At 4am in the morning, I was wide awake and restless, thinking that maybe, I should die- a very passing thought, nothing to worry about.
In the dark, I moved around the house and found myself in the kitchen. (I have been feeling like a stranger in my own home recently. I don’t know why.) I switched on the light. I took a carton of milk out of the fridge, sat on the kitchen countertop and drank from it, the tin of milo, the container of sugar, packets of tea, loaf of bread and other food stuff sitting all around me nonchalantly.
My twin sister was sleeping in the living room. She woke up, her boyfriend- he has no name when we talk about him, he is always just hovering on the periphery, simply known as "the boyfriend"- still sound asleep on the sofa, and slid next to me and sat beside me very quietly. I crossed my legs and started to daydream. We soaked in the silence.
“Are you sleep-walking again?” she asked softly, almost whispering.
I stared at her, slightly surprised at her question, and broke into a smile, “No.”
“I feel like running,” I said, “I feel like rubber.”
“So do you look like rubber in your dreams?”
“No. I look like me. Just feel very flexible, like I could run and bounce when I run and never stop. Like Forest Gump. But no soundtrack music accompanying lar.”
She giggled like an amused little child.
“Today Ma confided in my boyfriend,” she said, “I was there also, but she chose to talk to him instead. Then I was thinking why she don’t confide in me, confide in him. Like I'm not her daughter like that you know.”
“No one confides in you,” I joked.
“Okay, okay, don't sad lar. Come I confide in you.”
She brightened up noticeably, “Okay, what.”
“I think… As I grow older, I find people more and more beautiful. I could fall in love with anybody.”
She rolled her eyeballs, “Real wan not!”
“Yah, real wan!”
“Don’t bluff!” She jabbed me lightly, “You forever not attached wan.”
“Oei! Don’t poke me!”
She poked me again.
I sighed heavily, “I got issues lar.”
“Yah you forever got issues wan. Then how. Why don’t you go and see a shrink.”
“Don't want. You also got issues what.”
“You want big breasts,” I pointed out.
“That’s an issue.”
She enlarged her twinkling small eyes as much as she could, “No really, don’t you ever think about it? I tell you, when I’m in a room full of girls with big boobs, I look at my chest and cannot help thinking, ‘I am an imposter. Maybe I am a boy.’”
“Ah huh! See??”
“You have ISSUES. Of insecurity. Worthlessness. Confused gender identity.”
She laughed hysterically.
“So bimbo lar you, want big breasts,” I teased, “Is there even an atom of intelligence left in you?”
She nodded her head solemnly and spoke very slowly, “Yes... I think so.”
“And it wants big breasts.”