There are the fortunate ones, who get into elite schools and are above the law. You fool around with them, you're history...even if you do not mean to hurt them. You are at their mercy. If these kids are in a bad mood, you have to keep away and never play with them. Do not even try to console them. They control the area - they are the 3 line people of the city.
They come in a pack, like a six-pack of San Miguel. Foaming at their mouth. Get out of their way or face their wrath. I faced it much to my delight actually.
Once upon a time, somewhere in NS, there was once a wealthy Malay (not Muslim) woman and she came to me blasting her mouth off - because her dainty little over-sized daughter did not know the answers to my questions - questions about her own religion. I did not wish to get involved in a sensitive matter but she went with the flow of her moronic group of friends who urged her to challenge me.
Now, this fat, well let's call her Fatimah, was at first an introvert. She sat alone and did not know how to mingle with the rest. I made a 'mistake' - I managed to make her sociable and then before I knew it, she went overboard. Her best friend - yet another pipsqueak girl....a sneaky little worm. I taught this worm how to crawl out of the mud.
So time passed and Fatimah became bigger and braver. So when we had this non-discussion about Islam, I asked some basic questions and she could not answer my questions. Basic questions and she resorted to the first thing that came to her mind...she cried. It was obvious that she was embarrassed and so she went home and ran to her momma and poppa.
They came to the school one day - like Mary's lamb did - ( did not see her pops - her father I mean) and her rich momma blasted me and told me never to make her cute little fat daughter cry. Aww shucks, I tried to explain but of course she would not listen. She kept on hurling atrocities and all kinds of abuse - does the Koran state that you are allowed to do that to anyone, not just to an ordinary person who woke her not-so-little little daughter up. No it does not.
I smiled and let her go on with her rantings. Her diatribe was rather monotonous. From a kampong to a city. From a meek n mild Malay to an Amazon. I would have thought the father would be the one who would have spoken to me. Strange. I guess he was above all this or knew that I was right - that his daughter did not learn much from the Agama class she attends. Either that or she was taught the wrong things.
Her momma was of course dressed to kill with make-up and all. The only thing is, with a mouth like that, her lipstick was giving up on her. Her rosy cheeks became rosier....too much to bear with the harangue. I was on the other hand quite bemused. Her tirades did not match her attire and her the difficulty she must have taken to make herself look great. She looked like just another kampong woman with some Ralph Lauren make-up.
It was rather funny though and an experience I would not forget. Here you are, a kampong migrant deluded into believing that she was born and raised in London.
I guess she felt an all-time high after barking like a bitch with her little puppy beside her still in tears. Aww. That puppy too wears undersized garments revealing the only big thing she has - not her brains but her puppies.
Where did the friendly, always smiling kampong woman's quality go to? Certainly not to her brains.
Now the not-so-little girl believes she is the next best thing after Maria Menado.
Heck, the best is yet to come....so stay tuned.
