Twelve and not stupid - A Famous story

Dad's still late. It's been two hours since school was over and I feel so stupid, standing here in my school uniform, in front of the mini-market Kong's. This is where I wait for Papa to pick me up after school; It's just on the other side of the road that goes to school. Dad is often late, but not so late. The people who look at the store on me, standing at the entrance with my school bag nestled between my feet. You seem surprised to see me, still standing here when you leave the store. Kong, who is already familiar with the sight of me standing and waiting in front of his tent, has a look at his face that seems to say, "poor girl." Where the hell is your father? How can you keep them waiting so long?

I see his car down the street and I feel relieved. For a while, I thought he forgot to pick me up. It happened once. When he came to pick me up, he was almost dark and he was crying. Mom was with her friends and was worried about not finding me at home when she came back. Then I called Dad. If mom could bring me to school, life would be much easier for me. She has a driver's license and drives earlier than we lived in Seremban. But it was a long time ago and now we live in KL. She doesn't want to drive to KL, where people, she says, drive like maniacs.

Dad's car slows down when he comes to Hong Kong's mini market. It stops and I am about to jump on the front seat when I notice that there is someone, a woman I do not recognize. She looks the same age as mom and her skin is just as good as Mom's, except that MOM is from Malaysia and this woman is Chinese. Her long hair is tied in a bun and she wears glasses. I came in the back seat of the car and smiled at me again. "Hi Sasha," she said in a rather sweet voice. "I am Aunt May." I am surprised that she knows my name, because I know for sure that I have not met her before.

Like I don't say a word and must watch it, Dad looks at me through the rear-view mirror and says "Don't be rude, Sasha." Salam Aunt May. She stretches her hands to me between the two front seats and I take them in mine. He turns forward while Papa leaves and I look at the back of their heads while they speak to each other in low voice. I feel confused because they seem to know each other well, but then mom and dad, the two very sociable people who like to parties, have a lot of friends and the aunt needs one of them.

When mom and dad go to a party, they look very shocking. Papa is an attractive man, with thick hair and his eyebrows are also thick. She dresses gracefully, coordinating her long-sleeved batik shirt, trousers, socks and shoes very well. Mama is almost as big as daddy and with her slender silhouette she looks good in everything he wears. His hair is dark and long and he wears it in a bun, just like Aunt May.

Waiting for Papa and having to endure so much time made me tired, and I can feel nap. The slow posture of the car as Papa makes its way through busy traffic KL stunned me to sleep. I don't know how long I've slept. When I open my eyes, I think the car has stopped, but we're not home. Instead, we are parked outside a semi-detached house on one floor. Aunt can get out of the car and, as soon as she goes through the door into the complex of the house, Papa leaves. As he does, he looks at me through the rear-view mirror and sees that I am awake. "When we come back, don't Tell Mama about Aunt May, okay?" I want to know why, but Dad has a star look at his face and I dare not, so nod his head. "And if Mommy asks you why you came home late, tell her you had a school and you forgot it." I have shaken my head, I wonder why you want me to lie.

It's night when we go home. I can see that the lights in our bungalow house are like Papa Parks the car under the porch. The front door opens before you get the motor of the car, and Mama comes out. She has to worry and wonder why she had not returned from school. As a dad and I are about to leave the car, he gives me a look and I remember the lie I need to tell mom.

 

Of course, Mama is not happy that she had not talked about the so-called school activity. "I was concerned about the sick thoughts about what could happen to them," he goes. Dad also has a reference, "I called his office, but his secretary said you were in the morning." I look at dad while he's on, "I had a job out there." Mama's making her attentive to me, "don't ever do that to me again, okay?" I almost called the police. Go take your bath now. We'll have dinner soon.

As we eat together, mom and dad talk about how they usually do, and Mama has no idea what really happened. Mom is no longer crazy, and she loves her stories and jokes. but also discreet. I don't like to lie to Mama, and I can't help but get mad at dad so I feel so strange. I can only be twelve years old, but I'm not stupid. There must be one reason why I'm lying to mama and this reason has something to do with Aunt Mai.

"Are you sick?" Mom looks at me anxiously and puts the back of my left hand on my forehead. "You are very quiet." Dad gets his hands washed, "she must be tired." She had a busy day. Mom's going to get up too. "You should go to bed early and have a good rest," he said. Dad keeps me under guard while I leave the table, wash my hands and climb into my room.

I try to go to sleep, but as soon as I close my eyes, I see Aunt May in my mind. Who is this? Why can't I tell mom? The questions give me a headache and I think it would be nice if I'm sick and I don't have to go to school tomorrow. Who knows? When I went to school, Aunty can be with dad when they pick me up after school and what should I do? Do I have to lie to my mother again?

It's weeks and there's no Aunt May in the car dad's. Dad didn't say anything about her, and it's like she never met her. I'm curious, of course, but dad doesn't seem to want to say anything. Dad was never one to tell me things; It's mom who keep me posted on the family plans of what we will be doing during the weekend where we will go for our vacation. People told me Dad was busy and didn't talk much. that is true; Every time grandpa, Mom's father, comes to visit us for a few days, he and dad can sit in the living room together for hours and not say much to each other. But once again, when his friends come, Papa is not posted at all and is often the most talkative in the group. So dad has a lot of pages for him and I wonder how he is with Aunt May; You booked or chatting with her?

It's a Saturday afternoon and mom and I are home. Dad went out with his friends. Mom is busy with her embroidery, which I'm not particularly interested in. I prefer to cuddle with a book instead of sticking a needle in a drawing of a piece of cotton material. We are both in the living room, she sits in a chair and I lay on the floor, my chin hollow in my palms while reading the book Open in front of me. He looks at me and says, "You really should sit down when you're reading." "It will ruin reading this view." I'm not answering, but I'm still reading.

She keeps looking at me; Something seems to be in his mind. From the corner of my eye, I can see her mouth open as if she wants to speak to me, but she closes, shakes her head and makes her attention to her embroidery. Mom is a very correct person who gives a lot of thought to what she says or does. And they constantly teach me how they are in the company of other people, a young and educated man. That's what his friends say when they meet me, "My God, she's so polite for her age."

Right now, mom puts on the embroidery and tells me to bathe and get dressed. "Daddy will be home soon," he said. "We'll go to dinner, remember?" Make sure you do something right. "We're going to a Chinese restaurant." Mom and dad like to eat, and they both like Chinese food mostly. Me too and I surprised a lot with my ability to eat with chopsticks.

 

We arrived at the restaurant where Papa obviously booked a special table because the waitress puts us in a room on one side of the dining room. She pushes the sliding door, we walked into the room and I'm surprised to find aunt can already sit on the table. With her it's a boy who looks like he's about ten years old. I don't know what to do or say. Should I pretend that I have not already met you? When I know you, Mama will ask why and discover the lie I told her a few weeks ago.

Aunt can get up when we go to the room. When Mama is surprised at our guests, she doesn't show it and she's waiting for Papa to introduce her to Aunt May. They will each other and the aunt can then look at me and I Salam without saying anything. I am thankful that you have not given any indication that we have known before. Then he lays his hand on the shoulders of the child, "It is Kassim", and Kassim rises and the father and mother Salaams. We all sit and Papa must have ordered the food as it does not take long before the waitress in the room with a large bowl of shark fin soup. I eat and listen to adult speeches, and they talk as if Kassim and I are not in the room.

"May called me a few weeks ago," said Papa to Mama. "That's how I learned that" Yem "she had married without the knowledge of Marta." May is still married to "Yem", this boy is his son. She came to see me because "Yem" she and the child has neglected. "Yem" is Papa's Big brother and Marta is his wife.

"Oh my dear, my husband told me that there is a family problem compared to" Yem "but I didn't know it was so complicated," says mom to Aunt May. "But what do you want us to do?" It's a family thing, between "Yem", Marta and you. I don't think we can participate, especially because she doesn't even know it. She's my closest sister-in-law, and I don't want her hurt.

Aunt can shake her head. "I don't want anyone to get hurt." But I also have my rights as the second wife of "Yem". You can't leave us alone. I haven't seen him for months. Luckily, I have a job. If not, Kassim and I will have no roof over his head. I pay for everything, the house, our food. "But" Yem "is my husband and he is obliged to support us." Kassim looks at Aunt Mai on the mention of her name, and I wonder if she understands what is being said. I can be twelve years old, but I'm not stupid. The aunt can continue, "All I ask is that you remind her of your duties to Kassim and me." If he doesn't want to see us again, he should at least be divorced.

"I think we have no choice but to help," said the father to Aunt May and mom. "Yem" does so much harm here, first marrying without the knowledge of Marta, then pretending that he does not have a second family and, worse still, neglected this second family. " We know all this, we can't keep quiet about it. We will participate in it if we do nothing. Aunt can watch dad with relief and mommy nods. "You must advise him," he said to Papa.

After our pancake dessert, Papa pays the bill and we all get up. When Aunt Mai and Kassim had arrived at the restaurant in a taxi, Papa offered them a lift back home. Everyone is silent while driving. When we get home, the aunt can open the back door, but before she gets out of the car, she thanks mum and dad for dinner and the willingness to help her. She looks at me, "I haven't invited you to my house for the last time." It's too late, so I can't invite you now. You have to come back and get to know Kassim better.

Mom turns her head in my direction and one of her eyebrows is raised in a question.

End)

 

 

A match made in Heaven - A Famous story

I was sitting at Starbucks on a rainy Sunday afternoon. It was raining slowly, small drops of dropping incessantly forming a translucent canvas of water droplets that I watched on the quiet street.

For a place full of action in the evening hours, with the party people their guts, banging sure is quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Even peaceful. Through my table there is a pretty uneasiness girl dressed in a beige dress, that would have been wise, if not for the deepened cleavage, showed her wide chest.

A woman very only for a Malaysian lady, I must say. She pointed out her hair by the length of her shoulders in shades of brown and gold. Your face is serious as there are types and couples in full concentration on your laptop screen, occasionally drinking his cup of coffee steam. She doesn't smile much. Probably because they don't want to attract unwanted male applicants.

But dressed as she is. How can a man resist talking to him, let alone observing them? He sat down to fetch a favored pencil. We have a random glimpse of her full breasts. At that time I decided that I would try to know them and maybe get their hand phone number as well.

What the hell are you doing, man? The more I would get is a blow, but that's assuming if I'm too forward. And the least we get, "please go." And what I hope is a smile and the beginning of something new maybe. Later, a dinner meeting. And who knows what else. My heart beats wildly in anticipation.

I look too long for a moment. She feels me by looking at her. She sees and meets our eyes. I'm smiling. She smiles at me. Irresistible beckons to him. It turns red and it's my signal. Way to your table, which is only five meters away from me.

Only five feet from a relationship with her and God knows what else. It is now or never used as Elvis to sing. And for me it was now. When I went to his table, I knew it was going to work.

This hour.

We were from the past year or so. Actually a year two months and eight days from the day we met. I still remember our first encounter, the fragrance of her fragrant hair and how he saw that first day. Reading the first part of my story here, I would have guessed more or less what I should say.

In case I forgot to mention the fact, well I am Chinese and Maria my friend is a Malaysian girl. In Malaysia, the kind that is not a well accepted thing and because of the religious implications, well this kind of coincidence is by and large a rarity.

The first months of our court was a very traumatic affair with our parents on both sides strongly against the relationship. But we were enforced and after nine months we had plans for a wedding. So we were engaged just after nine months of encounters.

And I know it's fast from any standard.

We weren't young. I was in my last thirty years and she was in her early 30s and we were pretty sure and glad we shared for life, if not more. Could we have been in another life lover? Could we get to know each other beforehand? I really don't know. It just seems that we have clicked so well together.

Sometimes my brother Joe with me joke, "Koko, and now how?" more of Bak-Kut-El and his favorite pork sausage man? How's your diary, char-Siew-Pau?

I laughed and said, "You can still eat beef and other things wat." Even without forgetting my steak and thank God I can still eat roti canai and man! If the pig is something I have to give up, I guess I can for Mary Lah.

So Peter told my little brother, "I heard you have to sacrifice your foreskin to the butchers." You know that? Did it hurt?

Smiling, I said, "during circumcision, No." After they sew you, it shows a little. "But it's better not to get an erection because it could really hurt that the swelling can pull the strings and that's where you can scream bloody murder."

In addition to the initial questions and things, everything was installed in the normal diet of things. We're still on wedding plans. Mary took good with my family and parents and loved him and moved them into their hearts. It's not better for me. My future in-laws warmed me up after the initial objections and more than of it along with the warmth and acceptance of the rose, when she realized that Mary and I had decided to work together for life.

We went for the wedding photo shoot. A full day of pose and change in different costumes for photo shoot. He was so tired at the end of this day. You wouldn't believe how tiring it is to shoot a photo all day. No wonder an actor pays so well. It's a lot of hard work. And that too, if you don't even say a single word.

It worked so well that I began to wonder. Did I do something good in my last life or what? I never felt so happy in my life. But I had the impression that you shouldn't be so happy.

He didn't understand why he hadn't come to the wedding. She's gone in the last few days. He had to change his mind. At least he would have called me and told me about it. Instead of letting me wait in the hotel with the amount of guests. I felt that it was a betrayal of the worst kind to me.

Dizzy and Dizzy, I looked up and stood there I looked at me. She stood in her wedding dress. My God, I never found him so attractive. There were tears in his eyes when he tried to be courageous and to smile at me.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

Of? Of? Of? I can't understand you.

"Sometimes it's not the way we want to." I was so keen to spend the rest of my life with you. "I just want you to know that I love you with all my heart, and I will always do it."

I'm trying to keep it, that's when I woke up with a hangover in my apartment. Was it a dream? Did you really come to see me? Can I not decide if I have dreamed it or was it a figment of my imagination?

I drank a fool the night before. I knew it was bad to drink. I couldn't help myself. I felt depressed and broke. Lost and alone. I couldn't cry anymore.

It all screamed.

I heard someone at the door. The paper is slipping under my door. It was mania. He delivered the newspapers from the supermarket son, on the ground floor of the apartment. He was a very reliable and punctual guy every morning.

Stumbled across the door, I picked up the Star Day edition. Looking at the headlines, I suddenly sat on the front page. Just read, "The bride dies in the car accident"

And outside the balcony, the rain had started to water again. Like the first day I met her. It's raining then when it was now.

 

The Postmaster -- Famous story in english

 

Shortly after his appointment, the post-manager for the service was sent to the village of Ulapur. It was an ordinary city. There was an indigo factory nearby and, with its influence, its English owners had managed to set up a post office in the village.

From the city of Kolkata, our postmaster was found as fish from the water in its new rustic setting. His office was in a filthy cottage, adjacent to a viscous pond full of water hyacinth and surrounded by bushy trees on all four sides. The factory clerks had little or no training to associate with this gentleman.

The young man of the urban race also lacked social skills. Every time he went to a new place, he looked confused or arrogant and could hardly interact with the villagers. On the other hand, I didn't have much work in the office. He sometimes wrote poems that had a romantic sense of happiness on the sight of floating clouds and floating shrubs, but God knew that when a genius of Arab tales came and turned the bushes in cobbled streets during the night and Built up high rises, which kept the clouds out of sight, then the life of this sensitive person, who marked emotionally, would be reborn.

The post manager worked on a low salary, so he had to cook his own meals. He was helped in his home by a homeless orphan, in exchange for a little food. The girl's name was Ratan. The prospects of getting married soon looked low.

At night, the smoke-grinding of the spiral spray of the stables, the crickets sang cheerfully in the thicket, the noisy in the distant villages began to play in Tom-toms and cymbals and sing in an acute tone. Sitting on the porch in the dark, the Poet's lonely heart was slightly shaken, at the sight of the trembling twigs. At this hour, standing in a corner of the house, the head of the post would light a dark lamp and call it "Ratan." She was sitting at the door waiting for that call, but she never came into the house immediately. Instead, she answered, "Sir, do you need help?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'll turn on the chimney." "I have work in the kitchen," replied Ratan.

"Your kitchen work can wait." "Can you make me the tobacco pipe first?"

Soon Ratan would come into the house with puffy cheek, getting into the bladder in a bowl on the tobacco. He took him from his hand, the head of the post abruptly asked him: "Ratan, do you remember your mother?" It was a long story that she could remember and that she could not, but her father loved her more than her mother and still remembered her father. After a long day, his father would return at night, and the scattered images of some of these evenings were somehow still fixed in his mind. In the midst of his chatter, Ratan gradually settled down on the floor of the mud of the house, at the foot of the postmaster. He remembered that he had a little brother, and long ago the two had played together, fishing in a nearby pond with broken twigs of trees such as fishing. More than any serious incidents, this particular memory is often cut off in your mind. Sometimes they stopped chatting late at night and the postmaster would be too lazy to cook until then, so the two of them finish their dinner with the outdated morning curry and pastries, the rat prepared to make a rap-fire IDE.

On some evenings sat in his office chair in a corner of the hut, the postmaster reminded of the memories of his own family-his mother, his brother and his older sister. These pleasant memories filled his lonely heart away from home with pain. The painful thoughts he could never share with the employees of the Indigo factory was repeated in his mind, and he told them freely to this little girl, without ever considering that she is inadequate. Finally it happened that during their conversations, the girl to call her parents in their own way, treats her as Ma (mother), Didi (elder sister), Dada (older brother), as if she knew her forever. In her little heart, the girl even imagined the imaginary faces of these people.

 

It was the rainy season and a warm soft wind blew gently on a sunny afternoon. A fragrance emitted by the sunny vegetation, as if the breath of a flag land blew directly on the body, and a stubborn foreign bird sang all afternoon, complaining several times to the world. The post master was relatively free that day. The leaves of the rain-washed, bright and whispering trees and, in the white light of a partly sunny day, piled up the clouds that gathered in the layers in the sky, after the rain was really a spectacle to see. The postmaster noticed with attention that the look and asked what if he loved someone who he was at the time, someone whose heart was at his, and who was the idol of his soul. It happened to him that the plaintive monotony of the bird and the growing noise of the foliage in a nocturnal landscape, empty of human presence, also perhaps counted a similar story. No one knew that he did not even suspect that the heart of the master of the small town, who lived on a low wage, was full of thoughts of agony and nostalgia in the silent evenings, especially during the festive holidays.

With a deep sigh, the postmaster called "Ratan".

Ratan was sitting at the foot of a Guava, his legs stretched, eating a raw fruit. He heard his master voice, he ran into it and asked him: "Dada Babu, did you call me?"

"I will teach you to read something of little every day," replied the postmaster. With this he spent the whole afternoon teaching him the alphabets, and in a few days he finally taught the composite letters.

There was no end of the rainy season, and soon filled all rivers, brooks and marsh lands; The Frogs day and night snoring and the rain struck. Most of the roads were flooded, and the boats were used to get to the market.

One day, as it rains a lot since the morning, the teacher, Ratan waited for the door for a long time for the routine reputation of his master. But when she heard nothing, she slowly stepped into the house, with her book and the handwriting of the slate in her hand. She saw the postmaster lying in her bed, and thought she rested, was left in silence when suddenly she heard the call, "Ratan".

She turned quickly and asked, "Dada Babu, were you asleep?"

The postmaster answered in a faint voice: "I don't feel good." Can you look at the temperature palm on your forehead?

Sick on a rainy day, in a secluded place away from home, would prolong the comfort of loving care. One could imagine the soft touch of a woman's hand, wearing bracelets, on the burning forehead. Plagued by poor health in this isolated life, one would aspire to be a mother or a sister at the side of the bed in the form of a loving woman, and the desire that lonely person was not in vain. The young rat was no longer a child. Immediately took the role of the mother-called the doctor, gave him the medicine at the right time, waited for her bed all night, prepared his diet in his own accord, and asked him over again: "Do you feel a little better, Dada Babu?"

After many days, fragile in the body, the postmaster left the bed sick and decided it was enough. You need to get a transfer from the place. Regarding the unhealthy environment of the village, he hastily wrote a petition to the Kolkata authorities demanding a referral.

Relieved of his duties, Ratan returned to his former seat at the door of the house. Sometimes she was inside and saw the master lying on the bed or sitting on a bench, distracted. While Ratan was sitting there waiting for a call from him, the postmaster waited anxiously for a response to his request for transmission. Crouching in his seat outside the house, the girl approached her old innumerable lessons once so that all the words mixed in the event, which was unexpectedly called and asked to lecture her from the heart. Finally, the call came one evening after a week, and, in the house with a heartfelt heart, Ratan asked: "Dada Babu, have you called me?"

"Rat, I'm leaving tomorrow," replied the postmaster.

"Where, Dada Babu?" RATN asked.

"I'm going home."

"When are you coming back?"

"Never".

 

"How can I do that?" said the postmaster with a smile. He never bothered to explain to the girl why it wasn't possible.

Throughout the night, in her sleep and vigil, the girl heard the laughter of the postmaster and his succinct answer: "How can I do that?"

In the morning the postmaster saw his water bathing in the bucket as every day, a habit of bathing with water transported from the river home in a bucket which he had made in Kolkata. For some reason, the girl had never asked her about her release time, but in case she needed the water in the morning she went to the river late at night to fill the bucket. Concluding his bath, the postmaster called to Rat, and entered the house quietly, Ratan looking at the face of his quiet Mas ' r for his mandate. The master said: "Ratan, I will be the person who comes to replace me to take care of you, as I do." "You don't have to worry about leaving me." There was no doubt that these words came from a loving and friendly heart, but that I could understand the spirit of a woman! Ratan had swallowed many accusations of his master in the past, but she could not accept these sweet words. Shouting, she said: "No, no, it is not necessary that you say something." I don't want to be here.

The postmaster was dumb for his answer because he had never seen Ratan behave that way.

The new head of the Post Office is here. Delivery of duties to him, the outgoing master ready to go. At the time of his departure he called Ratan and said: "Ratan, I have never been able to give him anything, but today I leave behind a little money that she will support for a few days."

Saving money for himself, he drew all the money he had saved from his salary from his pocket. Ratan fell on his feet and pleading: Dada Babu, I implore you, there is no need to give me anything; No one should take care of me, please. Then he left the house.

The postmaster sigh, and with his suitcase in his hand, an umbrella raised on his shoulder, his blue and white trunk at the top of his carrier, to go on the boat quietly.

When he entered the boat and began to coming out of the landing, the tide of the river of rain seemed to be soaked as the eyes of the earth with tears, and to feel an emergency in his heart--the melancholy face of a young girl from the the ordinary village seemed to the Tory s of an L To tell oaths from all over the world. A passionate thought crossed his mind, "Let me come back and bring this sad girl with me." But the candle had been set; The currents in the river flow rapidly. Over the village, they were already in sight of the burning grounds, and an idea arose in the spirit of the apathetic traveller drifting into the creek-the separation and death are a recurring fact of life. What's the point of coming back? Are we not alone on this earth?

But this idea did not come into the mind of the rat. He only kept wandering around the house with tears in his eyes. Perhaps she had a faint hope that Dada Babu could come back--she could not leave the place, and break this magical connection. Oh, fragile human heart! Their illusions are endless; Sense comes at a slow pace in the human mind; He clings to false hopes, which resist the strongest of the evidence, until one day the hopes flee and suck the last drop of blood from the heart. Only then is the return of consciousness short before the heart is aroused again to enter into a new deception.