We often interpret how others behaved toward us, from our own, perspectives, and that's usually, where the misunderstanding starts…like the interaction of this woman and the shop owner had, shown…translated…
In This City, We're Faced with Similar Pressures of Life, with Neither of Us, Able to Put in a Little Extra, Attachment……….
My daughter called, asked where I was. I'd chuckled dryly, responded that I was in the Vietnamese eatery, that I couldn't help it, loved her cooking so very, much.
I'd tried to quit her cooking for a week, and I'd, failed. I'd come back here again. This Vietnamese eatery, I'd frequented at least, three, four times a week. From before, after I'd eaten, the thunder shower of the afternoon came; I'd waited for a while inside the shop, and seeing how the rain won't cease for awhile, I was, ready to leave, I'd heard her telling the customer after me, "the rain's pouring down this hard, do you want to borrow an umbrella?"
She didn't ask me.
As I'd heard, it was like, my ego got drenched. As I got home, I'd angrily told what happened to my daughter, and stated that I shall, NEVER go to that shop again.
illustration from UDN.com
The owner was a Vietnamese migrant, I'd arrived by noon, ordered a bowl of seafood vermicelli, the soup is full of ingredients, the shrimps, the cuttlefish pieces, the milkfish, the eggs, the lunch meats, the bacon slices, the basil, the bean sprouts, and chives. Soon as the noodles were served, I'd, squeezed in that wedge of lemon, added in some freshly chopped chili, three, five minutes later, allowing the noodles to soak up all the flavors, then, I'd, dove, right in. The sour and spicy, thick soup, satisfied by tastebuds, and my hunger.
In the calls of the delicious foods, for the six, seven years on end, I'd often visited her shop, but she'd always been, very, cold towards me. Other than me, her frequent customers included her sisters and their children from Vietnam, the local vendors, and the nearby paper pushers. Ordinarily, she only interacted with the ladies she was acquainted, with.
Every time I entered into her shop, whether or not she's busy, she'd always just said a simple, "okay". Sometimes, our eyes made contact, she didn't smile, nor greeted me, and most of times, she'd, not made eye contact. I'd noted how she'd called the younger customers, "young lad", "young lady", the older, "Sir", "Ma'am", or, "beautiful", and the older women, she'd used "older sister". From time to time when she had, greeted me, she'd used "ma'am" or "auntie".
We are complete, strangers, without the chit chat, or the conversations, even when she'd found some time to spare, she'd stood outside of the shop, drunk water, quietly watched the traffic, the people flow by.
Later, we had a more, close encounter, she had a bottle of meds, asked if I can take a look what it was, that she'd had it for a long time, she couldn't, remember what they were, prescribed, for. She said, "it might be antipsychotic medication, a while back my head ached like crazy, and the physician prescribed this to me."
I'm guessing she meant "neural" instead of "psychotic". I took the bottle from her, and read the labels carefully. I knew the meds, due to too much stress in my life I'd gone to the neurologist too, the physician had prescribed this to me from back when. I'd explained the label to her, and stressed to her what the expiration date of the bottle, was. She'd told me, "okay, I'd understand, thank you!"
And on that day, she'd added an extra fish ball to my noodle soup.
After this, we'd still kept at our distance in interactions, I'm grateful for the trust she'd placed upon me that afternoon. We'd interacted like we used to on the surfaces, but something was, changed. In this city, we face similar stresses of our, lives, neither one of us can afford that little extra bit of connections, our bodies are fatigued, sometimes, the closeness of the exchanges of words, became nothing but the hollowed words, like that paper, vanished in time.
Or maybe one day, I will not set foot in her shop again, or maybe, she'd put up her business, and it'll, terminate our, interactions. But, I think I will, never forget her, because her and I, are both fans of Vietnamese Pho.
So, it's not that the woman is cold, aloof, or whatever, but because she may be afraid of letting you know that she has the conditions, but the opportunities for the ice to get broken on that rainy day, when she'd, solicited you for help, and you'd, offered it to her, and, despite how she'd still, interacted with you the exact same way, with the added in extra foods or whatever, the way the two of you related to each other had, changed, for the better…
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