Most people have retreats out in the country, somewhere calm and where the greens grow in abundance. But mine... it's in the city, where the greens are rare and the air is polluted. What one would normally have as a retreat is now what I call home. For a while, it seemed temporary but after a couple of years of traveling back and forth, I've seen the comfort they've grown accustomed to and learnt that it'll be home for a very, very long time.
Here I am in my city retreat, the place people would normally have as their first home. There are weekends where I come home and am surprised. Not the good kind, that I can assure you. The kind that sends steam from the very bottom of my being all the way up to my head. It's worse if I have yet to take my tudung off, you know... to let all that steam evaporate into thin air.
Like last week, there seemed to be traces of other entities in this urban escape of mine if that's what you could call it. The gate switch I had made sure was switched off, was now a prominent red. A mug containing half drunk water laid on the table unbeknownst to whom it belonged to. Then came the distinct odor emanating from somewhere within the kitchen. As I slowly trailed the stench in pursue of the source, I came upon the culprit.
Carefully laid in the microwave oven, were a few otak-otak probably heated to be eaten but forgotten to eat. I could only think of one MAJOR perpetrator... my brother. And at that precise moment, hell hath no fury like a babe scorned! I felt like screaming profanity! But what good would that do if I had no dummy?
A few days later, totally dismissing the incident, the MAJOR perpetrator chanced upon me on MSN and had the audacity to ask,
"How did you like my little gift for you? Aku tinggalkan kau otak-otak baaaiiiikkkk punyaaaa!"
By then I had presumed that he had had a good smoldering lecture from our dear mother -- no, not because of that, but mainly some other irresponsibilities prior to that. And the otak-otak was probably just a verbal dessert ... or appetizer. It didn't bother me.
"Baaaiiiiik kepala OTAK kau!"
Well at least that's what I felt like saying. But my fingers danced across the keyboard typing away something less harsh. No, not at the office. Not when my loggings could be excavated for the pleasure of some superiors. They might think I'm a bad sis you know? But tomorrow, or when I see him, I'm gonna give his otak, a good piece of my mind... and then some.
Because this is my getaway. And getaways shouldn't smell like otak-otaks gone bad.
*otak-otak - a delicacy originating in Southern parts of Malaysia, mainly Johor; made of spicy fish paste alongside a mixture of spice, onions, coconut milk, lemon grass, eggs and garlic wrapped altogether in banana leaf and further grilled to perfection.
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea. --Dylan Thomas
Here I am in my city retreat, the place people would normally have as their first home. There are weekends where I come home and am surprised. Not the good kind, that I can assure you. The kind that sends steam from the very bottom of my being all the way up to my head. It's worse if I have yet to take my tudung off, you know... to let all that steam evaporate into thin air.
Like last week, there seemed to be traces of other entities in this urban escape of mine if that's what you could call it. The gate switch I had made sure was switched off, was now a prominent red. A mug containing half drunk water laid on the table unbeknownst to whom it belonged to. Then came the distinct odor emanating from somewhere within the kitchen. As I slowly trailed the stench in pursue of the source, I came upon the culprit.
Carefully laid in the microwave oven, were a few otak-otak probably heated to be eaten but forgotten to eat. I could only think of one MAJOR perpetrator... my brother. And at that precise moment, hell hath no fury like a babe scorned! I felt like screaming profanity! But what good would that do if I had no dummy?
A few days later, totally dismissing the incident, the MAJOR perpetrator chanced upon me on MSN and had the audacity to ask,
"How did you like my little gift for you? Aku tinggalkan kau otak-otak baaaiiiikkkk punyaaaa!"
By then I had presumed that he had had a good smoldering lecture from our dear mother -- no, not because of that, but mainly some other irresponsibilities prior to that. And the otak-otak was probably just a verbal dessert ... or appetizer. It didn't bother me.
"Baaaiiiiik kepala OTAK kau!"
Well at least that's what I felt like saying. But my fingers danced across the keyboard typing away something less harsh. No, not at the office. Not when my loggings could be excavated for the pleasure of some superiors. They might think I'm a bad sis you know? But tomorrow, or when I see him, I'm gonna give his otak, a good piece of my mind... and then some.
Because this is my getaway. And getaways shouldn't smell like otak-otaks gone bad.
*otak-otak - a delicacy originating in Southern parts of Malaysia, mainly Johor; made of spicy fish paste alongside a mixture of spice, onions, coconut milk, lemon grass, eggs and garlic wrapped altogether in banana leaf and further grilled to perfection.
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea. --Dylan Thomas
No comments:
Post a Comment