A wonderfully cool and rainy sunday with no thunder. Nice day to sleep, which was exactly what I did. But then again, it's 'cos the effects of the medicine apparently hasn't worn off and I had a bad headache. I woke in the morn, had brunch, slacked abit and went back to sleep just as my uncle, auntie and cousins came over to my house. Good thing about my bed is, people on the bottom cannot really see me unless they were really tall or they decided to spend energy on climbing the ladder and risking hitting their head. My mom and uncle and aunt were making comments about me and about the bed, thinking I was asleep. Hahahaha, they forgot I am a light sleeper and of course heard everything they said, which mostly consisted of praises for my handicraft. HAHAHAHA! True, it's about the only thing I can boast of myself, making things with my hands. It saves me money too because I can make presents for people on their birthday. But I like making things using my own hands because it gives a sense of uniqueness. If there's such a word. I really cannot stand production line copies of some things, somehow it irks me that some people just copy things blindly. Where's your individuality? Moreover, people who have received my handmade gifts can proudly proclaim that they have something that no one else will ever have, and there will never be another one that is exactly the same. So those who have them, treasure it. I spent some of my own time to make those presents, I don't own a factory to produce them.
After a few days past my grandfather's 100th day anniversary and everything, I guess I can blog about it now. As usual, every chance we get we run over to my grandmother's grave, which is just nearby. Outsiders may say, your grandparents must had been very close and loved each other alot, to pass away within a few months of each other. I laugh. Close? Love? Are those words even in the dictionary they share? Never mind that. But the truth is, my grandfather hardly visited my grandmother. I hardly ever see him too. Which explains why there isn't the sense of attachment to him like I have to my grandmother. But my grandmother took care of him all the same whenever he did come over, because the family he lived with needed a place to throw him for a while. My aunt paid his medical bills without uttering a single complaint. My grandmother, she had to carry him onto the wheelchair and off despite her own weak physical condition. I truly respect my selfless grandmother. Her deeds are etched deeply in us, in the family blood. Sometimes I wonder to myself how is it that my grandmother has such a good understanding on the acts of kindness and on being selfless? Education was something she was deprived off, and yet, she knew how to give. I trooped over to her grave too, that very day, with my mother and sister and whoever else had come along. I know I feel sad, but that doesn't mean I have to cry. But after sometime standing there, just standing there and looking at her picture on the headstone, I was suddenly overwhelmed by grief. Somehow, when we leave the cemetry, it's like we're leaving her behind. The cemetry is a world in limbo, the place between Life and Death. Mr Koh has taught us well, he has. I remember that trip to the cemetry that day, the first time I became so familiar with that place. How ironic huh. I often wish I was studying at ntu, so that when I have breaks I can bike over to my grandma's grave and just sit there. ~sigh We always think we have let go, but it always, always turns out that we haven't. This is going to take a long time...
Oh well, back to other things. I don't know since when, but me and my sis start getting irritated by our relatives, their little nuances and characteristics that make us wonder where have all the sane people gone. There's the number one on the list, my mad auntie and her retard son. As expected, she didn't go to the cemetry, but only turned up at the temple. To her, the cemetry is full of bacteria and molecules carrying the diseases that those people died of. The temple, on the other hand, is where she can pray to whomever that she and her son will be healthy, rich, clever, yada yada. Irksome. Saturday, she was there as usual. And being her moaning, slouching self. She took off her son's diaper (he is 4 years old, for goodness' sake, such a loser. even pearly's not wearing diapers so frequently. retards will be retards) and kicked, kicked, kicked it into a corner of the LIVING ROOM. A rotting, stinky and gross used diaper in the corner of the living room. And she left it there for HOURS and HOURS. Does she expect, in her mad little mind, that it will disintegrate into little particles which will then diffuse into the air? Obviously only someone insane like her will think this way. Diapers do not have legs unless it's on someone, and that diaper obviously had no way of disposing itself. And she doesn't care that people are around her. She walks as if people don't exist. She buangs into us all the time. This means that while walking to the window to check if her ugly little picanto is getting a lookover by some carpark auntie, she will kick people along the way and NOT even apologise. Retard's worse. Last time I was sitting on a chair outside the room door. Each time he passed by me, he would drag his hand over my butt. Molester. Freak. Such a young delinquent. And he's forever giving his retard face when people ask him questions.
Mr Train: EH, WHAT YOU CALL 2ND UNCLE'S SON?
RS: (stare)
Mr Train: EH, WHAT YOU CALL 2ND UNCLE'S SON?
RS: (stare awhile, then continues doing his own retard actions)
Mr Train: EH, YOU DON'T KNOW AH. YOU ALWAYS PLAY WITH HIM ONE.
RS: (stare, repeat, repeat)
There you go. How to behave like a retard. An excellent example. Okay, I think I have ranted long enough.. time to go get sleep. My 3rd driving lesson tomorrow, hope I don't get any weird dreams about driving lessons again. This week is going to be chockful of activities for me again! So happy! *wink*
After a few days past my grandfather's 100th day anniversary and everything, I guess I can blog about it now. As usual, every chance we get we run over to my grandmother's grave, which is just nearby. Outsiders may say, your grandparents must had been very close and loved each other alot, to pass away within a few months of each other. I laugh. Close? Love? Are those words even in the dictionary they share? Never mind that. But the truth is, my grandfather hardly visited my grandmother. I hardly ever see him too. Which explains why there isn't the sense of attachment to him like I have to my grandmother. But my grandmother took care of him all the same whenever he did come over, because the family he lived with needed a place to throw him for a while. My aunt paid his medical bills without uttering a single complaint. My grandmother, she had to carry him onto the wheelchair and off despite her own weak physical condition. I truly respect my selfless grandmother. Her deeds are etched deeply in us, in the family blood. Sometimes I wonder to myself how is it that my grandmother has such a good understanding on the acts of kindness and on being selfless? Education was something she was deprived off, and yet, she knew how to give. I trooped over to her grave too, that very day, with my mother and sister and whoever else had come along. I know I feel sad, but that doesn't mean I have to cry. But after sometime standing there, just standing there and looking at her picture on the headstone, I was suddenly overwhelmed by grief. Somehow, when we leave the cemetry, it's like we're leaving her behind. The cemetry is a world in limbo, the place between Life and Death. Mr Koh has taught us well, he has. I remember that trip to the cemetry that day, the first time I became so familiar with that place. How ironic huh. I often wish I was studying at ntu, so that when I have breaks I can bike over to my grandma's grave and just sit there. ~sigh We always think we have let go, but it always, always turns out that we haven't. This is going to take a long time...
Oh well, back to other things. I don't know since when, but me and my sis start getting irritated by our relatives, their little nuances and characteristics that make us wonder where have all the sane people gone. There's the number one on the list, my mad auntie and her retard son. As expected, she didn't go to the cemetry, but only turned up at the temple. To her, the cemetry is full of bacteria and molecules carrying the diseases that those people died of. The temple, on the other hand, is where she can pray to whomever that she and her son will be healthy, rich, clever, yada yada. Irksome. Saturday, she was there as usual. And being her moaning, slouching self. She took off her son's diaper (he is 4 years old, for goodness' sake, such a loser. even pearly's not wearing diapers so frequently. retards will be retards) and kicked, kicked, kicked it into a corner of the LIVING ROOM. A rotting, stinky and gross used diaper in the corner of the living room. And she left it there for HOURS and HOURS. Does she expect, in her mad little mind, that it will disintegrate into little particles which will then diffuse into the air? Obviously only someone insane like her will think this way. Diapers do not have legs unless it's on someone, and that diaper obviously had no way of disposing itself. And she doesn't care that people are around her. She walks as if people don't exist. She buangs into us all the time. This means that while walking to the window to check if her ugly little picanto is getting a lookover by some carpark auntie, she will kick people along the way and NOT even apologise. Retard's worse. Last time I was sitting on a chair outside the room door. Each time he passed by me, he would drag his hand over my butt. Molester. Freak. Such a young delinquent. And he's forever giving his retard face when people ask him questions.
Mr Train: EH, WHAT YOU CALL 2ND UNCLE'S SON?
RS: (stare)
Mr Train: EH, WHAT YOU CALL 2ND UNCLE'S SON?
RS: (stare awhile, then continues doing his own retard actions)
Mr Train: EH, YOU DON'T KNOW AH. YOU ALWAYS PLAY WITH HIM ONE.
RS: (stare, repeat, repeat)
There you go. How to behave like a retard. An excellent example. Okay, I think I have ranted long enough.. time to go get sleep. My 3rd driving lesson tomorrow, hope I don't get any weird dreams about driving lessons again. This week is going to be chockful of activities for me again! So happy! *wink*
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