"You awake? Wow."

Almost eighteen years ago, when I was all of twelve years old, I packed my school uniforms, socks, textbooks, Enid Blytons and Tintins, and moved out of the space I'd shared all my life with the Big Brother, and into the room across which would eventually come to be remembered as "Mom's ex-sewing room".

I'd never been a brat, but I did bug Mom a fair bit on that matter. Well, for an all-important twelve-year-old, I thought I had two very good reasons.

One: "I am a big girl now. I need my own space."
Two: "Kor-kor always bites me."

I suppose I must really be one who "can convince people very well one what", since I got my own room and had all the sewing machines relegated to a corner in the living room.

Some eighteen years on, I think my Mom has forgotten all about the incident, the very first reason why the transaction had taken place at all.

I think Mom has forgotten I am a big girl now. That I need my own space.


I did fall asleep, but I got bumped out of snooze some three hours ago when something popped up in my mind while I was in my semiconscious state and I sat up wondering if it had happened at all. Nothing unusual, really.

Mom was fast asleep next to me, the girls had wandered off to their own dreamland where only four-legged creatures roam and Mommy is God. It was still in the world outside of my window. Well, almost.

I decided to stay awake. I like the stillness, the peace. My own space, finally.

I would have stayed in bed till I decided to crash, but Mom's alarm went off at six. Having Mom stare at me while I was trying to drift into my own world and write was another different matter, so I decided to shower up and get out.

I haven't done this in a long while, and now I am reminded how much I like this.

Driving at seven on a Sunday morning, stereo-less, windows wound down. Bright but not sunny, cool and untainted with pollution of all kinds. The road is so empty, you hear only the world outside. The road was so bare, winds blowing my hair wild, I thought I needed to slow down at 60kmh, when I realized I was still running on the fourth gear.

The best thing about coming to the Village on a Sunday morning, is that parking is for free and you get to choose your favorite lots. No irritating family SUVs blocking the lanes and shamelessly snatching your space. The cafe is empty too, and you get to sit at your favorite spot (yes, the one right next to the power adaptor point). The best thing though, is that the Village on a Sunday morning really reminds me of the village in Seattle where cousin Charles used to stay.

Because it's a Sunday, and because I have enjoyed my morning thus far, I am rewarding myself with a skinny latte this morning. I'll save the regular brews for my "office hours". A sesame bagel with some cream cheese would've given me the complete feel, but it just doesn't taste the same here. I can't put my finger on it, but something's just not quite right.

And all of a sudden, I really miss Portland. No, wait. I think it's Seattle that I miss.

No. I really, really miss Frisco. All the quaint little Italian cafes, and the even more quaint folks sitting in there... oooh...

*poof*

Damn. Why did they have to change the Blues to Whitney and Celine?! If Mariah comes on next, I am so gonna shoot someone.


When I get my own place, it'd have to be some neat little old apartment, near the Village hopefully.

One day, when I get my own place. One day, hopefully not too far away. I really am a big girl now.

Mom will understand, I know.


Fuck. It really is Mariah.

Shoot me.


post.script: I am not kidding. Kor-kor really used to bite me. I would wake up some mornings and find deeply etched teethmarks on my arm. Before I could figure out what had happened, I would overhear Kor-kor telling Mom, "Ma, can cook chicken wings tonight? I dreamt about eating them last night."

What can I say? I was an abused child.