Summer arrived late. Everyone had already left – the house was once again quiet and the mood dismal, its elderly occupants dull and sullen. The garden, although still green, was becoming tatty and untidy, providing clear evidence of a recent storm. A dead branch still hung from the old oak tree, too high up and too awkward to reach and so, the old man of the house simply pretended that the cataracts that dulled his eyes had accelerated his blindness. I envisaged his impaired vision would be used again and again, as a wonderful defence against claims, if any, of laziness in the garden and poor house-keeping. He had told their visitors it was a recent storm but his definition of recent was measured in months rather than minutes or hours and so, the visitors had gone along with the idea that he had not the time yet to clean the mess up. The sun had become unforgiving again. A lapse in concentration the other day meant the near-death of a banana plant. Banana plants, fast-growing and spectacular in the tropics, needed special care in Adelaide. Earlier attempts at growing them had failed but the elderly couple was gifted a couple of plants from their Sri Lankan neighbours behind their land in early spring.

“It’s easy, just water them,” the kind wrinkled woman from Colombo said.

The old man’s Mrs simply echoed her.

“It’s easy, just water them,” she said to the old man who was unstacking dishes from the dishwasher, as she segued her way out of the new responsibility. It wasn’t many weeks later before they began arguing about who planted the banana plant near the wall.

“Of course, I did,” the old man said. He justified that with his knowledge that to survive Adelaide’s cold winters, growing next to a stone wall would give the plant a fighting chance. But, his Mrs merely bit her lips and bided her time until they were both outside in the yard the following day. She merely pointed to where the banana plant was to smugly show her victory.

“Silly woman,” the old man mumbled to himself.

Only she would be so silly to plant it away from the wall.

The days had turned hot but it was atypically humid, so much so that the old man began to wash his hair more frequently but still not daily as instructed by his wife. He began changing his clothes daily though, an instruction that was not given, since it was her role to wash their clothes.

“Why don’t you just cut your hair?” she barged into his study and demanded for the umpteenth time. She was almost in tears, tearing and pulling stubborn long hair caught up in the rollers of their Xiaomi robot vacuum cleaner.

“They are stuck!” she cried, filling her whimpering voice with desperation and hopelessness.

“Leave it to me. I’ll fix it,” he said, reluctantly peeling his eyes from his laptop.

“I don’t want you to fix it! I want you to cut your hair!” she cried again but this time, her voice threatening and deadly serious.

The old man relieved the roller from her hand as he marched out of his room.

“I’ll vacuum the house from now on,” he muttered, as he brushed past her.

“I don’t want you to vacuum the house! I want you to cut your hair!” she shouted, as she chased his footsteps to the garden, oblivious of the mid-afternoon heat.

The days leading up to Christmas were such a happy time. It felt so long ago and belied the fact that it wasn’t quite three weeks since they were opening their presents. They had gathered at their neighbour’s on Christmas Day. Lunch would be greatly delayed that day as everyone took their sweet time to unbox their gifts, one at a time and one person at a time. The elderly couple was without their middle son who chose to remain in Glasgow to work and not risk ruffling his new employer’s mood. A bonus for him was not measurable in monetary terms but the joy of spending a really white Christmas in his new home enthralled him. Without him, their family tradition to enjoy a panettone and sip port whilst they exchanged presents stopped. Popular Christmas songs still blared from the sound system that was minus the B&O Beolab 3 speakers which had begun to play up. Mariah Carey did not fail to make her mark with ‘All I want for Christmas is You’. They had a new addition to the family though. Their Number One son formalised his relationship with his girlfriend that year having publicly acknowledged that she had moved in with him. She would be the one to masterly cook up a seafood barbeque in Thai style, with his help, of course.

The neighbours had their house full of in-laws in addition to their greatest joy, a brand-new grandson who at seven months had already collected a few names – Seb, Sebastian, Bach, Boy-boy, and Ah-boy. It would not surprise anyone if he were to inherit another nickname, Baz. Bach was already showing advanced intellectual development for his age. His bright twinkling almond eyes smiled, a gift from his mum who got it from her mum, Eva. Packed neatly below a pair of lightish brown eyebrows, the shine from his eyes suggested a level of intelligence far exceeding the average. His pink smiling lips complemented the pinkish hues of his face to advertise that he was a bundle of joy, health, contentment and happiness, a result of the uncomplaining and unconditional loving care and constant attention his mother gave. Much loved and adored by all, it did not surprise that Bach got the most presents, one of which his dad could not resist and began to play with, in front of everyone. It was, however, Eva who received the most expensive gift that morning.

Eva, whose shiny black hair in a very short span of time had turned mostly white with streaks of gold, looked more Italian than Chinese in Roma, causing the minor inconvenience for the taxi driver who was told to look out for his Asian passenger. The taxi driver would fail to pick up his passengers that day. The old man had frowned on numerous occasions in Italy during their ‘recent’ three-week family holiday together whenever people commented positively about her hair. White hair made him look much older than he felt, so he was quite displeased that the opposite was true for Eva. Their numerous holiday photos proved it time and time again that he had aged too fast and made him doubt the effectiveness of the anti-ageing nicotinamide mononucleotide (NMN) tablets he had been taking for many years.

Eva’s nephew from Singapore beamed a wide smile that showed off a deep dimple as he gave her a long hug and handed her a nicely wrapped gift. Intricately gift-wrapped, one would have ordinarily dismissed it as a gift with an expensive exterior but an ordinary interior, which may be the reason why he quickly explained what it was. The small bottle of La Mer’s The Concentrate is a potent barrier serum for skin coupled with extra antioxidant power.

“Wow! It’s too expensive!” Eva exclaimed, visibly pleased with the elixir of youth that will enhance the health of her skin. She had switched off her ears as her nephew rattled on its benefits like a professional skin-care specialist. He called her Yiyi or aunty from the maternal side.

“Yiyi, concentrate, it’s a concentrate,” he said.

“Yiyi already looks too young for her age,” the old man said softly, and gritted his teeth, ruing his ill-discipline in front of everyone.

“Yeah, what’s your secret, sis?” Eva’s older sibling asked.

“Concentrate, it’s the concentrate of chicken essence I have been giving her,” Eva’s husband said.

James, Eva’s hubby, was as convincing as their nephew in rattling off the benefits of chicken essence.

“It’s not just the collagen she gets; she doesn’t suffer from fatigue anymore! Look, look at the skin on her arm. Look at how it has repaired itself – the scar from the ‘scolding’ has virtually disappeared,” James said enthusiastically, unaware his Malaysian accent of the word ‘scalding’ had briefly befuddled the old man. He then proceeded to demonstrate the method of extracting the chicken concentrate from a video he took in KL of the ‘Khind’ electric double boiler in action. He was so impressed with the wonderful pot he emptied the shop of that product and ordered some more for his relatives and friends.

The old man looked bewildered at the party. The enthusiasm in the room about youthfulness juxtaposed awkwardly with his disregard for his own wellbeing. Grey and hunched, he had shocked himself the morning before when he could not even do a plank push-up properly.

“Squeeze your buttocks, ba! Tuck in your pelvic muscles,” his youngest son said.

“I can’t find them, son!” the old man yelled back.

“See, just gyrate them,” the younger man demonstrated slowly.

The old man tried to mimic the action, but badly, showing his incompetence in gyrating his lower groin area, the inability quite likely due to a prolonged lack of sexual activity.

A few days after the embarrassing episode, the old man’s eldest son suggested to his dad he should consider taking creatine monohydrate.

“Ba, concentrate, it’s a concentrate,” Number One son said.

Creatine is a natural supplement used to improve physical performance. Our muscle cells will produce more energy. During exercise, adenosine triphosphate (ATP) is used up to produce energy. Creatine supplements help boost ATP levels and encourage muscle growth.

“It should also boost brain power, help blood sugar control and fight certain neurological diseases,” he added.

https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/creatine-exercise-performance#how-to-supplement

But, the old man’s head had turned away towards the French doors that showcased a small pond with a trickling waterfall surrounded by an array of green foliage. There was a distant look in his eyes that often were scanning to recognise every individual koi. Deep in his own thoughts, he was a world away from his son. He was not listening to, much less concentrating on what was being said about creatine. Troubled by the troubles in Gaza, he simply wished for peace. Later that day, he wrote a message to his ex-schoolmates after being told by one of them that many did not agree with his views about the ongoing conflict between the Zionist regime and the Palestinians who once represented 90% of the population in Palestine, a time before the Balfour Declaration and The Contradictory Promises. The following night, he showed me this version of his message to his friends.

“I am intrigued to witness this alternative world. A world in which my friends support an occupying force with genocidal intent on a people that the state drove away from their homes, segregated them in an open-air prison for decades and deprived most of them of a chance to leave or enjoy the simple pleasures we often take for granted, like taking a short holiday overseas or enjoying a long shower or having enough to eat.

A world in which the aggressors are deemed right to exact inhumane conditions on the populace and when the long-suffering people rise up and resist or rebel, they are accused of seeking vengeance or revenge on their oppressors. A world in which the occupying force can simply bomb the people they call ‘human animals’ and their homes, universities and hospitals to smithereens and proclaim they have the right to do so and my friends do not only agree with this heinous crime against humanity but also support the oppressors’ claim that the shocking death toll was due to the evil freedom fighters’ ploy to use their people as human shields, people that can’t or won’t, (it doesn’t matter which) leave their sanctuaries within a barbed-wire fence guarded and controlled by one of the most well-armed force in the world.

My dear friends, how can we support a regime that has proclaimed their intention to erase the people and erase all memories of them, to demolish everything and exterminate everyone? How can we agree that there is no ‘uninvolved civilian’, that every citizen of Gaza is an enemy of Israel?

There is no sympathy for the traumatised and the hungry experiencing catastrophic famine, and the diseased, deprived of medical help because most health infrastructure is destroyed and the desperate who have lost their loved ones and their homes. There is no thought of the wretched souls who willingly followed the oppressors’ command to vacate to a designated ‘safe zone’ only to be murdered by a rain of missiles. There is little or no sympathy for the wretchedness that these people have endured all their lives under this very long occupation.

What Hamas did was, of course, vile and wrong. In attacking their occupiers, they knew there would be a swift and ruthless retaliation. Their people would die by the tens of thousands. Yet, that is what they did. Out of desperation? Recklessness? Evil intent? Revenge? I do not know why but they showed stupidity and foolishness.

This world is indeed a sad world. We, urghhlings, can do better. We can at least cry for the dead and the wounded and cry out for an immediate ceasefire instead of judging and pointing fingers. We can at least speak up for the oppressed rather than support the oppressors. I feel compelled to share my thoughts here, to speak for the dead who are forever silenced.”

Peace to all mankind is as unreachable as walking to the moon.

Wu Yonggang