Apparently there was a meteor shower last night. I read this on Facebook right before bedtime. I got up and looked out my window, but the city skies are a bit too bright and polluted to see anything.
On Wednesday, 18th November 1998, my parents woke us up at 3 in the morning to see a meteor shower. My Mother is a science teacher, and she has always been very enthusiastic about these things. I think she secretly had a fantasy of turning me into a mad-scientist when I was younger (well, I didn’t steer too far off from her plans, did I? Haha). Once, she brought home a cow's eyeball which she got at the market, just to teach me the anatomy of an eyeball. I can't possibly forget how a natural eye lense looks like now. Anyway, for the meteor shower, she did her research, and found out exactly when it was going to strike. I remembered her waking us up and shoo-ing us out of the house. At 3 am in a suburban area, the houses are almost dead. There was silence except for the crickets. My Mother had already laid a mat on the lawn, a small strip of grass inside the home gate. There was a thermos of coffee, too, and I think that was meant for my Father. My Father is not at all a science fan. I don’t think he would’ve even bothered waking up to see a meteor shower, if not for the concern he had of everyone being out of the house so late at night. The sky was dark, but it was so clear you could see every vivid dots of light across it. We were miles away from the nearest city, so there were no tall skyscrapers to obstruct our views, and no high-tech lights to ruin the darkness of the night. It was just a clear, wide carpet of starry sky. I lay down on the mat, desperately trying to not go to sleep. Then there it was. A sudden strike of thin, long light. I missed it by a few seconds because my eyes weren’t wandering enough. Then came another. This time I saw it all. Then another. They were swift, elongated motions across the sky, a tail of yellow light that disappeared even before you had the chance to stare at it. I remembered hearing my Mother gasp in awe. I think my Father was secretly impressed too. It didn’t last long. Soon, they disappeared completely even when we stayed there for another fifteen minutes in case the meteor shower would happen again. But it didn’t. It was over. I’d probably never see it again for years, if not ever. The thing is, it was only a moment that was just a fraction of my lifetime but I can still recall the details vividly in my head right now. How sleepy I felt before. How amazed I was after. The color of the mat. Those annoying crickets. I don’t really look at the night sky the same way anymore. It would later occur to me that this was a prime example of how moments in life are defined. It could be the simplest of things, but if they are significant, it will stay with you forever. Smeagol here during his favorite pastime - hanging out in people's palms. Smeagol during one of our little holiday trips. So well behaved! Three days ago, my Mom called me at 6.30 a.m. I was hardly awake by then.
“Smeagol died!” She exclaimed. Smeagol, our pet sugar glider, was found dead by my Father in his cage. The night before Smeagol had a ball playing on the dining table as my brother sat there with my Mom, doing his homework. Nobody knew how or why he died. I cried immediately after I hung up the phone. For the rest of the day I kept thinking about him. Sure, he’s just an animal. Sure, he doesn’t have feelings like we do. I’m probably being a little dramatic. But for the rest of us who have had a pet died, you would know exactly how I feel. A pet isn’t just an animal that lives around the house with you. They’re little living therapies. They make us feel like life is a lot happier. They bring families closer. They remind us that bonding and loyalty is what makes this hard life a lot more bearable. Smeagol was a gift from my brother to my Mom for her birthday. He was a tiny cutie, still very much a baby. Sugar gliders love being around people. When you put him on your shoulder he’ll wonder around in your pocket, on your arm, and he loves curling up in your palm and sleeping. Once he made such a racket in his cage that I took him out, thinking that he probably wanted to wander around. Instead, all he wanted to do was climb right into in my hands, curl up and sleep. He loves sitting around the TV room amongst the whole family while we’re all watching TV. We took him on trips and he was always well behaved, and even the little attention-seeker at times. We still couldn’t figure out what caused its sudden death. Maybe it was the cold nights, maybe there was something wrong with his diet, but my kid brother who’s ten years old is still convinced that we spread the flu disease to poor Smeagol (the whole family had flu last week). My Mom reported that at his little grave in our backyard, my brother placed his Ben10 toy at the head of the grave. He also still cries every time he thinks about little Smeagol. Same here, buddy. Same here. The duck. The duck having a fabulous time in the rain! My Dad once had this fantasy that he will one day become a Malay version of Old McDonald. He wanted to have all kinds of farm animals and keep it in a piece of land he bought (which was why he bought a truck). To kick off his new obsession, he got himself a duck. It was a colorful duck with green brown and white feathers. He placed the duck at the back of the house in a small gated area.
Somehow, though I couldn’t quite understand how this turned out, the duck became a really tame duck. Now I’ve always pictured ducks as one of those dreadful animals that quacks all the time and snaps at people’s feet. Well I was right about that quacking thing. But the duck turned out to be nothing as I had expected. He was tame. He was really good friends with our cat, Piper (yes, a male cat that was named Piper. Gay.). He follows my Dad everywhere around the house. When he was smaller my Mom would let him swim in our bath tub. When we were packing the car to go off for a holiday, the duck would watch us and become just as excited as we were packing. Whenever we left the house with the car, the duck would chase after us (I imagined that he must’ve wanted to say “don’t leave meee!”) until we disappear from the driveway. When we got back, the duck would be standing right by the door. My Mom never let him inside the house, but I think he really wished he could. Everytime the kitchen door is open he would stand by the doorway and watch longingly as Piper the cat goes in and out of the house. When my Dad first got the duck, he was always saying things like “I can’t wait till this duck grows bigger so we can eat it”, or “I wonder how you taste like as rendang”, but gradually he stopped saying these things. I even caught him having moments with the duck, like him watering the plants and then giving the duck a shower and ducks always love showers! If it rains the duck would paddle around the front lawn having the time of his life swimming in the puddles and pretending to catch fish in there. If we leave the house for too long my Dad would now worry if the duck is not being fed or if the duck is not safe alone. One day the duck got older and we knew he would have to go soon. He also started to shit everywhere, including the front porch and the staircase, which drove my Mom nuts. So my Dad decided to give him away to our neighbor. He said, “Whatever you do with the duck, don’t tell me about it.” My Dad never looked so sad, and believe me, my Dad is no animal lover. We later found out that our neighbor ate the poor duck. That’s why I hate having pets. They always die! And also, I think from then on, I sort of get it why some people become vegetarians. |
Archives
October 2020
Categories
All
https:/
/www.bootsoverbooks.com/
|