Been Hit And Run

The hall was jam-packed with crowd in vibrant, colorful batik and exquisite kebaya. My dad and I swerved past the chairs and waiters, hunting for empty seats. I was seated to this lady, presumably in her 50s, in yellow tudung next to her husband. The function went well with everyone exchanging hand-shakes and back-slaps until this lady started to throw me some bizarre questions. We started off effortlessly but caught me off-guard when she asked me what I gave my mom for mother’s day. Trying to conceal my guilt for being ignorant about mother’s day, I was forced to put up a little “lie” and said I offered her flowers and chocolates. I passed and she didn’t suspect anything fishy there.

Just as I thought our chat was turning mellower, she threw me another shocker. Quietly, she asked what do I do over weekends and if I go clubbing. Suddenly, my preconception about this borak-borak being a mother-and-son dialogue evaporated and I began to think that this lady was hitting on me. I might be wrong here but truthfully, I was getting uncomfortable. While her husband was into his own private conversation with other lads, I found myself struggling to differentiate between her friendly harmless glances and alluringly nauseating one. I had no choice but to minimize my interaction to sign languages. My abrupt silence went on till I reached home. Yes, she may be just being friendly and I took it wrongly – hesitantly I pacified myself, no matter how confusing the whole ordeal was.