PurpleCrap: No Peak, No Plot, No Meaning

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The Usual Nonsense

One foine Monday, May 15,]-[ of clan Mauvecloud wrote:

Whenever I hear the lawn mower raging its way through the warpath, I wonder what the grass think of the sweet smell oozing from the bullet-torn human who has fallen on the lawn.

I haven't finished the arc concerning Guan Yu's seduction from Liu Bei by Cao Cao, so I will rely on the usual nonsense to fulfill my quota of spam for the year. The ideas are stolen (as usual) from stuffs seen thereabouts on the ElGay (and some other redundant blog) Friends' page.

One thing I learnt from my Friends' page is that there are many women who do not have friendly relationships with their mothers, and these women are called neither Aniston nor Crawford, and their professions are not of the thespian nature. I was greatly surprised at first. And then I realized that other people have (non-absent) fathers. But I am digressing.

I don't remember more than two prolonged periods of time when my mother refused to speak to me. The first one concerned a very petty incident involving a cat and a thumbnail. The second one is much more sedate - it is something I still prefer not to speak about. My mother will know what it is. If she reads this. I know she does *winks* There is one steadfast rule I cling to when it comes to blogging: Never post an entry unsuitable for the reading pleasure of my mother (and hence, the discerning public).

Therefore, from the age of 15 onwards, I am certain of a close relationship with my mother. We talked a lot - during breaks from self-study with me hoisting myself up to sit on the kitchen counter as she prepared the meals of the day - this much I remember from the tattered log I still have with me which served as my ElGay in those days of 5.25" floppy diskettes and green-on-black monochrome screens. Our friendship might have been helped by the fact that at 17, I was shipped 600 kilometers south to do my undergraduate, and except for short snatches of vacation, have been away from home since. They say that absence makes the heart fonder. How true! Even outsiders commented (discreetly) that the eldest was the favorite of the female parent. But! To be fair to both of my parents, they did try their best to never act in any way that would be miscontrued as favoritism. However, even parents are human, and horribly fallible humans at that. At least in the eyes of a very precocious child with a long memory. I am not sure about my mother, but I know who exactly is the apple of my father's eye [0]. And when I recall what a friend has once told me about having children, my uterus shudders and my ovaries shrink unto themselves. He has said: "It'll be someone just like you." I was not clever enough at the time to ask him, "Do you mean someone just as critical as I am? Watching, always watching and remembering? And then one day, all my blunders as a parent will be published online for the world to point and laugh at?"

Well, today I received a heart-warming SMS from my mother. She asked if I had enough funds to pay for the premium of a policy I took up while working in Little Red Dot. How touching! I could no more avoid forking out the money than I could change my name. She should know that. But still. She asked last year. She asked this year. If she asked again next year, that would make it every single year of my doctorate (and hence, piss-poor years) that she asked. To pseudo-quote Qwerty, I am gullible and will gratefully cling to any signs that someone cares before ditching the razors which, minutes before, have been poised to make horizontal cuts across my arms.

And, of course, no entry regarding one's mother (or father, depending on Your Mileage) would be complete without praises of her culinary skills. I long for my mother's curry rice (with chicken and potatoes) right down to the very marrow of my bones. But thanks to recent bouts of hard work, I will not have to wait long for the curry!

[0] Life being full of ironies and contradictions, it was not the sole male sibling.

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If I have to have a view on marriage, it would be that it is an economic alliance. Of course my experiences are scarce and meagre, and people more well-versed in matters of the matrimony are welcome to correct me - in the privacy of their own minds.

This subject is quite tied to the subject of my mother's vocation. Whenever people in Australia ask me what she does and the answer comes, proud and clear from her adoring daughter: "Homemaker, and a splendid one!", I enjoy the half-smothered indignations and flabbergasted looks. One school-teacher, always haggard and looking like she is ready to drop dead from exhaustion whenever I see her (and she has only 2, and they are in their 20s now!), jeered: "A housewife? Just a housewife?"

Hmm. Maybe. But my mother never looks that tired. And at 56, she looks heaps younger than your 52. Hahaha.

I tell you what, career woman. My mother is a lucky woman. She was attractive enough to have snatched an economic partner who was able to, single-handedly, bring enough bread home to feed six mouths. My father was a genius at stock rotation, cash flow management and ~~cooking, uh, I mean~~ accountancy. That's the only explanation for his ability to keep a dead horse alive for nearly three decades. He even funded my youngest uncle's undergraduate education in the US of A. And by dint of his genius, he predicted that all of his offspring would be smart enough to get into local universities [1], and thus neglected to set aside funds for our overseas education.

But you, school-teacher. What do you own? A half-dead school-teacher who looks just as haggard as you do, and will probably die of heart attack before 2008 arrives. And both of you struggling and struggling just to own a house in this half-dead town and financing two kids through university education?

This is the problem with today's ~~economic alliances, uh, I mean,~~ marriages. In times of yore, one brings back the bread, the other makes toasts out of the bread. Fair enough. In days of Grand Theft Auto and StarCraft, one brings back half (or less) of the bread, the other brings back half (or more) of the bread, and still has to make toasts out of it, and on top of that, there is the little matter of breeding to think of, etc, etc.

Looking at it this way, it it very clear that The Other is being victimized. But don't blame me for it. Someone has to bring back half (or less) of the bread, and I don't make toasts. Ha ha ha.

[1] 4 out of 5 ain't bad, Papa.

// mauve signed off @ 5:07 PM

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