Never A Snob

WHEN I was growing up, I've been mostly seen as a snob.The truth is I may have been a little shy but never snobbish. I was just a happy kid being on my own and didn't think I needed many friends and have noisy gatherings during recess. So I usually stuck around with one or two friends whom I was happy with for the most of my school years and spent a lot of time watching other kids talk, play, grow boobs and later come back with a baby or two to visit the teachers at 16. It amused me but I wasn't surprised or felt anything at all.  

And then I grew up. The snob, among other attractive descriptions, continued to make the list of words to describe me. It's interesting how people perceive or simply choose to see you regardless of how you project yourself to the world around you. The best cure is not to care. So I don't and most times, I'm just me, in my comfort circle. But work often gets me out of it. In my business, I'm constantly talking and listening to a lot of people. Mostly things of the same kind, spoken by different tongues, and strangely it never gets boring. When work is done by the end of a day, I usually just switch off. 

This means I don't make eye contact with people whom I bump into while in a lift unless of course, if I know them, we'd exchange polite greetings. Or if there are children who stare, I smile back. What happened today was a little out of ordinary for me though. Back in my condo, a lady walked into the lift I was in, all smiley with her face caked up with a two-way cake, two shades too bright for her skin. A dark shade of lip colour filled her lips to the brim. Hair high up in a bun, a black boat-neck top with a matching long skirt, carrying what seemed like a laptop bag in one hand and a canvas bag in the other. She walked in like it was home but she didn't look like she belonged there. 


"You live here ?," she asked in Malay dipped in thick Indonesian. By now, I couldn't help but notice the teeth. You could park a truck in between those and they also needed some serious dental scaling. But she was polite.


"Yes... you too ?"


"Fourteenth floor. Sometimes I'm in my Ampang house. Most times, I'm based here and work from here. I do traditional massages and care, mainly for women on confinement after childbirth."

Now, I don't know why she had volunteered that bit of information with me. I hope it wasn't my child-bearing hips but it did interest me a little. My gran had a lady like that for most of her life. Massages were done only with the Mak Cik (aunt in Malay) in her Kampung (village) house. I remember the house on stilts being dark at most times, almost always reeking with the smell of Ikan (fishes) from the kitchen. It's like she only ever ate fishes or something. It bothered me. But the old lady had fingers that glided like butter on the skin. I've only had her services once where she made me sit in a meditative position for a massage. I freaked out despite the gentle, gliding hands. Well, that's another story. 


"Do you do house calls?," I made conversation. By this time, the lady had fiddled into the canvas bag. With the clasp wide open, I caught the cause of her stained teeth staring back at me in a box of Gudang Garam (Indonesian clove cigarettes). Then, she handed me a name card hurriedly before staggering out to level 14. 


Ibu Ratna is a professional Tukang Urut Tradisional (traditional masseuse). My perception of her ? She is not a snob but her teeth bother me.