當年今日
關於我們

Home affairs and flattened dreams|Hari Kumar

蘋果日報 2021/06/05 09:32


One thing you discover when you retire is that you miss the office.
Not because you loved being there. The office had provided an escape from the constant din at home.
I was on the bed, starting to read an interesting book. But that was ruined when my wife came to bed and started moaning about a tiff between her and our daughter.
“I have never seen an ungrateful girl like your daughter,” she began [Emphasis hers].
I realized right away my bedtime reading was off. Unlike my daughter, I don’t have the right to remain silent as per our home constitution.
“What happened now?” I asked as I prepared for another long sermon from the honorable prosecution.
“She is blaming me for ruining her life by forcing her to take piano and dancing lessons when she was a kid and arranging special tuition for maths,” my wife said.
“That was a long time back. Why is it now a problem?” I was surprised.
“She says that killed her creative mind, and all she can do now is stay home and play computer games. Your daughter feels I did not let her develop her skill as a graffiti artist or skateboard champion,” my wife snorted.
Every time my wife refers to our daughter as “your daughter”, I know she holds me guilty-by-association for whatever our daughter has said or done.
“But that wouldn’t have helped her to earn a living,” I pointed out, to extract myself from such accusations.
“Yes, I said that. But would you believe it; that’s her reason for the latest tirade against me! All I said was, as she was going to be 18 soon, she should be looking for a job. Then, she started accusing me of ruining her life!” My wife was getting visibly angry.
“Maybe, you shouldn’t put too much pressure on her,” I suggested.
“Pressure on her? She is the one putting pressure on me,” my better half retorted. “She wants to know our plans as you have retired. She says, now that you are no longer employed and I am just a housewife, we should move to your ancestral village on the mainland as it will be cheaper than staying in Hong Kong.”
“But will she enjoy moving there?” I was surprised at my daughter’s suggestion.
“No, she wants us to move; so that she can get more freedom and stay here alone. Your daughter now feels this flat is too small for the three of us.” My wife’s tone warned me I have to be careful with a reply now.
“Hong Kong flats are small compared with mainland flats,” I said, hoping our conversation could now be shifted from the daughter to the real estate business.
But no such luck. She went on: “Flats are bigger there. But many provincial governments there want families to get bigger too. What if they ask us to have one or two kids more? Can you imagine having to put up with more brats like your daughter?”
“And, if we move there, how will I get pineapple bun and milk tea in the evening?” she raised a matter pertinent to her everyday happiness.
I shuddered at the thought, not about living without pineapple bun, but of having more kids and the financial juggling I will need to do to bring them up.
“We are too old for that, aren’t we?” I wondered. All I got in response was a roll of her eyes, which said more than words could.
“Anyway, we are not that rich to afford more kids,” I added to conceal my real worries.
But that set off another storm.
“Not having enough money is also my fault, according to your daughter,” said my wife. “Your daughter says she is ashamed that you are not like her friend’s dad who works in British Virgin Island. They have two luxury flats in Hong Kong and a summer home in the UK. All we have is this shoebox apartment. She feels we have let her down.”
“But many Hong Kong families can’t even afford what we have. Doesn’t she know that?” I asked.
“She has only one friend, and he is rich. She says even the coronavirus is afraid to go near them. And, you know what? Her friend’s dad is allowed to visit Hong Kong without any quarantine!”
“That is because he has urgent business here. Not because they are rich,” I pointed out.
“Not according to your daughter. She says we failed as we don’t have money to send her to the US to study. And it is all my failure as a wife. I didn’t persuade you to become an investment guru or a real estate tycoon.” She began sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.
“So, is she planning a way to get rich?” I asked.
“No, that will require hard work. Hard work is too much for your daughter. So, she says to escape such pressures; she has decided to lie flat and do nothing,” my wife said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
It made me realize that I was lying on my back all through this conversation. So, before my wife could accuse me of passing on my bad genes to our only child, I quickly turned the light off and went to sleep.
(A fictional satire written by Hari Kumar, who is a journalist based in Hong Kong.)
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