..it was, by any standard, a tumultous courtship..we met almost immediately after I plonked my suitcase on the stairs of my mother's house..it was heavy with books, with some clothings pressed within it..she was there about some dresses, (..my late mother was a seamstress..)
..she flashed me a smile..and I just stood there at the bottom of the stairs, taking in her smile and laughing eyes..
'Mamat,' said my mother, from her Singer, set facing a window, by way of an introduction, 'From KL. My son.' ..yeah, I remembered thinking, your prodigal son..
..used to the ways of the city, I extended my hand, 'Hi.' ..she took my hand as my mother pedalled on her sewing machine..she asked appropriate questions..I answered appropriate answers..without realising it, we slipped into English..hmm..I thought, an English speaking damsel in Kota Bharu..not bad..
..only later was I to know that she was a teacher, a distant relative and single..and have 'captains and officers among her suitors' as my mother emphatically told me..and I smiled at my mother..Kota Bharu was out there, waiting for me...and since when did I let a little bit of rank and position fazed me?..