Highly observants

There’s just something about the way my mother eats her meals. Sometimes I’m just so engrossed and bemused by the way she makes eating more than a necessity; she makes it a passion. Passion, in this case, doesn’t necessarily mean doing it in an obsessive way, just with love. Throughout my whole sixteen years of life, I’ve never seen anyone do quite the same as what my mother does.

Telling others exactly what I mean with this is difficult, let alone trying to write about it. Well here’s me, hoping the power of words will describe my fascination:

Dinners aren’t a usually a big deal in my household – if you want to eat, you may join, if not, feel free to continue on with whatever it is you’re doing. And my mother doesn’t tend to join us a lot; if she did she would come late to the dinner table. She’d take out a plate, place a handful of rice and sit in her designated seat. The rice wasn’t much compared to say, me or my father, but it was enough to fill her up. She then starts with a protein; say chicken or fish, then work her way to getting the vegetables. Here comes the interesting bit: my mother doesn’t care what anyone thinks of what her dish looks like. It may look like the most unappetizing dish in the history of unappetizing dishes but it doesn’t seem to bother her. As long as it tastes good, it pleases her.

My mother loves ‘kecap’. My father detests it. Just the sight of the thick black liquid is enough to make my father squirm a little. In every dish my mother eats, she would ask for kecap. She says, “it makes the dish more alive”. Frankly, I agree with her on that. I have inherited my mother’s love for kecap. Now, a person who likes kecap tends to not like anything of the opposite, like ‘sambal’, and vice versa. Just like my father. My mother’s an exception. She douses on both of these taste enhancers every time. Once everything was on her plate, she starts to dig in. Not in a grubby, stuffing the face, dig in… But in a decadent way. Whatever it is she’s eating, it looks delicious. She makes it look delicious and I believe that’s exactly how one should eat. Perspiration starts to appear on the bridge of her nose the deeper she goes into her dish. But that doesn’t bother her; it didn’t look gross, as one might think. To me, it looks like she’s enjoying herself a lot with something as simple as a dinner. 

Finally, half way through the dish, my mother stands up and walks over to the glass container that’s filled with kerupuk. She grabs a handful not only for herself, but also for both me and my father. It’s the one thing we all like. She puts the kerupuk into her plate and pours some kecap on top of it. The snap of the kecap bottle cap is quickly followed by a sudden simultaneous crunch. 

In a way, I'm sort of envious. I can't deny that I've tried to mimic the way she eats because I've tried countless of times only to be disappointed at the end result. You're probably thinking "eating isn't a piece of artwork - why should you care of how it looks?" and frankly, I don't really know. I guess some things are better left unexplained.

Of course, I haven't told my mother this. I'm afraid if I do, she'll be more conscious about it and maybe even stop and change they way she eats. I could ask her how she manages to do that but maybe some things are better left alone to enjoy rather than imitate. Because really, if I do, I'll be no more than just a copy and who likes those?

Happy birthday mum - here's to the best original of you there ever was!

xo,
S

Metamorphosis

My mother always tells me that I don't have enough friends. Compared to her, who is the biggest social butterfly there is, I am just a caterpillar. Like the caterpillar, I prefer to stay on the ground and make do with just a few essential necessities. Necessities being my closest friends.

I don't know whether it's a preference or I just don't like going through the phase of making new friends (maybe it's both) but I'm someone who would rather have one really good friend instead of a thousand "friends". Maybe I should credit my father who recently admitted to me that ever since I was a pacifier-sucker, he rarely sets play dates for me amongst my fellow toddlers. And he did this for one reason only: my environment is the most influential thing there is.

This is proven by what I've noticed at home. My domestic helper's 2-year-old son, Abi, used to be the sweetest most adorable thing until he befriended my other domestic helper's son. He is about 2 years older, super mischievous and just not nice in general. Gradually, I noticed Abi imitating his new found friend and not the kind of things you'd like to see anyone imitate for that matter. It dawned on me that my dad made the right choice: in sacrifice of me having childhood friends, I became somewhat a "good person". I was never heavily influenced by anything apart from my parents and maybe my sisters. TV and games was never really any trouble to me because I never took it as anything more than just fiction. And fiction should definitely stay fiction.

I make it an effort to cut out the negativity from my life and that usually stems off from the wrong people. I've been called a bitch plentiful of times because of my non-sugar-coating attitude: if I don't like you, I won't talk to you and I won't kiss your ass to create a friendship as real as Paris Hilton's boob job. So, sure. I don't have many friends. And I guess I'm picky in this area of my life. But it's only because I want to surround myself with good nature and maybe learn a thing or two from my environment. Eventually that caterpillar will morph into a butterfly, but a butterfly with stronger, defined wings. 

xo,

S

Out of sight, out of mind

I really need to keep in touch with people.