'Strand'

I finally made it to a church service early yesterday morning and was constantly peering over my shoulder for a friend who said that she'd be meeting me there. She had planned to pass me some pictures of the wedding luncheon I had attended some time earlier this year. She never made it, but I left the matter. I didn't text to ask where she was or why she didn't turn up. I ended up forgetting about it totally.

I was too occupied with Mother's Day after the service.

I didn't stay too long there. I grabbed myself a cup of coffee and downed it almost in one go, a rose from one of the youth group members, meant for mothers who attended the service and two packets of fried mihun. Stopped only to exchange the typical pleasantries, and then I was on the way to my car, but not before an uncle who used to give me English tuition commented on my greying hair and said that if anyone asks me to dye it, well, they're just not being accepting of who or what I am. His wife said that she was waiting for my big day, and I replied that I was being too fussy in choosing the candidates, which I think fell on deaf ears because the uncle then invited me to go over to their place for a visit, any time, any time at all. Sure, I answered and then I got into my car, started it and sped off home.

At home, I passed mum the rose and a packet of the fried mihun and she said that she wouldn't be able to have lunch even if she was to eat only a little from it. She left her packet on the kitchen table. I had mine and watched some Sunday morning cartoons that were on the tube and dozed off for a bit while we waited for our turn to leave the house.

No special plans or gift-shopping made this year.

I had given up on eating leftover cake which had remained abundant even after it was distributed as a Mother's Day tea-time refreshment for those who had turned up to the house late in the afternoon, having experienced it for a couple of years.

I had given up on taking my mother to some place fancy for lunch, since it was not really her thing. I foresaw that most of the restaurants in town would be utterly packed and chaotic anyway.

I drove us to my great-uncle's first, walked around with the shuffle blasting this week's array of albums as my mother cleaned and arranged the altar for her weekly prayers.

Next, I drove to the grocery shop behind my great-uncle's and napped as I waited for mom to purchase her lottery numbers.

We had lunch finally at a nearby food court, where I ordered Bak Kut Teh minus the innards for sharing between the both of us, and over the course of the meal, when the realization that my mother was sixty-eight this year struck me, things felt very poignant somehow, but we continued conversing as we ate and when we were done we left.