It was a short trip. No Stadthuys. No Porta de Santiago. No Jonker Street or Morten Village. And sadly enough no trishaw rides! For someone who hadn’t set foot in Malacca for the past 17 years, not being able to visit those places is as bad as having an orgasm-less sex. *especially when you didn’t get to ride the trishaw!* However, the sleep over at the resort was fun. A lot of fun for the kids who soaked themselves in the pool until they were wrinkled prunes. And just for the fun of it, we the adults also soaked ourselves in the pool but not fun enough to stay in a while longer to become wrinkled prunes. Yup, adults are no fun!
That night when everyone else was deep asleep, my brother and I stayed up and talked. Or I ranted, for that matter. *yeah, talking about pent-up emotions* We rambled far into the night over endless cups of hot Nescafe and lighting ciggie after another and roasting our lungs to hell. I truly needed the brainwashing *brainbashing* and so called the ‘food for soul’ lecture. Who else is fit enough to do the job other than him? At 46 I still need my big brother to shake out all the nonsense off me. Imagine that!
It was almost morning when I finally threw in the towel. I mumbled goodnight and left him toying with his cameras. **He told me that lately cameras can easily turn him on compared to women. Even Sarimah Ibrahim fails, well…unless she’s holding a camera, that is! Ha ha! SO not funny** In the stillness of the early morning as I made my way to the bedroom, I smiled to the rhythmic snoring from the rooms nearby. That, I told myself is the sound of HOME. A familiar song only my heart knows so well.
Family gatherings give me that warm fuzzy feeling all the time. It was indeed a good trip.
A trishaw ride? Well, there will always be a next time.