The matriarchal dominance

I'm back.

Last week, I visited a hospitalized old auntie, regardless having zilch idea who she was but climbed up the ward stairs nonetheless for the sake of common courtesy.

That old auntie was warded due to chronic shaking after several times of attempt to injure herself. The son told us that his mother thought she was still in her 20s and that day when she saw her face in the mirror, she went tantrum. I wasn't sure that time if the hospital could do anything to convince her that the gray-haired she sees in the mirror is no one but herself. I wasn't sure too if amnesia could be treated.

I stood there ironically feeling rather blissful to listen to her witty talk trying to flirt with my friend in her 20s sway. She spoke slowly and soft with a peculiar enunciation but never forgot to insert titter each time my friend replied to her. She didn't see anyone else in the room but my friend. She seemed to be on her heels and she liked my friend so much.

Until a few minutes later, my phone rang and that disturbed her focus. Dead silence awkwardly filled the air very immediately. She hated me. I was convinced that I must be one attractive lady who imposed a monumental obstacle at the moment she almost won it.


I was generous. She needed my friend more than I needed him. She needed human kind. As I stood there, distanced a little further from her bed, she felt better.

May you always be happy, Aunty Nor.

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