedly explained that they were here to say their goodbyes as they will be shifting out. I quickly brought my MIL out to say her goodbyes. 

MIL has somewhat turned into an elderly ‘celebrity’ with her daily morning walks. With her friendly and affable demeanour, chatting and greeting everyone she meets during her walks, she has quite literally, made many friends along the way. 

Her familiar presence is further amplified as the timing of her walks usually fall within the window period when everyone is  going off to work. 

And I have been most thankful for the way things had panned out because in her terrible fall a year ago, many residents who had recognised her, rushed forward to render assistance. 

One neighbour called the ambulance, others provided tissue in an attempt to stop her bleeding. Another neighbour identified our block and floor and ran up to knock on my (neighbour’s) door in an attempt to contact us. (She knocked the wrong door.) Others hung around to provide assurance. 

Thankfully MIL was lucid enough to provide my number then, which allowed someone to alert me to her fall. 

There was probably talks abuzz that morning on “You know the aunty that walks every morning? She had a bad fall today.”

MIL has since recovered but her stamina has deproved greatly. After months of recuperation, she has also resumed her morning walks, albeit with a walking stick now and for a much shorter distance. 

I guessed that her status got elevated when neighbours saw her appearance again. There was probably talks on “You know the aunty that used to walk every morning? The one that fell? She started walking again.”

When we brought her to the voting station to cast her vote in May this year, she got lauded by another neighbour as we were crossing the road. The neighbour who was pushing her mother on a wheelchair, pointed out my MIL and proclaimed, “See Ma? This aunty fell recently also. But she keep exercising and now she can walk again.” 

I could sense the pride my MIL felt during that moment. 

The neighbours who came to say their goodbyes? We didn’t know much about them. They could have just packed up and left quietly. But instead they took the effort to come down to visit us, and to say their goodbyes in person. 

I was slightly overwhelmed by their gesture and I believe MIL is too. Our neighbourly ties, no matter how shallow or superficial they may seem, had developed over the years into one that was warm and pleasant. And for that, I am grateful. Afterall, good neighbours are hard to come by. 

And so, with each silent smile, each friendly nod, every simple pleasantry exchanged, and all the small talks on weather and grocery runs. All these tiny interactions amalgamated over the years, transformed the lot of us into a neighbourhood of strangers with familiar faces. 

There are many different kinds of goodbyes in the world. This one in particular, was made up of coincidental meets at the lift lobby, nods of acknowledgements, and friendly waves along the walkway. Scaffolded over two decades, one smile and one greeting at a time. It all built up into this heartfelt farewell today. 

Although I didn’t know their names, their age, or exactly which unit they lived in, the knowledge of their move still left a melancholic ache in my heart. The neighbourhood would now be with two less familiar and friendly faces. 

I wish them all the very best in their new abode. 

Lunch at McDonald’s

 I had lunch at McDonalds today. 

I thought it would be a quiet, solitary lunch but oh, was it not. 

As it was peak lunch hour, the place was packed with students from various schools and all the seats were occupied. 

Famished students were all over; milling around the counter, at the tables, the ordering kiosks, waiting for their orders to come. 

It must have been CCA day as everywhere I looked, I could see students in their CCA tshirts. There were groups from Ping pong, Basketball, NPCC, Boys Brigade and Drama club. 

Differing cliques of students sat in loose groups scattered all around, and there were as many patrons-cum-students chattering constantly, as there were many on their phones with their eyes glued to the screens and ear pods stuffed into their ears. 

The scene made me realise that my angsty teenage son is actually being a norm with his constant usage of the phone and computer, instead of the addiction my mind always makes it out to be. 

As I wound my way to a nice seat by the window (practically jumped in immediately after the male patron stood up), I could hear and see clearly, the conversations and  flurry of activities going around. 

The boy at the table diagonally opposite me was lamenting about how hungry he was to his friends. He then went around his other friends’ tables pinching their fries. I was pretty heartened to see him bring back not only fries for himself, but also for his other two lunch mates at his table. 

I couldn’t tell if the friends at the table providing him fries were pleased or not, but all I can say is, sharing is caring. 

Two boys were jibing and tackling each other and as one fell onto a chair and then onto the ground, the sound of the piercing screech of the chair caused everyone to turn and stare at the commotion. The tackling stopped immediately as both boys walked away embarrassed, and one with probably a bruise somewhere on the head. 

Later on, a water bottle dropped from another table in front of me, and the lid cracked as a result. The boy (yes, again a boy - Notice the pattern?) did not notice it and his friends from other tables had to alert him to it. The boy nonchalantly walked over, picked it up and placed it back in his bag’s side pocket. An epiphany on why my son had all those dented and broken water bottles from school throughout the years. 

Then, amidst the cacophony of noises, one single voice boomed.  

I realised later that it was the staff at the cashier counter beseeching the students to clear away from the ordering area so that people could queue and place their orders.  

To keep chaos at bay, she was also shouting out the order numbers like a parade commander. And I suppose, also like how a teacher would deal with a rowdy class of students.  

I saw brief greetings and coded hand shakes being exchanged as groups left one after another. I overheard that they were rushing back for their CCAs. 

And all too soon, like the passing of a whirlwind, McDonalds quietened down.  I too, finished up my coffee and left shortly. 

Without a lunch partner, I had initially envisioned a quiet and tranquil lunch all by myself. But instead, I was accompanied by a barrage of chaotic students and their antics. And while it wasn’t as serene and peaceful as I would have liked, it certainly was an interesting and insightful experience being a part of their lunch crowd. 

Thank you all for your company and for having lunch with me today. 

The Girl in Red Hood

“The basket is ready.” Momma called out to her. 

“Go bring it to Grandma, she’ll be so happy I’m sure.

“It’s cold outside now, so don’t catch a cold. 

Wear a hoodie and warm clothes, please do as you’re told.”

So she put on her cloak; her favourite red one. 

And as she picked up the basket, out fell some crumbs. 

She peered into the basket, there were scones with jam,

Warm buttery bread, with cheese and ham. 

Strawberry shortcakes and fruit tartlets,

And a big round cake covered with chocolate. 

All yummy things that she knew she would share 

With Grandma later, once she got there. 

So she pulled on her hood and out she tread

Into the woods, the little girl in red. 

She skipped along streams, and crossed a field,

Where wild flowers grew and she picked a few. 

She gathered a bunch of pink, white, and blues, 

And a tuft of dandelion, which into the wind she blew. 

She watched as they flew dancing in the air.

Laughingly, she tucked a flower in her hair. 

She did not notice a wolf stalking her,

Stealthily, quietly, with its shaggy brown fur. 

‘This girl looks tasty. But she’ll be too quick for me. 

I’ll need to wait for a good opportunity.’

He thought for a moment and then called out to her,

“Hello Little One, I see you’re new here!

I haven’t seen you around here before,

Are you on your way to complete some chores?”

“Hello Mr Wolf, I’m visiting my grandma. 

She lives alone in the cottage not far.

Right up ahead, just beyond the hills,

The cottage with the patch of daffodils.”

“Oh Little One, I just came from there 

And it seems that you are unaware.

The path up ahead has been blocked with boulders,

You must make a detour and walk a little further.”

So the girl in red hood, off she went. 

She will take longer to reach Grandma’s,  which was the wolf’s plan.  

The cunning wolf ran straight to Grandma’s hut. 

He wanted to catch her and eat her up. 

But when he reached there, Grandma wasn’t in the house. 

He searched high and low, but she couldn’t be found. 

So he wore her pyjamas and lay in her bed,

Pretending he was actually Grandma instead. 

As soon as he lay down, the girl had arrived,

And she looked at ‘Grandma’ with her face of surprise. 

“Grandma!” She exclaimed, “What big eyes you have!”

“All the better to see you with, my dear, don’t be daft.”

“What big ears you have, so long and so pointy!”

“All the better to hear you with!” The wolf said shakily. 

“And look at your mouth, how big they are!”

“All the better to eat with! And now you, I will devour!” 

And the wolf lunged at her. Jumped out of the bed. 

But he could go no further, someone hit him on his head!

And there stood Grandma with her frying pan. 

She had seen the wolf earlier and devised a plan.

Hiding in the closet in the back of her room,

Biding for the right moment to make her move. 

The minute the wolf pounced onto the girl,

Grandma rushed out, her fury unfurled. 

“How dare you try to eat my granddaughter!

I’ll make you pay for wanting to eat her!”

She bonked the wolf hard, right on his head

With her trusty frying pan, she was not afraid. 

The wolf howled in pain, and shrieked a scream.

He fled away fast, with his tail tucked between. 

And that’s the end we see of him. 

The End. 

*********

Grandma and little girl had a grand day ahead. 

They laid the food out and had a picnic in bed. 

Of coffee art & pretty things.

 

Sometimes I think I enjoy the coffee art more than the coffee itself. 

I mean, who does not like pretty things. I know I definitely do. And that’s probably why I paint. 

I paint, not because there is any demand, or that I enjoy the process of painting. On the contrary, the process is tedious, backbreaking, body stiffening and time consuming. Nothing enjoyable about it at all. 

What I enjoy instead, is the end product that I make; the fruit of all that back breaking labour - a small piece of something pretty; something cute. (At least in my own eyes, it is.) Armed only with amateurish skills, I can only manage simple things; usually a card, a small painting or a simple floral piece. 

Something to brighten up a corner of an office, a room in a house, and (hopefully) a smile on someone’s face. 

And so, I’ve come to the conclusion that what I am really after, is joy. The joy of giving, of seeing that smile on the faces of the people I paint for.

I don’t need big guffaws or deep laughters. Quiet heartfelt smiles, big wide grins and smiles that crinkle at the eyes make my heart full. 

Also, if people laugh loudly at my paintings then it probably means that I’m not doing it right. 

I’d love to say that I’m starting small, and that one day, I’d be able to paint big pieces for people to buy and hang on their walls. But that’s what I said when I wrote more regularly last time. That I would one day, publish a book with all my writings. 

And till today, I have not progressed anywhere further than I had 10 years ago. 

So. I’m changing tack. Instead, I will start small and do small. Because after all, small things do matter. 

Like the decoration on a cake. Mixed peas (I hate) in fried rice (I love). Parsley (I dislike even more than mixed peas) in any dish. Comfy socks on a long hike. The warmth of sliding under the blanket in an air conditioned room. 

Also, because I am a lover of simple (also read as boliao to some,) things. Like Popiah skins in the Peking duck dish and the peanuts in kway chap. The sight of the moon in the night sky. A gentle breeze on my face and the patter of rain on the window pane. A small flower in a sea of weeds. A smile on someone’s face. And yes, pretty art on the coffee foam. 

There are people who say dream big, do big. But I shall do simple. Do consistent. And be joyful and thankful in the small things that happen around me. 

May the year ahead bring us all simple joys in our everyday lives, and happy smiles on our faces. 

Happy 2023.