Scratch pillow scratch blanket scratch head scratch walls scratch finger nails scratch everything within reach :(
Xangô e suas esposas
The Yoruba Orisha Part 1 — An Orisha (also spelled Orisa or Orixa) is a spirit or deity that reflects one of the manifestations of Olodumare (God) in the Yoruba religious system.
Edit caption: she’s the goddess of the river Obba, also goddess of flood.
I guess long time no pic.
Here’s something new.
So yesterday was Singapore National Day (HAPPY BIRTHDAY SINGAPORE WOOHOO!) i.e. a public holiday. I expected Antoinette to be flooded. And flooded it was. The morning was freaking crazy. Full house (again) with reservations and all. BUT! Today was crazier. Sundays aren’t supposed to be this busy. My fellow waiters/ waitresses and I ran like mad all the way from 11am to 5pm nonstop. The AMs didn’t even have time for lunch. Scary..
Anw, even in the madness, I noticed this old couple. They were Westerners, at least in their 50s, the man with blonde hair and the lady with reddish hair. I must say the man looked older than 60 even: his eyebrows already turned grey. They weren’t anywhere near beautiful or outstanding. The man was wearing a white short-sleeved checked shirt with a very simple watch. The lady was wearing a black flowery top, long black pants and the only piece of jewellery she had on was probably the very thin necklace. She had foundation, eyeliner and lipstick on as well. Both of them were slightly chubby and sat with relaxed, curved back.
They sat down quietly, ordered a beef buorguignon and 2 glasses of iced lemon tea. The man kept one menu to consider his own dish. In a hurry, I forgot to check to make sure their iced lemon tea arrived.
"Hi ma’am, this is your beef bourguignon. Enjoy your meal!"
"Thank you. Can I have one more beef bourguignon for him. And the two iced lemon tea please." She said to me in a strange French English accent.
So he decided to order the same thing as her. As I picked up the menu, expecting the lady to either start eating first or asking for two side plates, she picked up her fork and knife and started cutting the beef, dividing the soft piece of meat into many portions and offering the man some of them.
"May I get you the side plates ma’am?"
"It’s okay, thank you." The lady said quietly. She continued cutting the beef. I looked at the man. He didn’t say a word, picked up his own fork and knife and joined her in cutting the beef. His eyelids were drooped and his actions slow. Together they finished cutting the beef and started eating straight from the big plate.
That was something I haven’t seen much ever since I started working in Antoinette. When people order their own dishes, they usually eat from their own plates even if they ordered the same things. If not, they would always ask for a side plate, an extra glass, an extra bowl, etc. There’s never anything picked up from the same utensil to go straight to people’s mouth. The high class atmosphere in the Cafe makes using different plates for the same food appropriate. To me, the mundane action of sharing the same plate suddenly seems so rare. I used to see that a lot when I was younger.
They neither smiled or talked much, but there was this strangely calm aura around them. It’s like they were in a totally different world from the excited, chattering or suited-up crowd around them. If I could five a colour to that aura, it’d be a warm beige or a light translucent red. Not having much interaction, perhaps not needing to, they just finished their food and drinks in quiet understandings. A perfectly comfortable silence.
"Here you go, sir." The second beef bourguignon arrived. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"It’s okay. Thank you!" The lady replied with a soft smile. That was about the only smile she gave me, but her quiet voice and gentle gestures carried much more tenderness than a smile. I put down the dish, and they did the same things again.
I didn’t get to settle payments for them. Neither did I have time to talk more to them. But if I had a chance, I would definitely ask where they’re from, what they did. I’m betting they’re not from a rich family, a big city or a high-end job. If they did by any chance, that, to me, would be a blessing and a pleasure to know.
#1 It was such a long speech but it wasn’t even necessary. Saying thank you is like saying that I’m not enjoying it but doing it anyway for some reason. I’m doing it because it’s what I wanna do.
#2 At times I just wanna rip open my chest, take out my heart and squeeze it until it quiets down. I want to, yknow, kinda cleanse it a bit. Of course it cannot be whole again but at least let it be clean and calm. I feel like I keep falling down some dark tunnels, like falling through a black hole. Don’t know where I want to go, don’t know what good I have, don’t know how strong I am, whether I have what it takes to lead a meaningful and fulfilled life. What is a fulfilled life to me anyway?
I’m fine. I’m really just fine. But I wish I could be among strangers now.
Is the perfect distraction for me. The days seem to fly by when I work at Antoinette. The cafe is almost always busy, so I don’t have time to think about anything else. And as physically tiring as it can be, being a waitress is strangely therapeutic. I guess this is what Bryan feels on his Japan farm too. Even if it’s not therapeutic, at least I feel helpful and busy.
The people there are also so nice, and there are free food to take home everyday. I’d like to keep working there for as long as I can :)