Lit short story

I.

“Ah sao, 100 eggs please.”

“Wah, making red eggs already? Congratulations on your new grandson!”

“Yah, so fast already man yue. Seems like just yesterday he was born.”

“Who does he look like?”

“I think he looks like his father, but his parents thinks he looks like his mother. But nowadays, all these young people—what do they know? Just yesterday, my daughter-in-law suddenly says that she wants to order the red eggs from that shop, that Bengawan Solo or something. You tell me, how can?”

“Correct lor, store-bought things still not as good as the ones you make yourself. 100 eggs, right? Let me see, 10 for $1.30, so 100 for…”

“All these young people nowadays, they think whatever is branded is good. Must buy don’t know what corn eggs ah, organic eggs ah, so confusing. Some more so expensive. Eggs how much again?”

“Ah, $13. That day my daughter also, went to buy so many baby clothes from that shopping mall. So expensive, you know, one small shirt already cost $20! Next door that clothes stall, two for $5!”

“Which reminds me, I need to buy more baby clothes for him also. They grow so big, so fast! $13, too expensive lah, give it to me for $10, can?”

“Okay, since it’s your grandson’s man yue. Congratulations again, ah.”

"Thank you.”

--

II.

The old lady moves slowly, but steadily, up to the sugar cane juice stall. It’s not particularly famous; it doesn’t have those pictures of the stall owner shaking hands with famous actors. In fact, it is an ordinary sugar cane stall, of the exact same kind that can be found opposite her house.

But when you’re old, you have ample time to spend, and it is always in her interest to stay out as long as possible before returning to that empty, empty house. So although she had to change buses twice to get to this market, just to buy the sugar cane juice that can be found opposite her house, it doesn’t matter to her.

After all, when you’re old, you have all the time in the world to do whatever you want, including changing buses twice to get to a market for sugar cane juice that can actually be found opposite your house.

--

III.

A group of ladies seat themselves around a table, armed with their usual fare of chee chong fun and Kopi-O. However, there is something unusual about today’s gathering—one of their number is absent.

“I wonder how Chun’s mammogram is going,” murmurs one solemnly. “I had a friend who went for one of these, and then they found out she had stage 4 cancer. I don’t think I’d want to know if I had cancer.”

“Choy! Don’t say things like that. It’s good to do all these checks early. My doctor, he says if you find it early, it’s very easy to treat,” adds another, nodding reverently at the mention of the doctor.

In response to that, a flurry of conversation bursts out, exchanging snippets of what various doctors and specialists had said previously at various visits.

“Now cancer is not the dangerous thing already, it’s that osteoporo—osteoporosis. The one where your bone disappears, or something.” One of them offers up, in an attempt to point the conversation in a less morbid direction.

The one on her right starts excitedly, the jade and gold bangles on her hands clinking together. “That’s why I drink that Anlene milk, you know, the one that Michelle Yeoh advertises. And I take those calcium supplements, every day, twice a day, if I don’t want to end up in a wheelchair when I’m 80.”

“But I also heard that taking calcium isn’t enough! I mean, I also take, but they said that you must also take some pills to seal the calcium in, otherwise it will all just leak out again.”

And so the conversation continues on and on about the benefits and detriments of various pills and supplements, just like any other conversation they had in their younger days about makeup, or clothes, or anything else under the sun.

--

IV.

They sat down at an empty table, that mother with her children and her maid supporting her on either side. She orders a bowl of pork porridge, and a cup of tea, and stares at it for a while, without saying anything.

“Your Pa used to love eating this-”

She trails off, perhaps thinking back upon the times that they had shared. Something glistens in her eye, but she quickly blinks it back. Picking up a spoon, she scoops up a little of the porridge, and tries it, almost tentatively, as though to see what would happen.

“Ma, are you okay?” Her son is concerned. His mother had been melancholy ever since the passing of her husband, and he was silently worried that going to pray to him this morning would make her depressed all over again.

She sits, and observes the porridge for a little while longer. “Sheng, lao, bing, si. People are born, people grow old, people get sick, and then people die. That’s just how life is.”

“Yes, that’s how it is,” she repeats, with more conviction. “That’s just how life is.”

And she continues eating, as if on behalf of her late husband, having found strength in the truth that she has just discovered.

I really hate it when people can't differentiate between two words that LOOK similar, but mean horribly different things.

For example, someone once sent me many many emails, before finishing off with a "Sorry for all the spasm!"

Apparently, someone thinks that all those emails that usually go into your Junk folder are called "spasms". So I wonder what those jerky actions that come about as a result of fits or something are called. I suppose she would refer to them as "spam". Like, "Damn, could you please stop thrashing around wildly over there? You're really spamming me!"

And of course, you'd get, in your Inbox:

"What? I'll get a million dollars if I give you my account deta-ARGHHHH SDFDKHGJHFDJ HAHGJ HASDJFHAJ SDHFJ ADFHKAJSDFKJASKGJKSDFJKSJDHS??!!?!?!?!"

...spasm mail.

If you didn't get that, shame on you. It was such an obvious joke.

Tis the night before NOI, and I'm freaking out.

I spent the last half an hour doing calming stuff, and trying to boost my confidence by looking at the score table, where I have JUST overtaken Zhanxiong. (Sure his problems are more difficult, but WHATEVER.)

And then feeling sufficiently calmed and confident, I logged onto Facebook, and saw this:

"

XXX: yeah! got pyhumod working through my e220 on my mac. worked up a nifty python script to mass-sms from a text file :D takes 25 seconds to send 9 messages!"

And then, in the comments, this: " just like my Cobra SDH12C92SK23!"

This is my worst nightmare. A bunch of geekgods talking about cheem computer things that consist of a series of capital letters and odd numbers.

I think this is a sign. I am going to die tomorrow.