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May 05, 2005
Smiling Wryly
It was the week before Mother’s Day and we were all seated at the table, tucking into our luncheon. As one gets older, one tends to be more retrospective of things and of life.
So there I was, helping myself to a little bit of fish while the conversation at the table turned towards my childhood.
“You know, “ she remarked while leaning towards me, “I never really had any trouble with you when you were a toddler, in particular when we were traveling on a bus. Unlike some other kids who would stand on their seats, tried to stretch their hands out of the bus windows and in general, made a nuisance of themselves, you would just sit quietly by my side and when I pointed something interesting on the ride, you would look in the general direction…”
It is funny this little revelation about my childhood which I have long forgotten made my day. I guess there is something pleasant about being told how I was well-behaved kid.
***
The banter between my current immediate boss and me has given me a good practice ground for my brand of self-deprecating humour. The other week, I was jokingly telling him about how I felt like a shrimp and how I was to be fried with chilli to make sambal. Then, he mentioned about him feeling like the plankton. A week later, he brought up the plankton bit about himself again and not to be outdone, I told him that I now felt as though I had been downgraded from being a shrimp to an amoeba.
In addition, my colleagues from another department, with whom I always lunched with, had given me a nickname. They jokingly called me “Diaoyutai”, which was reference to a chain of small islands sitting forlornly between China and Japan, the same two countries who were making claims for these islands as their own. Smiling wryly, I knew that this was simply a reflection of the situation at my end. In some ways, I was beginning to believe that having a good job never existed.
***
The hospital people gave me a call today, reminding me of the date next week when I would don the hospital pyjamas for the first time, possibly since the day I popped out into this world.
“You may have visitors, but they must leave before 10 pm,” the hospital person reminded.
I smiled wryly when I heard that. It would just be a non-descript overnight stay while they monitored my breathing patterns, heartbeats and other stuff. I went to that mad people’s place unaccompanied and I would not need anyone to be around by my bed. Anyway, with the VRE-scare, who would want to?
In some ways (and call it morbid if you want), I am looking forward to the prospect of spending time on my own in the quiet of a hospital room (assuming I have the room all to myself). Sounds like a personal retreat of sorts. Then again, the ex-sarong kebaya girl would have the whole room to herself as well…
***
There was a time a few days ago when I had to put aside things that were gnawing at me and be a listening ear to someone who had been having relationship problems. In a short phrase, it was all about trust and it was easy to see how things in the past that were never resolved caused her insecurity.
So there we were at a fast food joint. She was munching on a corn cob while I was sipping my iced lemon tea. I listened to her as she related her problems. There were a few moments when her voice started to change a little and I observed how her eyes were starting to tear a little. Since she was facing the main checkout counter, I asked if she wanted to switch places with me. She shook her head and continued telling me her tale.
It was forty-five minutes later before we both made our own separate ways. Indirectly, she thanked me by posing the question why it was that I said very little about myself and how it seemed very unfair for her to be telling me about her stuff most of the time.
I smiled wryly at her and told her that I would only tell people if good things happened to me, which as she would have guessed, were few and far between.
With that, we parted our ways.
***
Besides being a social recluse these days, those sessions with the psychologist possibly drove me deeper into my own shell. Except for the time when I was pressed a little to talk about the treatment at some Irish sandwich bar, I cannot remember, for the life of me, the last time I talked to someone about my problems, fears and other not-so-good stuff.
I rarely chat on the phone these days, which is a far cry from my teenaged days when talking on the phone was extremely therapeutic (especially if it was a familiar female voice on the other side). Those internet chats on ICQ and MSN were with people whom I know and I almost never use them as platforms where I sought a listening ear of sorts.
I guess working experiences have given me a valuable skill in changing the conversation topic in an instant.
Then again, there are times when I wished things were never like what it is now…
Posted by D W at May 5, 2005 03:16 PM