The High School Diva

What am I to think when my old high school's diva decides to get chummy with me? I'd be skeptical and somewhat suspicious if she were simply attempting to reconnect after over ten years apart. However, given the fact that we never even spoke to each other at school, I am downright baffled. It took me a while to even respond to her "Salam. Pekaba?". Of course, after several borderline awkward exchanges that spanned over several painful weeks, her motives for contacting me became clear. Her intentions, now that they are clear, are no surprise to me. However, I will not discuss them here as they are hers alone and I am no one to judge.

It goes without saying that she was not exactly my favourite person at school (I mean, I call her the 'diva' here for a reason) but I did my best to put the past where it belongs and behave like an adult (that I hope to be). I might have let some sarcasm past my guard but I think I did a pretty good job at being civil. I know this because she saw fit to pour her heart out to me after our third or fourth conversation. (Another matter which I cannot discuss here since I assume they are private).

And this is where I make one of my stupid mistakes.

I agreed to meet up with her when I come to Malaysia for a visit. We exchanged phone numbers and I promised to give her a call - as soon as I land, none the less. She wanted to 'catch up', talk about her life and how her current state could be changed. Up till now, I still can't explain what it was that compelled me to offer my shoulder for her to cry on. We had nothing in common then and, upon viewing her profile on Facebook, I'm convinced we still exist on different planets today. Meeting up with her will be, at best, awkward. It will be at a place I don't want to be, at a time not commodious to me and among people I am absolutely uncomfortable with.

Naturally, it took me several days to realize this and regret my actions. I took the coward's way out and stopped responding to her messages. But I suspect I will call her because, having made the promise, I will feel like scum if I don't. I think she's completely oblivious to the internal conflict that I'm suffering through right now.

(Darwin, if you're reading this please be assured that I'm not talking about you.)

Stuffed mushrooms

When I was growing up, I had always craved for mushrooms. For some reason, the only mushrooms I encountered (mostly in my mom's cooking) came in small portions; they were minor accompaniments to chicken or beef in soups or to veges in stir fries. These little bites never satisfied my craving and I bugged my mom to try an all-mushroom dish. (I later discovered that there is a myriad of all-mushroom dishes in the Malay cuisine. None of them, however, are part of parents' native culinary culture.)

One day, my mom finally acquiesced. I distinctively remember looking at the bag of mushrooms sitting on the kitchen counter; they looked like freshly-mined gold. My mom sliced and sauteed them with some garlic and oyster sauce. I remember spooning the mushrooms onto my steaming hot white rice. I remember the taste of the oyster sauce but what catapulted me to ecstacy was the texture; the mushroom is disctinctively rubbery, spongy and chewy at the same time. It was heaven.

Everyone else in my family weren't too keen on the dish so there was a lot left over (which probably explains why my mom rarely makes an all-mushroom dish). I took the liberty of finishing it, literally licking the bowl clean. It's not a pretty picture but it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

Later, when my family was settling down to an after-lunch siesta, I started feeling nauseaus. I started getting sudden bouts of light-headedness. Then, before I could even tell myself to start running, I was running to the bathroom. What happened next was, again, not a pretty picture. Suffice it to say that I developed a, what I like to call, psychological allergy to mushrooms.

After that incident, even the sight of mushrooms made me nauseaus. I would get a tingling sensation on the bridge of my nose and my throat would well up with imaginary bile. This went on for several years until I was in junior year at UTM. I had friends who were big fans of mushrooms so I started eating them again in small portions, making small increments until I finally graduated to all-mushroom dishes.

Today, I had that craving for mushrooms once more so I made this and refrained from overdosing again.

How do you break up with a friend?

Or, even more challenging, how do you break up with a friend and still be on good terms with him or her?

First of all, is that even possible?

In a romantic relationship, both parties mutually enter with a commitment, either explicit or otherwise. A friendship, on the other hand, supposedly comes about organically through casual encounters and shared interests. There is no official point of entry into a friendship; it therefore stands to reason that there can be no easy point of exit either.

What if, after several casual encounters, one party in a friendship finds that the mutual interest that the parties share were merely superficial; they were not substantial enough to sustain the friendship over the long run.

Brief, temporary friendships naturally dissipate over time when both parties feel that they no longer have much in common. However, when one party still feels that the friendship can and should go on, things get complicated.

Hence, my current dilemma.

I have a friend who is determined to keep the fire burning, so to speak. I, on the other hand, would rather staple my tongue to the floor than go out to the movies with her one more time.

The reason I feel this way is due to her personal attributes but I will not discuss them here. Let's just say that our personalities are not compatible. How do I explain that to her?

Even in the best possible scenario imaginable, she will take it as a personal rejection. Worst, she will be plagued by the fact that some of her attributes are unfavourable. Not just to me but to other people as well. That is a tragedy I am not willing to inflict upon her. There is no kind way to explain that we are simply not compatible and that those attributes I find unfavourable might in fact be attractive to other people. Simply put, I should just say, "It's not you, it's me."

However, given the way that statement has been used in the history of breakups, I know it will only bring more harm than good.

So the conundrum lingers. In the meantime, I have a trip to the cinema to weasel out of.

Old People

I love the old people I meet at work. They often come up to the counter so quietly that I don't even realize they're there. I'd look up from what I was doing and there they would be, smiling patiently even though they might have been there for a while. They always greet me with some form of pleasantry. They are seldom in a hurry since a majority of them are retired. They are hardly ever grumpy as old people are often depicted in the media. Sometimes they take a little longer to come up with the right change for their purchases. In return, they smile patiently whenever I make a mistake at the till. Some of them even try to joke in what I think was an attempt to ease me nervousness. The shopping carts that they push in front of them are meant more as a walking support rather than to carry their purchases. Often that's how I realize one of them was at the counter. They'd lose their balance or control of the shopping cart for a brief second and the cart would make a slight bang against the counter. No matter how gentle the collision, they would always apologize profusely, jokingly blaming their age and weak back. I love the old people I meet at work.