Rogue Shadow

"I can’t feel my knees". This was after around 3 to 4 hours of walking around The Curve. My knees were already weak after my driving class, but I couldn’t refuse Ines.

"Kak…PLEASEEEEEE….." she said as she puts on that "I always have to wash up after dinner so you owe me" face. Besides, it was shopping. And knowing Ines, if I don’t help with her choices, she’s only going to get items in black, dark blue or grey.

Now, she’s my sister. She has been looking up to me for all sorts of advices- fashion tips, boyfriend problems, career decisions and of course, sexual education (at which point I either bolt for the nearest exit or yell "Maaa! Ines is asking me about liwat!" ). So bad knees or not, I tagged along.

She took out her To Do list. "I need to get these" she said. "Errr..Paint-" I started, about to continue with the list of colours she needed. "Skip that". Okay..t shirts, pants, running shoes, stuff at British India coz Na’a gave her that RM200 voucher, haircut (she spent a whole week asking around how short she should have it cut. She asked me only about 37 times) and, uh-oh..underwear.

I want my mommy. But my mum’s in the hospital because of her backaches. Errrgh. Fate, you are a stone cold bitch.

So we walked around The Curve,which was filled with One in a Million fans because of the meet and greet sessions, and I taught Ines how to bargain at the flea market (she did okay I guess. But she would totally get conned at Petaling Street) and I convinced her to get more colours in her choices. He nice skin tone makes it easy for any colour to look vibrant on her. Except pink. I can’t help anyone with that.

Everything was just la dee dah(except for my knees. They were more like la dee ADOI!) until…"okay, now for the underwear". Dum dum DUMMMM!!! We started at the women’s department. "Err..skin tone or plain white for your bra right?" I asked, recalling the stupid rule the school made. I looked around at the stuff they had. Ines pointed at a mannequin’s butt. "That one yang takde kain tu, what’s it called?" she said, referring to the naked butt with only a string up it’s ass. "Err.. that’s a g-string" I muttered under my breath. Feeling some of the material,they were practically made of air! I mean, what are they teaching kids nowadays?! Okay, so the don’t have a young women’s lingerie  department, can’t they then at least make it more decent looking?! I mean, this is open for the rest of the floor to see! if I was shopping here with Ian, it’s a different deal, but I’m here with my under aged SISTER! I still want her to believe babies come from storks!

"Err, you cannot have any lacey frilly stuff, kan?" I asked, ensuring she’s restricted to the plain unattractive bras. "They don’t check in schools. You wear a camisole over it" she replies. NOOOOOO!!!! No nice looking underwear for you, young lady! "Oh, and I need sports bras," she said. I let out a sigh of relief. Ok, none frilly bras, where are you?

None. Not at Triumph, or Warcoal, or Intimates. God, save me.

"Let’s go to Blush downstairs" I said, hesitantly.

We entered that sin hole. "May I help you?" the sales attendant asked. Yes. I’d like a couple of bras for a 16 year old virgin that says "I’m not planning to get laid in the next 20 years". "TWENTY YEARS?!" Ines asked. Dagnabit! I was thinking aloud. "Fine, err..10 years. Okay?" I offered. If I had my way I’d prefer you be a celibate for life. I’ll make all the babies for this family. I mean, how many grandchildren can my parents handle, anyway, 6? Ben can come up with 2 and I’ll take care of the other 4.

Ines scaled the racks. "You have any sports bras in here?" she asked. The sales attendant shook her head. Well, DUH! You get these frilly lacey wonderbras so you can get some, not support your breasts!

"Why not just give up bras?" I suggested. Ines raised her eyebrows. "You know, like what the feminists did. Burn your bras, liberate your tits!" I exclaimed excitedly."No, kak." Well, then cover them up with layers of t-shirts, just get me out of here!!!

"Oh…my kneess….owwwww…" I said. "Okay, kak. Let’s go." I thanked God. No more of this! It’s my mum’s job and I don’t care if she’s paralyzed, she should do it! I’m glad that’s done with.

Ines helped me up and with an encouraging enthusiastic smile she said-

"That’s ok. We’ll try again tomorrow."

"So El. Which one of us do you think will be the first to get married?" Nadia chirped. Err…"Ok. Let’s take the 7 of us.What do you think the running order will look like?" she continued. Tough one. I must be careful. I don’t want it to sound like I think it’d be hard for you to get somebody to love you enough to wanna marry you. "Well, Mawar’s hell bent on getting married by 20 (although the candidate is yet to have met her), but I don’t know how accurate that’s gonna turn out to be. So I guess I’ll be the first to get married*". "Yeah, we always said so" Syar joined from her driver’s seat.

[*insert Psycho soundtrack with footage of Ian speeding off in Betsy.{ *Sub-insert Ian saying "FORD."}]

No, I’m not some conceited lassie who thinks she’s so hot, men would jump at the first chance to sweep me off my feet and ask for my hand in marriage. But a girl can hope, right? It’s just that ever since, ever, I’ve always wanted to have the perfect family with a great husband* and beautiful children. I’ve always desired to give birth and experience the ultimate moment in womanhood.

[*Ian in the background still trying to speed off in Betsy {FORD!} but realizes he can't coz he didn't turn on the engine.]

My girlfriends on the other hand have always implied that their scared they would never meet Prince Ok-lah, what more Prince Charming. "Damn you, Syar! You left me alone in the Spinster Club!" Nadia exclaims. I’ve known these girls since the beginning of highschool. They are the most beautiful people I have and will ever meet. They may not have legs that go on forever(Jacq is an exception, biatch.) or Alba-esque proportions*,but they are the smartest, most hilarious and neurotic girls you’ll ever meet.

[*Ian in the background halts process of trying to get Betsy {Ford. F. FORD!} at the mention of Alba and starts drooling. Elza smacks him up the head]

And I see that in our future, us girls will meet up at our friendly neighbourhood eating place [cue girls scream when Nadia suggests Nandos. They look to Jacq to make up her mind where she'd like to eat. Jacq tries to distract us by showing us she's got cute baby pictures. Girls get distracted and go "aww..."]catching up on the latest about our families and the kid’s play-dates and our husband’s performance in bed*

[*Ian slams the accelerator and finally gets the car to speed off, then some Malay Makcik bangs into his car].

I see that all of us will be happily married and helping each other throughout our lives and discussing (okay, FINE. Gossiping. There, happy?) our husband’s lack of performativity skills in the bedroom* or arranging playdates for our kids.

[*Elza gets hatemail from future husbands of the girls and Ian grounds her. But not for long coz he forgets the punishment as soon as Elza walks closer. Sunitha reads this and goes EEEEEEWWWWWW!!!!!]

We’d probably be miles apart from each other (although we all dreamed of being New York City girls. Okay, I made that sound so corny. Fine, how does err..New York skanks sound to you?), but what we have is airtight. These girls are my angels(coz God knows I’m not the one among them who’s heaven sent), and they were always there for me during my drama moments(which means they’re there for me all the time) and my manically euphoric moments(which means everytime a guy caught my eye. Even when I didn’t know them. Like the Bald Guy outside my Form 3 class window). And I just wish I’d be given the same opportunity to be part of these remarkable women’s lives till the day we throw our hips replacement partay.

But for now…anybody hear wedding bells?*

[*Ian covers ears and starts singing the irritating numa numa song.Elza smacks him upside the head.]       

I remember exactly what happened that day. It was July 3rd, 1990. I was then 3 years old, wearing a yellow t-shirt with ruffles at the bottom with marine life caricatures on the front, and a pair of green shorts. I saw people crowding my mum’s hospital bed. Everyone was exclaiming "Oh! Comelnya dia!". I was 3, but I wasn’t an idiot. I knew they weren’t referring to me. They were referring to that bundle of flesh that was barely longer than my mum’s forearm. This, I was told, was my little sister.

I didn’t know what an "adik" was, but I knew that this little thing is gonna take the spotlight away from ME- the girl they waited NINE years for, with SIX miscarriages. I was the apple, no, the freakin DIAMOND in their eyes, okay?! Who the heck do you think you are, taking my spot? Judy freakin Garland?!

So I got up on the bed, and I started jumping. HELLO! Look at me! I can jump really high! And I’m cute! And I’ve been potty trained!

But the ooh-ing and ahh-ing continued. And it kept coming. She grew into a chubby little brat and everyone found it sooo cute when she pronounced her S’s as F’s. "Ines nak foup!" she would exclaim, and bats her mile long eyelashes. I felt like giving her a tight flap. I had to share everything with her. My toys were made safer for fear of her being an idiot and trying to swallow it down. All my clothes went to her. And she got offered acting roles which got her more new clothes. I remember looking at my half of the wardrobe, and it was a quarter of hers. Everyone babied her. I was supposed to be responsible of her. All I cared about were bubble baths. She could drown for all I cared.

Then years passed. She grew out of her frilly dresses with puffy shoulders, and her lipstick experiments. She grew into quite an opposite of that tiny little "can I please squash her" bug. She grew into whom I fondly call Kichi.

I tease that she’s very much the Jantan of us two. She’s into sports and football, her idea of relaxing is running, when my folks fight, I’d be shouting at them to shut up or cry my eyes out, and she’d be re-arranging her furniture in her room. She starts hating dresses and sees no point in make up, accessories, handbags and heels. For sometime, she felt ugly compared to me.

She compared herself to ME. When all her life, I compared myself to HER. She had nicer skin, she hardly ever had pimples, her teeth were straighter, she had nicer jet black hair, her eyes were big and round with long eyelashes, and for fucks sake, she’s TALLER than me. Most of all, guys drop before her feet. They’re so into that whole buddy tough girl kind. She’s 3 years younger than me, and her track record is better than mine. And even though she’s single now, this boy is staying by her side and makes her happy, even as just a friend. She’s fuckin talented, and has to be the most mature just turned 16-year old I’ve ever known. She’s also the sweetest, funniest, smartest, most determined, most beautiful annoying little brat I will ever know.

Dia Adik Kakak.

I love you, Ines, with all my heart and more. And no matter what happens, where I go, or what I say or do to you when I’m mad, that fact will never, ever change, you hear?

Kakak Sayang Ines.

Happy Birthday, Kichi.