a memory as i recall it

Come undone. She whispers to herself as she looks into the oval shaped mirror hanging just above her vanity table. With her left pinky finger she extends her lashes but they resist her gestures. they remain stubborn, straight and asian. The reflection stops at her collarbone...her head tips downward as she examines with scowling eyes the body she has come to own.

She outstretches her right hand, her palm flapped up towards her. Her fingers have never looked good. They were short and stubby. The little fine strands of hair sprinkled on the lower part of each finger have always annoyed her. The snapshot of her extended hand suddenly reminds her of tea outings with her dad as a kid. Mainly because during these family trips out to the coffee shops, she was always fixated with having her gaze planted on her dad’s bronzy hands on the handle of his teacup. The adoration didn’t just stem from the fact that fathers are kings in Chinese households…she wanted to be like her dad. With each sip of his tea, she timed hers. Experience told her that father’s last sip also meant the end of the tea session Her father was pretty abrupt in his movements. The moment the clear-glassed teacup is placed on the table with nothing left in it – he would stand up and leave without a word. The rest would just have to follow. Whether or not there’s any tea left in their cups. As a kid…she sensed and respected such power. And so the image of watching her father’s hands on the teacup has always been a fond childhood memory. She’s always gathered that she could have only taken in such an experience as child of about 5 or 6 ‘cos at that age when seated on a stool at the hawker center table, her eye level space of vision was right smack cup-on-table level…making possible the sociological observations of her dad’s drinking habits and the world that revolved around it.