Friday, April 30, 2021
My mother
Wednesday, March 10, 2021
Writing: A contest but I lost
Yellow
Seha
boiled things. She boiled cups, plates and other kitchenware.
Today, she boiled some towels. When she thought the world was through
with it, intrusive thoughts took over. Many rejoiced and many remained
cautious even when the end of Covid-19 was finally declared.
Watching
the bubble heat up in rage satisfied her baggy eyes behind the fogged up
glasses. She could almost see the germs burnt away, brutally.
She stirred the water to see it calmed and bubbled up again in almost
instantly, more furious. She turned the stove off.
She
had to boil them today, the air was wet. Germs or virus, they love it
like that. She walked closer to the window to observe the day. The
downpour was beginning to slow down to a drizzle. The grass became
glossy, reflecting the Sun and slowly they waved through the soft breeze.
People
were already out and about. A man hurriedly climbed up his house which
looked like it throwing up trees to fetch his forgotten full face respirator.
He put it on while sliding down the bamboo ladder to join the
waiting others. It’s that time of the month where the fittest would head
to a place where several underground tankers were kept. The collected
rainwater was made drinkable after undergoing a clean technology.
Seha
was angry. It’s been there for a while now. It was red. It
escaped whenever she’s alone. She had always been alone ever since her
mom’s death. It was dreadful. She was one from numerous
Coronavirus’ victims. Her dad left to find solace. When the world
enforced a lockdown, again, he knew he had to stay there, wherever he was.
That was not many years ago.
Occasionally,
a 30sen postcard would arrive on Seha’s doorstep. His strong, slight cursive penmanship was
always brief and monotonous: pupils have
internet now. All.
Fortunately
the internet services remained fine, perhaps better. Everything went
online, including authorized websites such as “Sembang” or “Kitahidupsolo”.
As the names suggested, the NGOs were trying to help boosting mental health of
many people who were addicted to self-isolation. Prolonged lack of
contact with others had started taking its toll. Believing technology
could be helpful to tackle loneliness, they reinitiated the long forlorn
trend. Seha thought the efforts were cynical. Even the names were
cringing.
However
it’s the case with Seha. Juwa, her next door friend, haven’t replied her text.
She went out. Spinach was ready for
harvest. She put the towels on a wire hung between the beeping
sliding door and the floor where the bamboo ladder was bound to. Houses were bound to many individual big trees
and a rope ladder was tied in between. She looked at Juwa’s closed
door. Seha sensed the TV was on.
“Juwa,
are you there?” She half yelled.
Heavy,
fast steps were heard. Seha was anticipating Juwa to appear through any
of the windows.
Juwa
appeared through the sliding door. Despite faded yellow respirator
covering her face, Seha could pick up what was about to come. Her chest
filled with remorse.
“What
do you want? It’s obvious!” Juwa questioned. The red that Seha
managed to swallow started to grow in her.
“Huh?
what IS obvious?” Seha asked.
“-that
I don’t want to talk to you,” Juwa folded her arms.
“Well,
yeah I was worried, I-“
“Well
stop, I’m fine and I thought I sensed your anger, don’t come out here making me
the bad guy!” Juwa spat.
The
red inside her belly grew bigger. Her breath was heavy.
“…I am happy, well taken care of
now-”
My brain tricked me, shows me how my mom died, on loop.
“…You
always need attention, it’s too much!”
You’ve never given any, why the outburst?
A
thunder was heard and felt something snapped inside her. The red, it came
out as hot as its colour. Like a fire had ever flamed, it burnt the
person she rooted forau the most. She wouldn’t forget her eyes, how she
got burnt to ashes.
Seha
sizzled when the rain dropped on her. Seha went inside, took off her now
burnt yellow respirator, took out her frozen nasi lemak and microwaved
it. She guessed she really needed the “Sembang” afterall.