Chapter 8

To many Singaporeans, it is a common weekly routine to wake up late and then going for breakfast together with their families on a Sunday morning.

Not for me.

Ever since my mother found a job as a coffee-shop assistant, I had to take my breakfast alone at home every Sunday morning. When I woke up, my mother would have placed three breads neatly on the dining table. There would either be a jar of jam or peanut butter beside them.

One Sunday, when I woke up at nine in the morning, I found my mother watching television in the living room. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was fully awakened.

“Mama?” I said. I glanced towards the kitchen. There were no breads on the dining table.

“Ah girl, I am not working today. Go brush your teeth. We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Really?” I jumped up and down. “Yippee! Elle wants to eat carrot cake! Carrot cake!”

After I had brushed my teeth and changed, we went downstairs. All the coffee-shops were fully occupied. We tried waiting for the seats, but there were always other people jostling in. In the end, my mother decided to go to Boon Lay Shopping Centre.

“Is it far?” I asked.

“We’ll have to take a bus.”

“Bus!” I yelled. “Elle likes bus! Big, magic school bus! Is the bus yellow in colour?”

“No, ah girl, it’s red and white.”

Ten minutes later, we alighted at the bus stop opposite Boon Lay Shopping Centre. A group of children, all wearing yellow t-shirts, were crowding at the entrance of Boon Lay Shopping Centre. My mother motioned me towards the hawker centre, but I ran towards the children.

The children were all sitting on the ground. They seemed to be drawing something on big drawing pads that they laid on the ground. On the back of their t-shirts were the words “Boon Lay Young Artists’ Club”.

“Mama!” I waved my hand to my mother. A few of the children turned their heads to look at me for a few seconds. “Mama, here!”

My mother rushed forward, “Ah girl, let’s go!”

“Mama, Elle wants to draw!” I said. “Like them!” I pointed to the children. One of them was painting some sort of door. She was water-colouring the door with green water colour. Green door?

My mother studied the students, walked around them and then backed off. “We cannot afford. Come on, let’s go.”

“Mama, Elle wants to draw!” I did not budge. I stayed rooted on the ground and clenched my hands into fists. “Elle wants to draw, like them!”

“Ah girl, be good!”

“No, Elle wants to draw! Elle wants to draw!” I began to stamp my foot on the ground repeatedly. “Elle wants to draw!”

My mother was taking in deep breaths. She paced up and down and, then, knelt down next to one of the children.

“How much is the fee to join this club?” I heard my mother saying to the child.

“Don’t know. Not more than one million dollars. More than five dollars.” the child replied.

My mother pinched her nose and shook her head. Then, she stood up, exhaled and bit her lower lips. “Ah girl, we cannot afford. Go-”

“Why can they afford, then? Huh? Mama, you don’t want Elle to draw!” I looked away from her.

“Ah girl!” my mother yelled. Everyone, within a radius of ten metres, turned to look at us. “Be good!”

“No!” I screamed and, without my control, tears flowed out from my eyes. “Elle just wants to draw!” When I felt weakness in my knees, I squatted down and buried my head between my knees. “Elle just wants to draw…”

“Come with me, or else no breakfast for you!” I heard my mother said. I continued to secrete my head in-between my knees.

About a few minutes later, I looked up. My mother was nowhere to be found. I wiped off my tears and tried to stand up, but my knees were numb. I dropped my butt on the concrete ground and cried again.

A few adults crowded around me. The children who were drawing had all stopped their drawing. They fixed their attention to me, as if I was their object.

“Mama…” my voice was cracking with my tears. All I want now is a plate of hot black carrot cake, or a burger, or maybe a plate of bee hoon…

“Young lady, are you okay? Where’re your parents?” One of the adults – a balding man with a large beer belly – said to me.

“Mama gone!” I replied. The man was holding on to a plastic bag with a packet of food inside. I could smell it: It was fried carrot cake. I wanted to grab it, but I was too weak to do anything. I just sat there and, then, continued to cry. The man said something, but I did not hear him. I just kept on crying, as if crying would make me full.

“Ah girl!” a familiar voice struck me. I looked up and wiped off my tears. My mother was running towards me. She was holding on to a red and blue “NTUC FairPrice” plastic carrier. “Ah girl! So sorry, ah girl, you okay?” My mother began to stroke my arms up and down, as if trying to warm me up. “You okay, ah girl?”

“Mama.”

“I’m so sorry for losing my temper, ah girl.” My mother took out a large drawing pad from her plastic carrier. “Here, ah girl. You can draw with this. No need to join them, right? I can afford a drawing pad, ah girl.”

I felt the texture of the drawing pad. My mother then passed me a pencil and a box of colour pencils.

“Ah girl, mama cannot afford the money to send you to any training. You want to draw here? I can go buy some food for you while you draw here. What do you want to eat?”

I rolled the pencil on the ground and leafed opened the drawing pad. What could I draw? Maybe, I could draw staircases. It would look cool. I could paint the staircases red. Unique! Just like the green door.

“Ah girl, what do you want to eat?”

“Fried black carrot cake!” I exclaimed.

“Okay.” my mother said and stood up.

“Mama, why are you crying?”

Next (Chapter 9) >>>