Ali are you okay? (Sept 2010)

Child’s Play
Some of the things that you can handle in small doses by Ali Imran K.

I have a lot of noise in my head. If I didn’t know any better, I would diagnose myself as a classic case of schizophrenia. But I’m too much of a square to have multiple personalities and way too selfish to share my innermost thoughts with myself, let alone with other versions of me. Usually all I need is just some quiet time, to deal with these “voices”, though it’s hard to concentrate of lately, when the voices manifests itself literally through unbroken wails and shrieks of children below the ages of five.

I live with twelve other people at home. 12, just in case you didn’t get that in word. These include my parents, my half sister and her three teenage children, my very pregnant second sister with her husband and two boys (five and one, respectively), two maids and my youngest sister’s one year old daughter, who spends so much time living with us, she should really just move in lock, stock and barrel. “You must live in a mansion!” exclaimed one very surprised friend, as I tried hard not to laugh at the sight of her crazy eye which had a tendency to move erratically whenever she got excited. I admit that we probably have a little bit extra space than your average detached house, but with 13 people living in it, I’m going to go as far as saying that even the White House may feel a teensy bit cramped. Because it’s not just populated by people, mind you, there is an ocean of unpacked cardboard boxes that have comfortably made itself part of the decor of  not just two rooms but a hallway as well- remnants of my second sister’s not so recent move back from the UK. Not enough chairs? Just pull up box number 32 and make your behind comfy. Need a leg up? Why don’t you just drag carton number 580 there and prop it against the wall. My, I love what you’ve done with this room! It looks like a hobo just died in here. For most parts, I try to remain Zen, constantly telling myself that such is family life and “Hahaha”-ing it away. But it’s not the adults that I have niggling complaints about; it’s the children that I am most annoyed with.

People don’t realize that once you have children, they take over your lives. I mean I don’t have any and they’ve taken over mine. They’re like a rash that won’t go away or a whimpering shadow that follows you everywhere, tugging at your shirt while you’re asleep because they need to poo-poo or pee-pee. You can never watch TV because it’s always stuck on the Cartoon Network or if you’re anything like my five year old nephew, you would watch Ultraman in repeat, without subtitles. If I ask to stop the dvd, he’d look me straight in the eye, point his index finger at me and say a short yet forceful “No!”. Ignoring that “warning” would result in tears, and not just any tears, but tears that would be accompanied by a face so hideously upset and cries that only dead dogs could hear. In the odd chance that you do get hold of the remote, just about to settle nicely on the sofa , they cart around on their mini-mobiles, hurl inanimate objects on the very expensive wooden floors and also to each other, more crying, trying to dislodge part of the furniture, arguing over toys, falling on their faces, and you’re sitting there screaming “Stop that!” “Don’t hit your brother!”, “Stand there!” and before you know it, the credits are already rolling on Oprah.
Mealtimes are another event unto itself as forcing them to eat what’s good for them almost always comes to a dead end- you’d be better off asking a tree to uproot itself and fly. My nephew has a really annoying habit when it comes to eating. He either just refuses to eat,  buys time to not eat by creating all sorts of excuses one can think of under the sun (once it was “My hand is so itchy!”) or he would just eat really slowly so that we’d get fed up and toss everything in the bin. My niece, on the other side of the coin, chews everything that is bulldozed her way, only to spit out anything that she doesn’t like. Some of it occasionally lands on your clothes and if you’re lucky, it’d be an old shirt, but most of the times it has a knack of always getting your silk Hermes tie. There is really no escaping the wrath of a growing child’s poop, piss or spit.
Like it or not, you are a slave to your child, and watching my sisters chase their kids around with plastic cutlery and platter during lunch, is such a Charlie Chaplin-ish way to spend the afternoon. My method is simple, you don’t want to eat? Fine, starve. Can’t learn to share the Etch-a-Sketch? Fine, nobody’s getting it. The top of the fridge is where all confiscated items remain and it is now teeming with tea sets, Transformers , Barbie dolls and other kiddie bric-a-bracs. I’m the notorious meanie of the lot, so much so that my name is always uttered as a threat- “If you don’t finish your Cheerios, I will tell Pak Im” says my sister. I don’t mind being used as the Grinch for there are many facets of their behaviour that I’m not fond of, so fear me they shall.

But one evening, as the kids was supposed to be asleep; I heard a rapping at the door. “Where’s mummy Pak Im?” my nephew asked, rubbing his eyes. “Mummy went out with Daddy for a while. She’ll be back soon. Why aren’t you asleep?” I asked in return. “Can I sleep with you until she gets back?” he asked, as I was hastily weighing the pros and cons in my head before reluctantly letting him in. He slept there as I was doing my work in bed. One moment later, he snored and then proceeded to hug my leg.  Godammit, why can’t all of you be like this all the time?