11 posts tagged “family”

Lianyi had been sniffling and coughing a lot and suffering from an on-and-off fever since Halong Bay. That was Tuesday. We thought nothing of it, just kept plying him with Panadol and Strepsils and their Vietnamese equivalents.

On Saturday I found out my grandma was in hospital with water in her lungs. We were on our way back to Hanoi from Tam Coc when I got the message. He was sleeping because at that point the fever was on. I cried quietly in the dark unlit bus, fearing the worst. I asked my mother if I should go home sooner. She said no need.

Back at the hotel room that same night his temperature was very high. We didn't have a thermometer but I could feel it. I rubbed his back. We looked through the list of clinics in Hanoi in our Lonely Planet. SOS International sounded like a good bet. But he said he didn't want to go to the doctor yet, maybe we could wait until the next morning.

On Sunday we were supposed to go home. He didn't have a temperature anymore, but he was still feeling very weak. Every hundred metres he asked to sit down and take a breather. But still I pushed him on, asked him to walk with me in the cold polluted air to get the most out of our last day there, do some last minute shopping.

In the taxi on the way to the airport he slept while I kept my eyes open, absorbing every last detail of Hanoi. The overcrowded streets and bus stops, the haphazard buildings, the beautiful but moulding architecture. He said he was feeling very bad. I said ok, don't worry, we'll be home soon.

At the airport I walked around finishing up all my Vietnamese dongs. He sat down. Every twenty minutes he would say he was feeling very bad.
What can I do?, I asked.
Nothing, he said.
Half an hour before boarding he said, walk around with me. I feel pins and needles throughout my whole body and my head.
So we walked.
Is this making you feel better, I asked?
Not actually, he said, I think I need a doctor.

We asked one of the shopkeepers, is there a doctor in here?
She said we'd have to go back out to get one.
We sit back down. Five minutes to boarding.
I don't think I can get on the plane, he said. I need a doctor. Take me to a doctor.
We went to an aiport official.
My friend is sick, I said, can you get a doctor?
She barely spoke English. She talked to her colleague in Vietnamese. She told us to sit down.

When we sat down that was when it began. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel his fingers, then his arms, then his legs. Mucus was running down his nose and I had to wipe it away for him.
I asked the airport woman, where is the doctor?
She told me to wait. She asked if we could board the plane.
I said no, I need a hospital. I need an ambulance. Where is the doctor?

A Singaporean man came over to us and asked us what was wrong. I said, my friend is sick.
He asked if we'd done any jungle trekking.
I said no.
He asked if we had gone to Sapa.
I said no.
He said, I'm afraid that maybe he caught one of their viruses. You sure you didn't go to Sapa? You better report this to the Singapore embassy.
I asked him to help me find the number. I handed him my Lonely Planet. I was busy wiping Lianyi's nose and holding his hand and making sure he didn't lose consciousness. Everytime his eyes stayed open too long I would snap, Blink! just to make sure he was still alive. When he closed his eyes I would shout at him, Wake up! Don't sleep!

The Singaporean man couldn't find the embassy number in my guidebook. He said he would try his. He went away and the last I saw of him, he and his daughter were thumbing through a guidebook.

The airport doctor still hadn't arrived. Where is the doctor? I yell at the airport woman.
She told me to wait some more.
It's getting worse, Lianyi said, I think I'm going to die.
No you're not, I said.
No, you don't know how I feel right now, he said.
Then his face froze up. He couldn't move his mouth. He couldn't talk properly. Saliva was starting to appear in bubbles at the corners of his mouth. His eyelids flickered crazily.
Oh my God I'm calling your mum, I said, swallowing back my panic tears.

If I die, he said, I love you.
You're not going to die, I said, Oh my god oh my god oh my god.
I'm sorry, he said, I'm sorry.
No, I'm sorry, I said, I shouldn't have made you walk around Hanoi with me today, or let you eat ice cream. I should have forced you to see a doctor.
In my head I also thought, I'm sorry for being a whiny little bitch. I'm sorry for all the times I ever got angry with you. I'm sorry I wasn't a better person. Please don't die. I'm not ready.

I called his mother. The moment she picked up, the words rushed out in an unintelligible mess: Lianyi is very very sick he can't breathe or move and he thinks he's going to die. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.
She told me to calm down and get a wheelchair. She told me to put him on the wheelchair and board the plane. She asked me what she could do.
I said I don't know, I don't know, I don't know what to do.

The doctor finally came. She was an old woman and didn't speak a word of English. She put a few drops of something in his mouth. It worked, he could feel his limbs again. He could talk. He calmed down. But only for a while. Ten minutes later it started all over again.
I need a hospital, I said.
They put him on a wheelchair and took him out. I carried our bags and his shoes and walk out with them. At the border between the departure gates and the public part of the airport a guard took away our passports.
Why are you taking our passports? I asked.
Yes, said the guard.

They wheeled him to a first aid station. On the way there I called Adr.ian, U.ma and Joon to ask for the number to the Singapore embassy. The first two didn't pick up and Joon had no access to the Internet. I gave up.

The first aid station had a bed and a table and two chairs, nothing else. Another doctor came in, this time a middle-aged man. He also didn't speak a word of English. He injected something into Lianyi's arm and hooked him up to an oxygen tank. Lianyi felt better again for another short while but soon he was telling me that it was getting worse again. By this time a flock of airport officials were in the room shouting at each other in Vietnamese. I wanted to cry very badly. We were fucked. But I had to keep holding it in.

Can I have our passports back? I need to go to a hospital now, I said.
The airport woman who was with us from the beginning said ok, we will get it for you.
It was a 2-minute walk from the gate where the guard took our passports to the first aid station but five minutes later the passports were still not there.

Where's my passport? I said.
Wait, ma'am, we are getting for you, she said.

Then the Singapore embassy called my mobile.
My name is Mr Pang and I'm from the Singapore embassy, he said. Mr Ho's mother called me. I understand you have an emergency.
Yes, yes, I said. I told him everything.
He said, ok go to a hospital.
Can you help us with that? I asked, thinking the embassy might have an ambulance or an emergency vehicle of some sort.
He said no.
How about afterwards, could you help us get home? I asked.
He laughed, he fucking laughed, and said no.
I wanted to tell him to fuck himself in the ass but I didn't.
He said, you better go to an international hospital like SOS or the French hospital. The Vietnamese hospitals are not very good.
I said ok and hung up.

I called our insurance company. The woman said, when you get to a hospital call me again.

In the meantime Lianyi was getting worse. He was clutching my hand and saying, It's getting worse, I can't breathe.
I tried to make him calm down but it was impossible since I was also panicking and the room was full of Vietnamese yelling.

Then the embassy guy SMSed me the numbers of the two hospitals he had recommended me. Why couldn't he have called them for me? I had difficulty saving the numbers because my hands were shaking so badly and I had to read it over three times before I could remember one of the numbers, my brain was so wonky. Eventually I managed to call SOS International.

I said, I need an ambulance please I'm at Hanoi airport and my boyfriend needs help.
Well we can't just send out ambulances you know, the French bitch at the other end said. This is a private hospital not a public one. First you have to tell me what's wrong.
I told her what was wrong.
She said, The ambulance will take an hour to get there.
I said An hour?!
She said, yes we are in the centre of Hanoi and the airport is far away. So what do you want to do now?
I said, I don't know, I don't know, ok send an ambulance here please.

Our passports were still not there.

Where is my passport?! I yelled.
The woman told me to wait some more.
I asked, where is the nearest hospital?
Nobody seemed to understand the concept.
One of the airport people said, you want to take taxi to nearest hospital?
I said yes.
They shouted at each other some more. Then they asked, are you using our ambulance or are you calling for one?
I said, you have an ambulance here?
They said yes.
Ok then take me now! I yell.
The woman said, we have ambulance here but must pay 35 US dollars.
I said ok, can you take us to the nearest hospital?
They still looked blank.
You want to go to hospital? they asked.
Yes. Take. Me. To. The. Nearest. Hospital. Please. Where's my passport?!

I thought, maybe I could take him to the nearest hospital for basic care and then transfer him to SOS International afterwards.

Finally our passports arrived. Our luggage came too. We took everything into the ambulance. It was spartan. No lights even. For some reason the doctor sat in the passenger seat in front with the driver. I sat behind with Lianyi and an airport official, a man. Five minuts into the ride they stopped to get more oxygen tanks. Then Lianyi had to pee. There was no bottle to pee in. The airport guy, Dong, rummaged around and finally got a plastic bag. He wanted to help Lianyi pee but Lianyi kept pointing at me and pushing him away. I helped him pee and when he was done I handed the bag to the airport guy but he refused to take it. He pointed out the window instead.

You want me to throw it out the window?! I said.
He nodded, took the bag and threw it out the window.

Joon messaged and asked what was wrong. I told her.
She said oh my god shit, I'll ask Zat to help.
I asked her to maybe google his symptoms and find out what's wrong with him.

I remembered that I'd called for an SOS ambulance, so I called them back and canceled it.

The ride was bumpy, which made Lianyi worse. He kept saying, it's getting bad again, my chest is tight, I can't breathe.
I knew part of it was panic that was making it hard for him to breathe but it was so hard to try to make him calm down when both of us thought he was going to die.
I told him, calm down, you're still breathing, you're still alive, it will get better and worse from time to time, it's just the cycle, don't worry. As if I knew for sure.
I kept calling out to the doctor in the front seat to ask him for help but he kept saying, no problem, no problem.

Then Ad.rian called. He asked what was up. I said Lianyi is dying and we're in an ambulance, it's ok now. I hung up quickly.

Then I got another call. This time it was the manager of Tiger Airways in Vietnam. He said, don't go to the nearest hospital. Vietnam's medical system is very bad even I don't use it. Go to SOS International ok. I will meet you there. Give the phone to your driver.
I did that, and the Tiger guy told him in Vietnamese about the change of plan.

And then SOS International called me. The woman said, we have sent out an ambulance with a doctor.
I said, oh but I'm already in an ambulance going there.
The woman said, Listen to me, listen to me. Ok? We've sent out an ambulance and we will meet your ambulance halfway and transfer your boyfriend to our ambulance. Give the phone to your driver.

So halfway there, we saw another ambulance speed past us in the opposite direction. We stopped by the roadside and waited for them to come to us. I whispered to Lianyi, It's going to be ok now, the SOS people are here. He just looked at me and blinked.

The airport ambulance driver asked me for 40 US dollars. This was no time to be fighting scammers, of which let me tell you, Vietnam has plenty. So I just gave him the money.

When the SOS people came I knew everything was going to be ok. The doctor was a Vietnamese woman who spoke English. She asked me a lot of questions, then she and her nurse took charge. They took his blood and ran a test on the spot, hooked him up to an IV drip, scanned his vital stats. Then they transferred him into their ambulance. It was a world of difference. This ambulance actually had lights and equipment.

This time I sat in front with the driver, while the nurse and doctor sat behind attending to him throughout the whole ride. It was my first time in an ambulance. On the dashboard were several buttons. There were three sound buttons that said, "Yelp", "Yeowl" and "Wail". The driver hit Wail.

Ten minutes into the ride I called to the back, How is he?
He's fine, the doctor said.
Then he began vomiting. A lot.

Half an hour later we were at the hospital. The moment the ambulance stopped the nurse rushed out and gagged, ran into a toilet and threw up.

The manager of Tiger Airways was waiting for us outside the hospital. He was already at home when the airport called him and told him about our emergency. He didn't have to come all the way to the hospital but he did. I suspect he was the one who had called SOS and told them to meet the airport ambulance halfway and take over, even though I'd cancelled on them. He made sure everything was ok and when there was nothing else he could do, he left.

The doctors spent about an hour attending to him behind closed curtains while I sat outside calling the insurance company and messaging his mother, my mother and our friends. Each time I flipped open his phone I saw my own damn face looking up at me. It was the worst, knowing that someone loved me and that I didn't deserve it.

At about 1 am the doctor came out and told me what had happened: He'd had hypokalemia -- low potassium in his blood, which caused his heart to misfire. He also had low blood pressure. Now he was stable. He was hooked up to an IV drip injecting potassium into his body and he just had to rest.

After they were done I went in to see him. I spent the night sitting by his bedside except for 3 hours, when I slept on a bed in the adjoining room. He was discharged the next morning and we booked the first flight home. This time on the taxi to the airport I slept the whole way. I'd had enough of Hanoi.

The moment I got home I put down my bags and went with my parents to visit my grandmother. Turns out she has heart and kidney failure, water in her lungs and deep vein thrombosis. At the hospital I wanted to cry again but again had to hold it in in front of my family. And again there was the guilt -- of knowing that I was her favourite granddaughter and had done nothing to deserve the position, that I don't spent enough time with her and that now I might lose her before I could make up for it.

When I got home I spent half an hour in the shower letting go of three days' worth of bottled up panic and tears.

In the hotel on Sunday we'd seen a documentary about how scientists have found that your brain is only fully adult at 25. On my 25th birthday I think I was made painfully aware of my entry into adulthood. I almost lost the 2 people I loved most in the world and for the first time had to sign a hospital legal consent form as someone's guardian.

Then this morning I realised that our insurance policies had expired the day BEFORE Lianyi got hospitalised, because I'd forgotten the date of our return and had only bought insurance up to the 15th of December. That's over 2,000 US dollars in hospital bills and plane tickets that can't be claimed. I am such an asshole. I feel really fucked up about this you have no idea.

I'd like to write a travel journal of the rest of the trip, which wasn't bad at all, especially the parts with Xa.i, but it might be a while.

Last week I turned down a job offer at Reut.ers despite the fact that jobs at major multinational news agencies don't come falling into my lap everyday. This time last week I thought nothing would happen in Indonesia for quite some time yet.

A few days later I was convinced I was going to get a work trip to France because that time last week I also thought life was fair, and that I would be appreciated for my hard work and loyalty.

When I realised that wasn't going to happen, I thought well ok, no problem, it just means more time to spend in Turkey with my parents. They'd already told me they were keen and they were asking me to plan it. I thought they were for real. I forgot they didn't know how the real world worked.

So now, with glaring disillusionments lying all over my feet like so many dead birds shot out of the air, I realise the only fucking way to get anything you want in life is to lie, cheat and backstab everyone in your path.

I am so going on a "work trip" at the end of the year.

I bought an exercise bike, second hand, over the weekend. Sorry Farah, I didn't want to wait until late June -- I am having a meltdown and I need to detox, like, now. Now we have a treadmill (which I despise) and an exercise bike in the house. I was telling my mother, we should start our own gym right here and charge our neighbours to use the two machines, maybe $5 an hour? Then they can get a massage on the negative-ion-generating mattress that my parents just bought, and that could help recoup the massive amount of money they spent on it. And maybe we could put the juicer to use to, you know, make juice to sell to our patrons. But like all other business ideas I have ever thought of, this one won't come to anything. Mainly because it's probably illegal? I'm not sure, and I'm too lazy to find out. Actually that's the main reason why my ideas never come to fruition.

I just realised on the bus today I'm probably going to have (another) nervous breakdown when I reach 40. Zen is just not on the horizon.

A Justin Timberlake song made me exclaim "Oh my God!" out loud just now, because of the lyrics:

Woke up this morning
Heard the TV saying something
About disaster in the world and
It made me wonder where I'm going
There's so much darkness in the world
But I see beauty left in you girl

At the third line I immediately thought of the tsunami and I thought this was going to be an attempt at social consciousness but then the sixth line hit me. Fuck, man.

Yeah I'm listening to FutureSex/LoveSounds. I can't tear myself away from What Goes Around Comes Around.

A few weeks ago my mum said, "Why don't we go to Phuket?"  I said, "No no nononono," because after Langkawi, you know, I realised beach holidays are not meant to be taken with my family. So I went to the Tiger Airways website, checked out the promotions and said, "What about Darwin instead?" and my mother said, "Your father says we shouldn't go to white people's country, they'll be racist towards us and treat us badly." Then today after working out I caught a bit of a travel programme on Arts Central and it was featuring Cappadocia, so I said, "It's Turkey. When are we ever going to Turkey?" She said, "Start saving money."
I said, "I have money."
She said, "How much would it cost?"
I said, "We could always set ourselves a budget. The only definitely expensive thing is the flight, the rest we can budget."
She said, "But with places like these we have to go with a tour group, we can't go by ourselves."
I said, "Why not?! I went to Cambodia without a tour group, I planned everything!"
She said, "Cambodia's different, it's easier to go by yourself. But you can't do that with Turkey."
I spluttered in disbelief as I wondered how to explain in the most succinct manner that a second world economy at the threshold of the European Union cannot be much more difficult to navigate than a third world Southeast Asian country fresh out of a civil war.
While I was doing that, she said, "Also your father says we should go with a tour group because the Turks will be arrogant and won't treat us nicely."
I said, "Hah? What? No! Why?!"
She said, "You know how Arab people are arrogant."
I said, "They're not Arabs!"
She said, "They're Turks."
I said, "Yes, and no country in the world is entirely arrogant!"
Ok so anyway the point of this is: I don't know how my mother lives with my father. He hates everyone. Everyone.

And I am very tired, but I just wanted to note this down in case I forget after a good sleep:

Please avoid travelling with parents again as much as possible. I'm not sure what they thought I was looking for in the holiday when I said, "I'm exhausted, I need a break and I want to go to a beach resort so I can sleep. A lot." They kept dragging me away from the beach to sight-see, which was not worth the time away from the beach because there is only shit to see in Langkawi, like dried-up waterfalls, terrible land planning and abandoned buildings everywhere. In all I only got to spend a total of about 6 hours at the beach. I'm so sad.

My parents spent 0 hours at the beach. But on Saturday they forced my brothers to go to the beach with me. My brothers walked around the beach and sat by the sea for about an hour and by the end of the hour they looked like they'd been forced to do something very unpleasant. They didn't swim at all in these three days. Is this natural behaviour? I think their brains are fucked up by TV and Playstation. All they wanted to do was sit in the hotel room and watch cable. My mum even offered to pay for them to go snorkelling and they said no. They wanted to go shopping instead.

Malaysia's service and tourism industry in general isn't so great. We stayed in a four-star hotel and the rooms were way below expectation. Floors made your feet black and our aircon was spoilt so I froze and didn't get any sleep at all on Friday night. Like that time me and Farah got the spoilt aircon room in Pakse.

Ok well that was all the bad stuff but there was good stuff as well. At least I got to spend some time at the beach, which was bliss. I finished reading one book in the three days. I managed to sneak in some swimming when my family left me alone while they went shopping. I got a massage. The seafood was great. And when they were not annoying me, my family was quite good company. Also my parents decided that I wouldn't have to pay for anything while in Langkawi, so I only paid for room and airfare. And well, I got to see Langkawi.

I feel bad. My mother bought a... I don't even know what to call it, a flowy baju kurung-type thing but more casual for me and I couldn't help but show my dislike for it.

The whole suit is a dark grey with two blue and light grey ribbon-like stripes kind of flowing down the side. The top extends to my knees and it's translucent, and could actually work with pants. But it really doesn't look spectacular in any way to me.

She asked me if I liked it and I said it was ok, and she said, ok only? and I said, yeah, it's nothing special and she said, it costs 150 dollars! and I said, what the hell?!

She kept insisting that this type of clothing was currently in fashion, and I kept replying that I didn't want to look like every goddamn minah in a headscarf. No offense to you if you're one of these girls, but it looks like the kind of thing that would be worn by one of those tudung girls who wear make-up and long skirts and whom everyone describes as "sweet". And, like, hello, I wear stripes or sweaters with drawings of animals on them. I only wear short skirts. I don't do flowy. I definitely don't do sweet.

After rejecting it, I felt bad so I ran out after my mother and said ok ok, I'll wear it to work with pants. Then she said, what about the skirt? I said, I'll wear it to weddings and shit and hari raya next year. And she said, so you'll just wear it once or twice and I'm like, how often do you want me to wear it woman?

Then she made me try it on, and I pointed out that once I put on my headscarf the pretty design bit at the chest will be covered anyway and she said, forget it I'll try to find someone to buy it from me.

So yeah, I feel bad. But I also have to wonder what registers in the head of a woman who has lived with me for 24 years and sees me go to work everyday and washes all my clothes and STILL doesn't know what my taste in clothes run to.

I guess it's understandable, she being the same woman who passes by my bedroom everyday and sees how one entire wall is almost entirely covered with books but still thinks that what I do alone in my room will somehow lead to pregnancy.

Fuck lah. How am I supposed to compensate for this? Oh, I know. Let her handle my wedding couture, 100 percent.

I am already crying at the horror of the thought.

It was a good Eid.

It started off unusually: I didn't get into a fight with my mother. 

At Toa Payoh stadium, where we performed our Eid prayers, the speakers weren't working properly so the people in the women's section couldn't hear the sermon after the prayers. My mother and I got up and sat down at the stands. There we shared a can of peach tea that we didn't pay for and laughed at funny-looking children.

The agenda was also unusual this year. Because my paternal grandmother was coming home from Malaysia today, she wouldn't be at home until late in the afternoon, so in between the two grandmothers' houses, we visited three of my mother's aunts. Usually we go to my maternal grandmother's, then my paternal grandmother's, then home.

The good thing about visiting the extra three houses in between was that we went together with two other families -- my mum's brother and sister and their families. My mum's siblings are the coolest in the world. And I adore my cousins. I hate all children except my cousins. I don't want kids, but being with my cousins sometimes makes me rethink my position.

I mean: Sa.cha, for example. She calls me her sister and she hugs me a lot when we meet and today she kept kissing me. She also insisted that we ride in the same car each time we travelled from one house to another. It's very enjoyable being adored by a child.

So yeah, I enjoy meeting my extended family, especially the ones from my mum's side, and getting to spend extra time with them today was a real treat.

It was the usual, you know -- sit down, banter, eat, leave. But a few unusual things happened:

One of my mum's aunts said I was pretty. This is not unusual; she says that every year I visit. The unusual thing was what happened next: My mum's sister called her own daughter, Sa.cha, to the table and said, "My daughter's prettier!" And well, let's face it, she is, because she's Eurasian and her 8-year-old skin is perfect and you can already tell she's going to grow up tall and gorgeous.

But then the old lady said, "She'd be prettier if she was completely Caucasian." Then she pointed at me and said, "She's very pretty though."

She's old ok, her eyesight's going.

And for the first time in a very long time, I felt that my mother was proud of me. Actually my aunt too. At every house we went to, people would ask whether I was working already and both my mum and her sister would shout (the women in my family do not merely speak, they shout or bellow always), "She's a reporter!" and then go on to say something about how I've spoken to important people or how you can hear my voice on radio or something like that. My aunt would even put on a fake American accent when saying it.

So it was a nice day. But then it didn't end so well. I found out that one of my uncles, my mum's youngest brother, is going to get a divorce. They have three kids, aged between 3 and 8. I cried over it later when I was alone. I'm actually kind of surprised I'm this sad about it, but there you have it. It was thinking about the kids growing up with one mostly-absent parent that got me. I don't know who'll get the kids but I really hope it's us.

Oh good. I've just realised that my brothers have been stealing things from my room.

I was starting to run out of reasons why I wanted to leave this house as soon as fucking possible.

I went to my maternal grandmother's house today, which is always enjoyable, because the aunts and uncles on my mother's side are cool.

For example, my aunt just now asked me whether the newspapers might be interested in publishing a story about a friend she has, whose family has gone from merely miserable to destitute. I said, "Sure, you can give my friend Sury.ani a call, BH would probably be interested."

Then she said she was thinking of calling TNP, because they give handphones. So I asked, "You want to help your friend or you want a handphone?" And she quickly said, "A handphone."

Later my eight-year-old cousin, the one who said I was ugly, told me, "You cannot get pregnant."
I said, "Huh?"
She said, "You cannot get pregnant until you get married, then you must do some things and then you will get pregnant. You will have a beautiful baby."
I said, "Uh... ok."

I am seriously concerned about the speed at which kids are growing up these days.

The only person who doesn't enjoy the family gatherings is my father, who doesn't like anyone.

In the car on the way home he asked my mother why one of my uncles had gone home so early. My mother said it was probably because he was tired, because he had taken a trip to Johor Bahru earlier today with his family. My father asked why. My mother said they were looking for Hari Raya clothes. This started a discussion between my parents on why my uncle and his family couldn't just buy Hari Raya clothes in Singapore, or get them tailor-made if their particular sizes are so hard to find on local racks.

Which was all fine and well, until my father said that the fact that the family had taken a trip to JB today showed just how misplaced their priorities were. He said that their inability to spot the truly important things in life was the reason why they weren't doing so well financially.

Now he didn't say what these truly important things were, but I can take a guess. His tirade just annoyed the hell out of me. Where do you get off criticising the way families spend time with each other? Especially given the fact that you're not doing such a swell job of bonding with your kids? Especially given the fact that you don't even speak to your own children except when implementing new rules or launching new types of weekly family sessions that they dread and avoid?

I mean, what does taking a day trip to JB with your family have to do with your bank draft?

Specifically, my cousin Sac.ha.

Y: So do you have a boyfriend?
S: NO!
Y: Really?
S: Yes... I had one. Hee hee.
Y: What happened to him?
S: I broke up with him.
Y: Why?
S: I didn't like him anymore. He was there last night at my cousin's place.
Y: Did you talk to him?
S: Noooo. My cousin lives in the same place as me. The same umm...
Y: I know. Max, right?
S: Yes.
Y: What was your boyfriend's name?
S: Daniel.
Y: Did he cry when you broke up with him?
S (gives me an incredulous look): No.
Y: He wasn't heartbroken?
S: No!
Y: How did you tell him you wanted to break up?
S: I didn't say anything, we just (makes separating motion with her arms). So I hear you work now.
Y: Yes.
S: What is it you do?
Y: Journaliste. (I used the French word, because I figured she wouldn't understand it in English, despite the fact that it's almost the same.)
S: Oh. So you finished school already?
Y: Yes.
S: (Opens her mouth wide at the thought of finishing school.)
Y: I'm old.
S: So you're 14 and you finished school.
Y: Huh? I'm 24!
S: What?!
Y: I'm 24.
S: (Rolls her eyes.) Ha ha. Very funny.
Y: I'm serious. I've finished school. At 14 I'd still be in secondary school.
S: So you're really 24?
Y: Yes.
S: And you're not married?
Y: No.
S: Well no wonder. You're so ugly! (Breaks into laughter.)
Y: Like you're so pretty. You look like me.
S: I do?
Y: Yes, we're family. We look alike. At least I have a boyfriend.

Later, she decides she still doesn't believe I'm 24. So we leave the room to ask my mother how old I am. I promise I won't say anything so my mother won't "conspire" with me to say I'm 24. My mother who was outside the whole time, knows nothing about our previous conversation.

Sa.cha taps my mother on the shoulder. My mother turns around. I remain silent to keep my promise.

S: Ummm... how old is Yasmine?
M: Fourteen.

Last weekend my parents gathered my brothers and me around for a talk. If you remember, my parents had had a talk with me alone some weeks back and you know how that went, so I wasn't very happy when they announced this one.

The reason for that last talk was my perceived absence from the family environment; the reason for this one? My 19-year-old cousin has started clubbing and drinking, so I, at all of 24, had to be sat down and reminded to behave.

They told us about her sinful deeds in hushed tones and vague phrases, like government PR people trying to tell you not to write something negative about their policies, while I rolled my eyes and said, "It's normal what."

Predictably -- and in fact I fully expected this -- my mother replied, "So you've done the same?"

I rolled my eyes again (and my eyeballs would get plenty of exercise throughout the one-hour talk) and said, "With an 11 p.m. curfew? I can't have."

Apparently my cousin has scared my parents so badly that they now want to hold weekly family sessions during which we pray together, and then sit around discussing the Quran or hadiths. My father suggested that each week, my brothers and I read a religious book or a hadith and then share with the rest of the family what we'd learnt.

It was imperative for them to keep reminding us of what is right and what is wrong, my parents said, because they didn't want to be held accountable if ever I or my brothers strayed off the path of Islamic righteousness.

My father said that his own brother, my uncle, had blamed my grandparents for his shortcomings, for failing to instill in him a sense of morality. They didn't want their own children to be able to say the same of them if ever we became adulterous, irreligious, disrespectful deadbeats. Or drunk Malay kids.

I think my parents are very insecure of their own parenting skills. I don't think they realise how much my brothers and I understand about Islam compared to the average Singaporean Muslim. I don't think they realise how deeply Muslim they've made us, against our willingness to attend the thousands of religious classes they've sent us to. Against our consciousness even.

They come down too hard on themselves, and on other parents too. Whenever they read or hear about teenagers who have sex in parks or take drugs, they inevitably blame the parents. They don't seem to realise that parents can't control everything.

But what really pisses me off is that they don't seem to know their own children very well. The fact that they think it's possible for me to become a drunken slut that will get pregnant anytime now -- still, despite the fact that my formative, adolescent and post-adolescent years are OVER -- does hurt. That they don't seem to realise that I'm happiest in front of a computer or a book, not in crowds, not in groups of many people and that that rules out a lot of possibilities when it comes to how I spend my free time.

During the talk they asked me what my aspirations were. This was just a couple of days after I wrote that post about not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, so of course my answer was, "I don't know." Not that it would have been any different if I had in fact known. I know better than to tell them these things. They only live to tear down my dreams.

Case in point: After I gave my sulky response, my brother offered his aspirations. He said he wanted to be a doctor and move to the US. I thought it was a good one.

But no, in fact it wasn't. My parents immediately rounded on him and listed all the reasons why it was a bad aspiration. He wasn't doing well in school to begin with. And why move anywhere? Why can't he just stay in Singapore? Being a good Muslim is already so hard in Singapore, what with all the temptations swaying you, what more in the US? And didn't he know that Muslims are discriminated against in the West? People get thrown off airplanes if they have different-coloured skin. He should just stay here and try his best to be a good Muslim. And then my brother said something idiotic about the second coming and this led to a long sermon about the end of the world.

The end of the world. This is what you get when you want to be a doctor in the US. So thank God I didn't say anything about taking up smoking in Paris.

But even without having said much during the session, I managed to get criticised anyway. My mother kept referring to me as "her big headache", "her biggest worry". I suspect this has something to do with the fact that my parole officer keeps reminding us about how dangerous my crack addiction is to my illegitimate unborn child. That or the fact that the love of my life is an intelligent, law-abiding, all around decent Chinese guy with a respectable, stable job. I can't remember, my priorities get mixed up sometimes.

Also during the talk my parents -- and a couple of brothers -- discussed how often I should come and visit when I'm married, and whether I should still have to participate in these weekly sessions. (Note that I wasn't part of this discussion.) The agreement they came to, I think, was that I should come whenever I could. Because I had to be reminded of God, didn't I? And was I really ready to guide another person into the religion?

By the end of the talk, I was completely overflowing with God. Mostly His wrath, I think, and His penchance for vengeance. But at least one good thing came out of it: there's nothing like a talk with my parents to remind me of what I want to do with my life. It basically involves whatever pops into my mind when I ask myself "Where would I rather be right now?" while my eyes are rolled to the back of my head and my parents are talking about how Christian converts in Malaysia shouldn't be allowed to change their ICs and get married. No matter what the situation is, I've found the answer to be rather consistent, give or take a few minor details (parrots in the background, or monkeys?).

And that's why I'm writing this post. To help me remind myself of that answer, whenever I feel lost and confused. It's what you need your parents for.