“There’s a lot of ugly things in this world, son. I wish I could keep ‘em all away from you. That’s never possible.”
- Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird.
We love you for trying anyway. To all fathers everywhere, I hope you had a wonderful Father’s Day. Alhamdulillah, our plan was a success, largely thanks to my sister.
Happy Abah Day. 
—————
It’s a Saturday afternoon.
I’m out with my family, and we’ve stopped to have lunch at a
mamak café with my aunt and uncle. The bill arrives, and I notice my aunt
inconspicuously taking the paper and hiding it in her hand. Before I can say
anything, my mother catches her in the act and asks her for it, saying that
lunch was our treat. My aunt refuses, and my mother turns to my father for
support. My father reacts immediately; putting on what he hopes is an
authoritative voice and asks for it too. My uncle suddenly joins in the action,
and both aunt and uncle refuse to budge from their offer to pay for lunch. They
literally hold the bill well out of my parents’ reach, who both in turn protest.
My aunt by now has placed the bill on her lap, under the table.
I watched both my father and his brother arguing, both offering
and counter-offering (“I’ll pay” “No, I’ll pay” “Don’t be ridiculous” “No, I
insist”) and both stubbornly resolved that he should be the one to settle the
payment. This went on for a bit before my uncle had to get up to wash his
hands. My parents seized the opportunity to close in on my aunt. Their ganging
up on her worked because eventually my aunt was somehow tricked into handing
the bill over. By the time my uncle got back, my dad had made the payment.
I sat there chuckling the entire time, watching them
squabble with each other. Grown-ups can be so funny sometimes.
—————
It’s a Sunday morning.
I’m at the local pasar, surrounded by throngs of people keen
on restocking their grocery supplies. I’m going with the tide of the crowd whom
thankfully is surging towards my intended target, a vegetable stall. As I
shuffle along in my allocated space among the masses, I find myself trailing
behind a young Chinese couple with their baby. The man is carrying his child in
his arms, while his wife is walking by his side. The little boy is gawking at
everything around him, his mouth agape at the people everywhere and the common
racket often heard at any pasar. In a brief moment, he peers over his father’s
shoulder and stares right at me. Instinctively I make a face at him. I don’t
know why I do it, but I always do, with any baby I make eye contact with. He
starts making these gurgle sounds. His parents keep on walking, oblivious.
I push my luck and make another face at him, and his gurgle
sounds start to develop into giggles. His parents still don’t notice in all the
din. The scene would’ve looked strange to any observer. There I was, walking
behind this family, being jostled by the crowd, and at the same time making boo
faces at the baby in front of me who was quite enjoying my idiotic facial expressions. It was
worth making a fool out of myself though - he was adorable. Unfortunately, he
ratted me out with one very audible laugh which finally made his parents turn
to him questioningly before turning around to find out the source of his
amusement. Busted.
I let out an embarrassed laugh, and they both smiled kindly
at me. I gave one final wave to the tiny traitor who was still giggling in his
father’s arms, and half-ran away out of sheer timidity.
In hindsight, I could have stayed.
I could have stayed and made small talk with the parents, I
could have asked the baby’s name, I could have had a few more minutes playing
with him, because the couple didn’t look like they were in any hurry. Instead I
fled.
It dawned on me later that fleeing is just so typical of my
nature. I’m always wary of good experiences with others, like first encounters
with nice people, or having easy conversations or telling a joke that actually
works. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the moment while it lasts; rather I always
wonder whether I’ll spoil it somehow. I have an incredible knack for it, and
because of that, perfectly pleasant episodes are hard to come by. Too much of a
good thing puts me on heightened alert. I respond by reveling in the moment tentatively,
and then I bolt before something bad happens. It’s a reflex reaction.
I want to remember something without having to recall an
incident afterwards that mars the whole experience. I guess you could say I’m
in pursuit of a perfect memory.
But you know, when you do this to yourself, over and over, subconsciously
or not,
you’re bound to wonder how much you’re missing out on by running away all the time.
Enough said here.
