blogging gobbledygook and such

Gutl milk, anyone?

She went to the library today.

(13 impatient books are glaring at her from the makeshift bookshelf next to her computer table where she used to dump class books. Her dwindling reading speed does not help alleviate this literate problem. Neither is her soaring frequency in blogging inane goings-on about her unexciting life. Why does she do things like this? Like borrowing 13 books when she cannot read them within the stipulated time? Like blogging about it? Okay, digression finished.)

After emerging with half a dozen books in her arms, she saw a blind man floundering around the dustbin at the bus stop quite pathetically. A Chinese woman was staring at him as she walked past, with that typical indecisive look one has when wondering whether to help a disabled person. She continued to the library while she continued to her car to get home.

Then she doubled back and asked the blind man if he needed help. Then they bundled back into her car as she prepared to send him home at a nearby hostel. Then the blind Iranian asked her to buy some “gutl” milk for his wife who had just delivered.

Gutl milk? Sorry, what is that?” *Image of Pakistani goat milk disturbingly flashed in mind*

“Good… Day… Milk.”

*Mental image of the palm of her hand slapping her acne-prone forehead*

So off they went searching for gutl Good Day milk for his wife. So she drove more slowly than usual because he wasn’t wearing a seat belt and she was afraid any sudden breaks might jolt him. So they chatted while in search of milk. So that’s how she knew he came from Iran, his baby boy is named Vafal (if that’s how it’s spelled) which means a person who keeps his vows and pledges. So that’s how she found out they’re living such a difficult life for him to earn a Masters in Counselling.

So that’s how she got compelled into offering to read for him for his research in library. (Compulsion was mostly done by her soft, naïve heart who obviously did not heed her hard, practical head’s warning about committing to something she cannot commit to.) And the occasional grocery shopping. (That was the Iranian’s doing, the wily old thing.)

Milk bought, they tooted off to his hostel in her trusty Satria. She tried not to cringe at his constant touching of her head because she reasoned that blind people are very touchy-feely people to make up for their lack of vision. She then entered the poky little hostel with him who brought her to his poky little “apartment”, which is really the most awful, dilapidated, smallest apartment with one miniscule living room and two microscopic rooms which are half the size of the living room. She met his wife who is not visually impaired, who was holding his newborn boy.

She awkwardly sat in their living room after their insisting. She tried to leave on the account of her parents expecting her home for lunch (HA, can you imagine mom and dad at the dinner table, ta pau packets opened, fork and spoon poised for attacking chap fan with gusto, waiting breathlessly for their daughter to get home from the library, because they don’t know when she will be home as she has forgotten her handphone?), but the wife was hoping to get her a drink and offered her an Iranian sweet as a consolation. She accepted it and ate it. It was toffee on the outside with no chocolate whatsoever inside promised by the Iranian wife from her description of the sweet that was apparently given out to friends and family when there is a newborn in the family. Yech.

Then she finally made her escape. But not without her runaway mouth offering her handphone number so the Iranian man could get in touch with her if he needs her to read at the library.

Or buy some gutl milk.

What has this self-centred, most uncharitable girl gotten herself into???

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