mostly earnest

Tag: vignette

  • YukiMomo

    I’ve been helping my neighbour feed her cats and water her one (1) plant while she’s away. 

    Neighbour as in she lives just two doors away from our building and one time when we had big scary insect problems in our apartment, we called her for help.  She didn’t come to our rescue but did offer her cats because and I quote “Momo is good hunter”. 

    Neighbour as in some times when I hear loud noises coming from upstairs, I text her to ask if she could hear it too. Neighbour as in when there’s leftover beer from entertaining guests, she offers it to me because she doesn’t drink. Neighbour as in when there’s a power cut, we ask if she wanted to have dinner somewhere together while we wait for the lights to come back on. 

    Is this what it feels like to live in a time before we were all so guarded, wary, and suspicious? 

    We never expected to make friends with any neighbours. High-rise living in KL has made us sceptical about having any sort of interaction with people who live in the same building, let alone on the same street. 

    Modern living definitely plays a role in our anti-social behaviours and this is true anywhere. Malta is not exempt but people here do live closer to the ground. You’re more likely to see people out and about, and towering stickle-brick buildings aren’t as common. 

    Our friendship with our neighbour only happened because we found her lost cat in our apartment. We’d seen a cat from two doors down hanging out on the balcony, so when we stumbled upon Momo in our building, Nine had a hunch it was the same one. She swiftly rushed over, going door-to-door looking for Momo’s owner. 

    It was a chance encounter but I would attribute that to us living somewhere where it was possible to notice your neighbour’s balconies and take an interest in their lives.

    We became instant friends after. Our neighbour even gave Nine the title “Momo lifesaver” whenever she introduced her to others. Now, whenever Mimi goes out of town, we look after her cats. 

    As I stand in her kitchen, watching the cats eat, I can’t help but feel like our life in Malta is something out of a movie. After all, I can’t recall a time when I was this involved with a neighbour. 

  • Masumi

    For two hours, we’re in Japan. 

    An upscale izakaya, our greatest find yet in this food desert. Small menu, extensive sake selection. That’s how you know it’s good. Specials board changes every month. I had their berry chocolate ganache once and inhaled it in seconds. 

    —

    Through the side door, a Japanese woman adorned in the intricate folds of a kimono glides into the restaurant, capturing the immediate attention of fellow patrons. With a polite request for a table for one, the Japanese server gestures towards a counter table.

    She takes a seat with a posture that echoes discipline and grace and surprises the air with an order of Asahi beer in English. The Japanese server nods in understanding and promptly reaches for a menu, accompanied by an introduction to the Specials board also in English.

    After a brief survey of the room, she returns her attention to the menu. A subtle smile plays on her features as she reaches a decision. In the midst of her contemplation, a Serbian server, stationed behind the counter, asks if she is ready to order.

    She admits the overwhelming choices before her. With a thoughtful suggestion, he recommends starting with the agedashi tofu. Grateful for the guidance, she agrees, and he vanishes into the kitchen. 

    Meanwhile, the Japanese server uncorks an Asahi beer bottle, pouring its golden contents into a waiting glass. He places it before her on the counter and tells her to enjoy. She indulges in a sip, a subtle nod of satisfaction punctuating the moment. Lowering her glass, her gaze catches the Japanese server.

    “Are you Japanese?”

    “Yes, are you Japanese?”

    “Yes, yes, I am also Japanese.”

    “Ahh, Konichiwa!”

    “Konichiwa!”

    Pleased with the discovery, she starts to chat with him in indistinguishable Japanese. As the conversation ebbs into a momentary silence, she leans back, hands placed neatly on her lap, patiently awaiting the promise of a warm culinary delight. 

  • Infestation

    I saw more rats in the span of half an hour than I had my entire life.

    Big ones. Tiny ones. Mama, papa and all their next of kin.

    Grandma had been co-living with rodents for the past couple of months before her daughters came home to deal with it.

    One night she woke up to something moving on her chest.

    She couldn’t see what it was because it was dark but she flicked whatever it was with the back of her hand and heard a splat on the floor.

    She turned on the light and saw that it was a baby rat.

    My aunt said the rats had been chewing the gas pipes and that it was a miracle the house had not explode especially because grandma uses matches to light the stove.

    We’ve been trying to convince her into a care home but she is steadfast in her decision that it is still not time yet.

    She argues that she is still able to walk but what good are feet if your lungs are constantly breathing in fumes of rat faecal matter.

  • Snide Salad

    As she stretched out to retrieve my plate, the server noticed untouched food in the corner and asked “Why didn’t you finish your vegetables?”

    Caught off guard, I fumbled and said, “I don’t like them,” which was not entirely true. I didn’t like these particular ones but I was too embarrassed to admit it for fear I might offend her.  

    “But you ordered the vegetarian meal,” she replied, feigning horror.

    I’ve never known meat eaters to have the same standards imposed on them. Someone who enjoys chicken may not necessarily be open to pork. It’s hardly news that vegetarians don’t enjoy all vegetables equally. But of course I didn’t say that. Instead I said, “I ordered this dish for the main event, not the sides.” 

    Still unsatisfied, she replied, “Do you know how many people are starving in this world?”

    I felt a synchrony of raised eyebrows around the table, the moment she finished the question. 

    I am aware that millions go to bed hungry. But I am equally aware that the main causes of world hunger are primarily poverty, inequity, and institutional failures. In fact, thanks to centuries of food innovation and agricultural science, the world we live in today is actually capable of feeding every person that lives on the planet. Whether an individual chooses to finish their side salad has no bearing on these facts. 

    If an establishment is concerned about wastage (which is valid) then maybe it would serve to make better, more thoughtful, innovative side salads. Otherwise, it just feels like an excuse to fill the plate. 

    But again, I did not say this. Someone interrupted before I got a chance to respond and I was honestly relieved I didn’t have to deliver Sunday sermon.