Ruminations
Day 1 after traumatic robbery incident
So the mother is recovering slightly. There is something strangely therapeutic about being able to repeat the story of the robbery in great detail over and over again to various relatives and friends as they troop in and out of the house, partly in worry, and partly in curiosity about the incident.
As she retells it, things always get the wee bit more dramatic, she gets a wee bit more heroic, and the robbers a wee bit more dangerous.
But then, there is something extremely comforting about having people now troop in and out of the house, talking politics, and public safety and wondering about the large monsoon drain that our country is travelling down. Family and friends are great familiar comfort zones that just... help.
Also there was something a bit comical about the new mode of living. Even doing laundry in the back of our house now smells slightly of a special ops operations with my mom insisting that she keep watch as I troop out with my week old laundry to the washing machine and go through the motions of sorting, detergent and pushing unfamiliar buttons on the monster.
"I will watch you," she says omnimously, "Be quick. They may be watching" refering to the group of nonexistent robbers who are apparently camped out on 24 hr surveillance on our washing machine.
Also I've taken to helping around the house. Dishes. Bits of tidying here and there. Things I haven't had to do since college. Things I find strangely familiar and, yes, comforting.
"I'm very stressed," she says, "can you do the dishes". So I do. But then she is unhappy with my performance at the sink and repeats what I have already done.
I pick up as I go along the house. Adjusting furniture, wiping table tops. Unfortunately I have not deigned to extend this courtesy to my room. The thing about having your room ransacked it, these robbers have actually unearthed weird things that have been long buried under the ever growing pile of junk that is 'my stuff'.
I've found
- Old tickets to gamarandjobat
- Various bits of foreign currency, which actually add up to quite a healthy sum
- RM 40 in Isetan vouchers which have long expired
- RM 50 in Borders vouchers which have long expired (this particular one is a cause for great grief)
- My favourite blue Purdue t-shirt with holes in the armpits which I have wrongfully accused my mother of disposing off
There is also this strange gap between the various odd boxes and bags in my room.
They obviously took something, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is, and that really irritates me. Not knowing what I've lost. It was obviously quite a large box / bag, and they obviously liked it enough to have taken the whole thing, but I can't for the life of me remember what was in it!
Well that's today.
So the mother is recovering slightly. There is something strangely therapeutic about being able to repeat the story of the robbery in great detail over and over again to various relatives and friends as they troop in and out of the house, partly in worry, and partly in curiosity about the incident.
As she retells it, things always get the wee bit more dramatic, she gets a wee bit more heroic, and the robbers a wee bit more dangerous.
But then, there is something extremely comforting about having people now troop in and out of the house, talking politics, and public safety and wondering about the large monsoon drain that our country is travelling down. Family and friends are great familiar comfort zones that just... help.
Also there was something a bit comical about the new mode of living. Even doing laundry in the back of our house now smells slightly of a special ops operations with my mom insisting that she keep watch as I troop out with my week old laundry to the washing machine and go through the motions of sorting, detergent and pushing unfamiliar buttons on the monster.
"I will watch you," she says omnimously, "Be quick. They may be watching" refering to the group of nonexistent robbers who are apparently camped out on 24 hr surveillance on our washing machine.
Also I've taken to helping around the house. Dishes. Bits of tidying here and there. Things I haven't had to do since college. Things I find strangely familiar and, yes, comforting.
"I'm very stressed," she says, "can you do the dishes". So I do. But then she is unhappy with my performance at the sink and repeats what I have already done.
I pick up as I go along the house. Adjusting furniture, wiping table tops. Unfortunately I have not deigned to extend this courtesy to my room. The thing about having your room ransacked it, these robbers have actually unearthed weird things that have been long buried under the ever growing pile of junk that is 'my stuff'.
I've found
- Old tickets to gamarandjobat
- Various bits of foreign currency, which actually add up to quite a healthy sum
- RM 40 in Isetan vouchers which have long expired
- RM 50 in Borders vouchers which have long expired (this particular one is a cause for great grief)
- My favourite blue Purdue t-shirt with holes in the armpits which I have wrongfully accused my mother of disposing off
There is also this strange gap between the various odd boxes and bags in my room.
They obviously took something, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is, and that really irritates me. Not knowing what I've lost. It was obviously quite a large box / bag, and they obviously liked it enough to have taken the whole thing, but I can't for the life of me remember what was in it!
Well that's today.
