I WAS sorting out my groceries at the sitting areas at Fremantle Coles, when a mature lady approached me.
“Excuse me dear, can I sit next to you? I feel tired. I need a rest.”
“Of course,” I replied with a smile whilst keeping busy putting things into my bags.
“Where do you come from?” she asked.
“Oh my God, that dirty, poor and disgusting little island. I never ever want to go there. Do you eat instant noodles everyday ?”
“Nope! I eat chicken, fish, pasta, vegetables, fresh fruits etc. I try to vary my daily diet in a healthy way.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is your husband an Asian as well?” she asked me curiously.
“No he isn’t. He is caucasian.”
“Is he Australian?” she tried to interrogate me further.
“No, he isn’t. He is a Kiwi boy. He is a doctor, but has lived in Australia for more than 30 years.”
I observe her closely, as she tries to figure out something. Suddenly with a very sharp voice and look she says, “your husband must be very old. He is likely over 60. What are you doing with an old man? You just want to rip off his money. Don’t you?”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer her question. She bombarded me further with more intense enquiries.
“Where do you live?”
“Oh in the beach. Do you have a house?”
“Yes, I do.”
“An apartment or a house?”
“Two storey house with four bedrooms, two living areas, three bathrooms, double garages, courtyard.”
“Look young lady. So you plan to take his house, money, cars then leave him to have a fancy lifestyle with someone your age?” she stared at me without a blink.
“Not at all. I love my husband. We live on the same page. Same interests. He is hilarious. He has a very dry sense of humour, which I really like,” I laughed.
There was sadness in her shady eyes.
“My husband left me for a young Asian girl years ago. My only son is 50. He doesn’t care about me at all.”
“Let go the pain. Maybe one day your son will come to you.”
“How to let go the sorrow?”
“Just let it go, as Buddhism spirit.”
“What do you like from the fat Buddha?” she got back into her attack mojo.
“Buddha makes me happy and smile.”
“But you are only 25, right?” she looked at me deeply with her eagle eyes.
“No, I’m 43 years old. By the way I’m a GP.”
I smiled and said goodbye.
by OSSYRIS ABU BAKAR, North Coogee