"how can your biological clock start ticking at 19?!"
said Da, when I told her that I think it has.
Anyone who has known me for any length of time since primary school knows that I don't like children. Unlike other girls, I don't know how many children I would one day like to have (actually I did: none); I didn't fawn over cute babies on the mrt (they all looked the same to me); I didn't think of names to call my incipient offspring.
In fact, I found babies on the mrt loud and irritating and smelly; I though toddlers should not be allowed to walk by themselves if they're gonna get in your way; I couldn't summon the depth of feeling I felt for musky for pretty kids. I thought the surest way to heartbreak, disappointment, a lifetime of slogging, and possible marital breakdown, was kids.
I simply did not see what the fuss over babies and kids was about.
So it was the weirdest, most alien sensation that day on the train, when I felt myself unable to look away from this little girl who was with her dad on the train.
Maybe it was not the kid, but the dad that did it. He was this big, tanned, balding man. The kind with thick gold chains and gold teeth interspersed with coffee-stained ones. He had a big beer belly and would have looked more in place at a coffee shop with bottles of tiger beer in front of him shouting loudly in hokkien.
But he had his arm clutched around this little girl - she wasn't very pretty or anything, she had an unfortunate haircut and incipient buck teeth.
But the way he cradled her; the way he would occasionally pressed his cheek to the top of her head, shut his eyes and take a deep breath as if not being able to believe that she was real; the way he would pull down her little denim skirt demurely whenever she moved around, to stop her from flashing her diapers or whatever.
Now of course while watching, the thought "is he her father, or is this more of a Grimes thing?" did cross my mind.
But seeing the way she leaned back on his pot belly, and the way his hands, scarred and callous, were so gentle with her, I knew that they shared common DNA.
And it was in that moment that, in his eyes, I saw what it was like to love someone more than you can bear.
I saw what the fuss was all about.
Anyone who has known me for any length of time since primary school knows that I don't like children. Unlike other girls, I don't know how many children I would one day like to have (actually I did: none); I didn't fawn over cute babies on the mrt (they all looked the same to me); I didn't think of names to call my incipient offspring.
In fact, I found babies on the mrt loud and irritating and smelly; I though toddlers should not be allowed to walk by themselves if they're gonna get in your way; I couldn't summon the depth of feeling I felt for musky for pretty kids. I thought the surest way to heartbreak, disappointment, a lifetime of slogging, and possible marital breakdown, was kids.
I simply did not see what the fuss over babies and kids was about.
So it was the weirdest, most alien sensation that day on the train, when I felt myself unable to look away from this little girl who was with her dad on the train.
Maybe it was not the kid, but the dad that did it. He was this big, tanned, balding man. The kind with thick gold chains and gold teeth interspersed with coffee-stained ones. He had a big beer belly and would have looked more in place at a coffee shop with bottles of tiger beer in front of him shouting loudly in hokkien.
But he had his arm clutched around this little girl - she wasn't very pretty or anything, she had an unfortunate haircut and incipient buck teeth.
But the way he cradled her; the way he would occasionally pressed his cheek to the top of her head, shut his eyes and take a deep breath as if not being able to believe that she was real; the way he would pull down her little denim skirt demurely whenever she moved around, to stop her from flashing her diapers or whatever.
Now of course while watching, the thought "is he her father, or is this more of a Grimes thing?" did cross my mind.
But seeing the way she leaned back on his pot belly, and the way his hands, scarred and callous, were so gentle with her, I knew that they shared common DNA.
And it was in that moment that, in his eyes, I saw what it was like to love someone more than you can bear.
I saw what the fuss was all about.
0_0
Posted by
*me |
12:14 PM