Slowly but surely
Relatives
Mummy submitted her angpow,
paying cover for a wedding engagement
we were obliged to attend.
We could not remember
the names of the cast. Only vague faces,
sketchy from age. We deduced relatives
from mannerisms that new clothes
could not mask.
After the requisite mingling, the hyperbolic
exclamations about beauty and height,
Mummy found her sociologic equivalents
and settled down with the other wives.
My urban cousins and I drifted around,
unsure of who to approach, and what to say.
Pessimistically weighing conversation topics
like a slow juggling of grenades, hoping
our chatter would not reveal too many secrets.
As I smiled along with my cousins, talking plainly
about careers and universities, adding sanitised jokes
and politically-safe opinions, I wondered if the
UV stamp from last night’s debauchery at Zouk
could be washed off by catered punch.
Unanchored buoys, staying afloat for propriety’s sake,
we took turns to smile, laughing carefully.
After I passed on the baton, I rubbed my nose
with my fingers, smelled stale latex, and remembered
that I had forgotten her name.
Eventually, like every other guest,
we outstayed our angpow’s welcome.
As we drove back to our own
lives, I remembered I had
forgotten all of their names. Again.
Mummy submitted her angpow,
paying cover for a wedding engagement
we were obliged to attend.
We could not remember
the names of the cast. Only vague faces,
sketchy from age. We deduced relatives
from mannerisms that new clothes
could not mask.
After the requisite mingling, the hyperbolic
exclamations about beauty and height,
Mummy found her sociologic equivalents
and settled down with the other wives.
My urban cousins and I drifted around,
unsure of who to approach, and what to say.
Pessimistically weighing conversation topics
like a slow juggling of grenades, hoping
our chatter would not reveal too many secrets.
As I smiled along with my cousins, talking plainly
about careers and universities, adding sanitised jokes
and politically-safe opinions, I wondered if the
UV stamp from last night’s debauchery at Zouk
could be washed off by catered punch.
Unanchored buoys, staying afloat for propriety’s sake,
we took turns to smile, laughing carefully.
After I passed on the baton, I rubbed my nose
with my fingers, smelled stale latex, and remembered
that I had forgotten her name.
Eventually, like every other guest,
we outstayed our angpow’s welcome.
As we drove back to our own
lives, I remembered I had
forgotten all of their names. Again.