Category : Blogs

Sub Category : Miscellaneous

It was a bright and sunny evening when mom and I made our way to grab an early dinner. As we reached the corner of Burger King, on the pavement by the roadside we saw her. She was selling an array of Malay cakes at the same spot where a lady and her handicapped husband used to sell Malay cakes. We decided to stop to check out the cakes she was selling. The cakes, from what we observed, looked very much like the ones the lady used to sell and so I asked her if they were made by the same lady. She smiled and confirmed it. "The cakes were all made by the same person, only the person selling it is different," she said warmly with a hint of humour in her tone. 
While mom was deciding which cakes to buy, mom chatted with her. "We have been buying cakes from that lady for years," mom said, "and her cakes are so fresh and lovely."
"That is true," she replied, "that lady and her husband has been selling cakes here at this spot for 36 years."
A few other passers-by stopped to look at the cakes and as I stood by watching, I noticed that she had very good people skills. She was talkative and friendly and her sales pitch was pretty polished. Every passer-by that stopped ended up buying cakes from her. I was impressed. Mom took her time deciding on the cakes, letting her tend to the other customers first. When all the other customers had gone off with their purchases and there was just mom and me, she suddenly opened up to us. 
"The lady is tired. She starts preparing the ingredients for the cakes right after the morning prayers. Grating 50 coconuts each day on her old school coconut grater, making sure that she doesnt grate too deep that she would scrape the lining of the shell, that alone is a tedious task. After grating the coconuts, she milks them manually, making sure that she puts just the right amount of water so that the coconut milk will not be too watery and diluted; again, that is a task that requires pristine focus. After that the cooking  of the glutinous rice, making the sugar syrup, then finally making the cakes; everything is done by the lady alone. She has no one to help her. I feel sorry for her as she's getting on with age so I offered to help sell her cakes for her. Besides, I don't have a mother and if I did, I wouldn't want my mother to have to go through such hardship," she said as mom and I listened intently. 
"You have no mother?" I asked, my curiosity made me blurt out a question which was way too intimate and personal. 
"My mother passed away when I was 18. My dad passed away before I was born. So I'm alone, I have no one. After my mother passed, I left home and never looked back. It's been many years. I'm not young," she said with a sheepish smile. 
"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking," I asked. 
"I'm 42."
There was just something about her that made me want to know more about her life for I feel she has an inspiring story to tell. While mom and I were waiting for the feeder bus at the bus stop, I mentioned to mom about my feeling. "Mom, I feel that she has an interesting story and I'm thinking of writing her story for the book I'm working on. What do you think, good idea or bad?"
"I think it's a good idea. From the little that she's shared with us, I can see that she's gone through a lot and she's a fighter and a survivor. You should talk to her about your book."
The next evening, on our way to dinner, mom and I made a quick stop to chat with her. 
"I have a proposition for you," I said, not wasting time beating around the bush. 
"Oh yeah? And what is it?"
"I'm writing a book, a compilation of short stories based on real people and real events. The theme of my book is about trials, tribulations and hope. I already have some material but they're not enough so I'm still looking for more. I feel your story would be a good addition to my book."
Her eyes grew big with surprise. "Me?" she asked. "You want to write about me???"
"Yes."
"But I'm not an interesting person. I'm not a celebrity. I'm nothing. Zero. I'm not educated. I'm just someone helping a lady sell her cakes by the roadside. There's nothing interesting about me or my life at all."
Day after day after that I went to see her to convince her to let me write her story but each time I brought it up, she sang the same tune - that she's not an interesting person. Finally, on my birthday, she asked me to have dinner with her. We went to an Indian restaurant and there she opened up to me.
"There I was, at the cemetery, watching my mother's body being lowered into the ground with no one there to console me much alone offer any comfort. I wasn't sure what to feel. I was never close to my mother, in fact, I was actually afraid of her as she was very fierce towards me," she said. 
Her voice, I noticed, was flat with no trace of any emotion. It was as if she was talking from some place else, a faraway place filled with painful memories. With her face partially bathed by the street light nearby, I watched her as she took a long drag of her cigarette. I knew there was more to come. I knew she had more to share. I could feel it in my bones. I waited for her to speak, to continue unleashing the pain that was obvious to me. 
"While I watched them shovel earth into the grave that held my mother, my uncle; my mother's brother came up to me. I thought he was checking up on me, to find out how I was holding up and maybe even offer some words of comfort, but man, was I wrong. He came to tell me to be smart if I want to survive now that I'm all alone."
Alone? She is not alone, she has family, living blood relatives! I thought what her uncle said to her was something that was so bizarre. 
"You know, when my mother died, everything was taken away from me; her house, her land, her property, all taken away."
"By whom?" I asked. 
"By her siblings. They made it very clear to me that I'm not getting anything. All I have left of my mother is just her driver's licence. That's all."
I was shocked. How could they do that to her at her moment of grief? How can they be so greedy and heartless? For a moment I was speechless. I lit up a cigarette as questions filled my mind. I tried to make sense of what she had just told me. I tried to understand the coldness and lack of empathy that was shown to her by her relatives. But for the life of me, I just simply couldn't understand it. I pick up stray cats and bring them to my house just so they have a home. She is a human being who was forced to leave her home just because her mother had passed on and the relatives wanted the house, the land and property for themselves. It's insane! 
"I have long accepted the fact that I wasn't born to be loved by humans. My dad whom I never knew, left before I was even born. He didn't love me enough to come see me or get to know me. I was never given the chance to meet him or get to know him. He died without ever meeting me. My mother hated me. Maybe I reminded her of my dad and that's why she hated me because she hated my dad. She went to her grave hating me. Then I met a girl. She was a student in a university down South. We fell in love. Each day after work, I would drive 325km just to see her, to be with her and spend the night with her and every morning after morning prayers, I would drive 325km to get to work. I did everything in my power to keep her happy. I pampered her, spoiled her, I did all of that for her for three years. Do you know how exhausting it is to drive 325km to and fro everyday? Yet I never complained because I loved her. But what happened in the end? After she graduated, she went back to her hometown and next thing I know, I got a text message from her saying that she doesn't want to see me anymore. All of a sudden she was telling me how wrong our relationship was in the eyes of religion, her family and society. She told me that she was ashamed. Can you believe that?!  She was ashamed! Yet for those three years where she would climb on top of my body each night, shoving her breasts in my face, begging me to love her, she wasn't ashamed then?!"
She spat her words like venom; anger and bitterness clear in her tone. I looked at her face, the face that is scarred with pimple marks with her short boyish hairstyle that frames her face, one look at her, anyone would easily mistake her for a dude. The way she sat on the chair next to me with her shoulders back, one leg resting on a chair in front of her, there was nothing feminine in her exterior. It is not hard to imagine which role she played in her failed relationship. 
"When I look at men and the crap and bullshit they do to their wives, I get really pissed off," she said unexpectedly. 
"Pissed off? Why?" I asked. 
"Because I want to be a man. I want to get married, look after my wife, pamper and spoil her, have kids of my own. But I can't. I don't have a penis. I may look like a man but I'm not a man. Not a real man. I don't even know who I am. I don't know whose body this is that I'm trapped in. All I know is what I feel."
"And what exactly do you feel?" I asked. 
She looked at me and smiled. "You know what? It's late. I'd best get you home. I don't want your mom worrying about you."
And just like that, she called for the bill and that was the end of the discussion. And just like that, I could feel her walls coming up around her. Over the next few days, she was different towards me. She avoided eye contact with me and she had put an invisible barrier between us. Maybe she felt embarrassed for having reveal too much about herself to me; someone she barely knows. Maybe she felt vulnerable for showing me her heart. Maybe she was ashamed to be seen as 'weak' for in her mind and heart, she is a tough 'man'. 
See, I never pried into her life. I went there with my mom to buy the cakes she was selling and on that very first day we met, she was the one who opened up to us about her life. I feel her pain and even though I am a hundred percent natural woman, I do understand her struggle. I wanted to be a friend, someone she can talk to without worrying about being judged but she rejected that offer. She decided to build a wall around herself to keep me out. I still feel for her despite her rejection. If one day she changes her mind and needs a friend in her corner, I will be there for her.