Ah Boy, Huat Ignorance You Talking?
at the annual gathering of the family over at gramp’s
aunt: what are you studying again?
me: english literature.
aunt: orh, so you want to be a teacher? or are you going to be a writer? (chuckles)
me: erm, no. not really. i’ll probably be going on for masters or something. film studies.
cousin: wah, you want to be a film director huh?! (slightly mockingly)
me: no? anyway, erm what are you studying?
cousin: business.
me: oh, so you wanna be a businessman?
an awkward silence bleeds over our shoulders.
as the annual fanfare of chinese new year draws nearer - disturbingly so - so does the awkward round of questions: mothers measure the futures of their sons and daughters against the products of other mothers, trying to ascertain if their investments were well on their way of paying off. a round of stock-taking. vicarious lives on display. possibilities traded away in the chatter.
and as the sessions of mahjong begins, so does the calculations: dreams dreamt long ago are slowly tossed into the pile, as mothers and fathers try their luck at finding the winning combination.
‘singapore’ is dreaming, and she is going gaga over the red packets. at the end of the visitations, it’s time to calculate if she has made a loss or a gain this year.
huat is it that you really want in those red packets of yours?
