Dancing in the Moonlight.

Was at my Grandma's place for a dinner. They call it the Dong Ji, End of winter dinner with family. (or that's at least the best I could with the translation)

everything usual, and normal. On my way back, my father, my mum and me took the taxi and was looking forward to get home to our comfort couch at home. The taxi lady was a woman, in her forty's. But you could still see the afterglow from her younger days...

they started toking, as always. I am amazed how out of 5 times I took a taxi with my dad in it, 5 times everytime, he'd chat with the driver in very intense conversation all the journey. this connection that they apparently left me out of.

They toked about their childhood, how life was so carefree and happy in the "Silat Road" days, in Kampong, how they'd jump into the canals for a swim. How life was so tough, so simple, and yet so lived in. Everybody in the neighbourhood knew each other. It wasn't a story of wealth and richness, no "atas" living. Yet every penny spent at the least of things were all worth the spending.

Now, I hardly know my neighbours. All doors are shut most of the time, either that or I am not at home.

My dad had recently recollect his younger days, the trauma of having lost both his parents in 2 consecutive years, and the heavy burden and responsibility of 8 other sibligs to take care of. Drama-Mama galore you must be thinking. But you know with the post war baby boom. This was the real situation of our parents' decade and era.

I can't help but question the only question, why then and why now. Why did the attitude, the experiences, the stories, differ so much, yet the path of life is similar and also very different. It's oxymoronic. It's life an nature, cyclic and linear all at once.

Pweef...