Of A Different Set Of Parents

I watch as the mother speaks, her volume drumming both the men in her life to quiet submission.

She is loud and crass, and heads in the restaurant turn to look at us every time she opens her mouth to speak.

I remember her son describing to me that his mom is like that lady in Kung Fu Hustle - the one with the really big breath and loud voice. The one with curlers in her hair. He sounded really apologetic, yet I thought he was only joking. Tonight, I found out first hand.

They say that as a couple ages, the woman loses her oestrogen and assumes a more dominant male role while the reverse is true for the men. They lose their testosterone and develop into quieter, less aggressive creatures. I have only seen this to be true in Asian families, though. Maybe we do grow up to be our fathers.

They obviously did not enjoy the Malaysian dinner experience tonight. The father is more subtle in his dislike - he has stopped eating after one bowl of rice, politely declining further entreatments for a second helping. The mother, on the other hand, wears a scowl, almost disdainful for the food served tonight. I do not take offense, instead, there is a smile creeping on my insides, for I know that despite all this rough exterior, they are both kind souls and have loved their son the best way they knew how.

She calls loudly for the bill,- lau pan! - her hands outstretched and her neck angled as if she were reaching for something beyond her grasp. Mai tan eh! she says loudly. The restaurant owner, who vaguely knows me, smiles and looks up at me, as the dance to pay the bill begins. No let me, no I'll handle it, no let me.

She sits in the back of the car with her husband as we drive through Melbourne by night. She is very keen on the houses here, and keeps asking whether we were driving through a rich person's area. She keeps repeating how the air in Australia is good, and how where she comes from the people are many and the cars are few, but it is the reverse here. Her husband sits in silence, talking only occasionally, flinching ever so slightly when the repetition becomes obvious.

I wonder if there ever can be an equality in a relationship of two people. What I've often witnessed is that one person will take the spotlight, with the other (?forced to be) content in the shadows. And then I wonder if I will ever marry a woman who will match me in my noise and my silence.

I finally rescue a night that is spiralling into disaster, bringing them to Docklands, which is a beautiful part of Melbourne, especially at night, situated by the bay. I see the both of them happy for the first time tonight, breathing in the cool night air together. He carries a slight smile and his cigarette, observing the reflections of the bright restaurant lights on the water. She is like a child at Christmas, gushing over the beauty of the place, wondering how much apartments nearby must cost.

We walk around for awhile and a peace settles once more, one that comes from a quiet contentment and relief. They, for having seen this beautiful bit of Melbourne after a fairly dreary night, and I, for having brought them here.

I look at the both of them again - sure, there are no overt expressions of love, but somehow, there's this indefinable bond that holds them together, one that comes from being together for so long. Like a pair of comfortable old loafers or a doll that you had since you were a child, neither of which you are willing to part with.