On the girl who cried wolf / On writing

My brother and I, we were tied like a twisted earphones knot in our earlier days. Living in the neighborhood back in Penang, I could not imagine growing up without him. We were only a year apart and we listened to no one but each other.

One thing about childhood memories, it was kind of funny. Cos it’s there in your mind, it must have happened even though you couldn't be too sure of the account. But this one memory, I happened to remember vividly.

That day we decided to stay at home. We had this phone, the one that has the numbers at the back of the receiver. I googled, it was called the wall phone & looked like this:

Little old me took it in my hand and hit three numbers – each button lightened up and beeped upon pressing. My brother was beside me, encouraging. A man at the end of the line asked the standard questions before shooting what the emergency was.

I told him there was a thief in my house.

I let him know that our parents weren't home and that if they could send help immediately. The very last question he asked, the one that gave everything away;

‘what is the thief doing at the moment?’

To I answered, ‘she’s washing our dishes in the kitchen!’ I kind of shouted, and our housekeeper who was at the kitchen heard that, haha, epic.

I was lectured on the call, on the story of the boy who cried wolf.  Sorry, I wasnt sorry at the moment, officer.

*

Because staring at these four walls for another whole minute would drive me crazy, I decided to work on My English Debut (as I call it, yeah, what a name). And hopefully, even with a snowball of chance, I would send the manuscript to JS.

You can submit yours too, here's how: to a whole new world

i want people to 

go to the shopping mall

eat great food

buy some graphic shirts

listen to good records in the music store

have some snacks in between

and walk into the bookstore somehow

pick many books

among the many,

you'll find this one close to the heart

with cool cover

intriguing

English,

promising, atypical plot

it's local

and it is mine

And then I jumped from the back asking, do you want my signature

you go home

have a shower 

while your mother say it's your turn for dishes

you say, okay mom i'll do it now

your mom say, you better

but you take that book instead

and you begin 

acutely, without warning, you feel salty pearls wetting your cheeks

and it's only page five!

you mom comes, 

hands on her hips.

instead of her 'young woman you should do your job speech'

she goes for 'honey why are you crying?'

and you show her the book

and it's mine

Okay, that's enough of grandiose for a month.