We Can Work It Out.

There's an official opening ceremony going on. Samy Velu is here to officiate the opening of the flyover leading to Damansara Perdana from places as far back as Bangkok and Shanghai, or Bombay. We've got the best view watching the event from the balcony as if it is a big deal. Well, maybe it is after what Aunt Su and I went through this morning.

She had been pestering me to allow her to prepare breakfast for both of us that I had to give in eventhough I know very well that I wouldn't be too happy about it because I just knew she would turn the whole kitchen into a disaster area probably worse than Pakistan and Bam put together.

I am in the living room watching her work in the kitchen, pretending that all this isn't happening which is difficult with the noises and the clanking of the cast-iron skillet on the range, and almost 2 tons of utensils in the sink unwashed. For a simple breakfast of mee hoon siam with tauchu, she has so far used four nice kitchen rags, one each for every drop of oil. I am going to have to clean up after her, which is fine but she will have to re-learn the skill of working in a kitchen like ours which is a compact unit built very much like that of a kitchen you see on a boat. A kitchen like this requires a set of work habit so you don't leave behind a messy trail of grime each time you prepare something as simple as sunny-side up, or ikan goreng. I remember how she kept her kitchen in the house in Penang where I used to stay with her and Pakcik Syed, and how I remember hating every little thing about her kitchen that I didn't want to have anything to do with anything that came out of it that Aunt had to provide me with extra money so I could have my meal outside. Maybe this is my punishment for the treatment I gave her. Maybe this is her payback time and I am going to have to endure this. If she is indeed my punishment then I must say that I should be thankful because this is indeed a mild one that has found its way to my kitchen.

I must say the meehoon siam tasted quite good that I don't have a heart to tell her about what a mess she has left behind in the kitchen. I wanted to clean everything first so we could have our breakfast in peace but she insisted that I sit at the table and consider this a special occasion and eat. You don't disobey an order like that coming from a princess named Sharifah Suraya and so I sat and ate like a humble begger, all the time thinking whether or not I should tell her that next time please don't leave the kitchen like that because I am not used to seeing a kitchen like that after a good meal has been prepared, and eaten. And so I said, you finish this up while I go clean up the kitchen.

(I shouldn't have said that because I could see in her eyes that she's hurt. Maybe she knew about Penang, about her kitchen, about why I refused to eat her cookings when I stayed with her and Pakcik Syed.)

I walked to the kitchen to clean up the sink, thinking, I've hurt an old lady all over a kitchen, a lifeless set of stainless steel that I evidently cared more about than the gentle feelings of an elderly who doesn't have anyone in the world to call a relative except me, a distant relative of her ex-husband. This doesn't make me feel good. I could sense that she has stopped eating, and she isn't drinking the coffee.

Ada baju nak basuh, Maksu?
(Silent)
Yup, I've did it good this time.

Maksu, I am sorry if what I said about the kitchen hurt you. It doesn't mean anything to me because you mean more than anything else in the world to me right now and so please don't be offended by what I've said. You must understand that I grew up like this, trained in the professional kitchen to keep the work area clean, and safe. I don't want you to get hurt, but if you don't develop a sense for safety, one of these days you will slip because the floors in the kitchen is the same as that of the living room and trust me, this is dangerous for someone like you. I care about you. I don't want to come home one day to see you all burnt to the bone because the kitchen had caught fire. You must understand, twenty years on the rig has made me this way. I am always thinking about hazard, and fire, and explosion. I will teach you how to work in this kitchen. It isn't hard, and you can do it.

We can work this out. We have to because there's only two of us and we need to stay together. I am not sending you back to the old folks' home because you don't want that, and I am not going back to the rig, not until they can clear me by way of a medical certificate. There's an opening in Saudi Arabia, a nice place. Aramco. Used to work there, it's like a small American town in the middle of the desert with its own TV and radio stations. But I can't leave you, eventhough the money is good. I need to be here with you.

We can work it out. I promise.