Chalet

I have many insignificant memories stuck inside me. Sometimes they come in handy, like how my friend's story from more than a year ago came to be a vital part of the novel I'm writing. Most of the time, these memories are vague and meaningless; but be close enough to me and I might tell you all of it the moment I suddenly recall.

Over this past weekend my family had a chalet to celebrate my niece's third birthday. See, give me the word chalet and I already have many things to remember; especially adding to the fact that my paternal family always had gatherings in the Downtown East resorts. But they are still fragments that do nothing to change my life or the world, you know?

I didn't even know how to spell it, my eight-year-old self writing 'shellay' in her diary entries. (A square blue Barbie notebook with a buckle to close it.)

My first memory is with my parents and elder brother; my younger brother still unborn. There was a playground at the back of our room, those classic ones with a sand base. I was riding the swing with my brother when I fell off and scraped my knee on the rough sand. My elder brother panicked and he ran in to call my parents. The structure of the playground and the look on my brother's face still ring clear to me.

Afterwards we went swimming, my mom sitting at the corner of the shallow pool. There was another little Malay girl with her father beside us, so I decided to show off my amazing 5-year-old swimming skills. The way her father exclaimed "Waaaah!" is still so clear to me, his daughter staring shyly at me, with just a tinge of envy.

The next memory is very, very insignificant. Just me and my cousins, the other 90s kids playing and screaming in the bedroom on the second level. Our 1994 cousin called us from below, and we went to stand at the top of the stairs. It's like it happened only yesterday you know: him singing "Happy birthday to you..." to let us know the adults were gonna cut the cake; all of us immediately rushing down the stairs, shoving at one another. I was the last one down, and the sight of my cousins before me is so, so clear.

The room that my parents got in block H still feels familiar to me. It must have been fifteen years ago, I don't know, but so many of the unimportant details stick to my head. Like how I was reading volume 4 of the Beyblade manga, the doodles I did on a McDonald's napkin. And the entire first night, when I got so paranoid about the block that I couldn't sleep. I kept waking my father up until he went into the bathroom, came out to rub my face with water and told me to sleep. The view of our room in the dimness feels like only yesterday.

Those were just the few memories I recall from primary school.

In my first year of secondary school my relatives organised a chalet again, though I don't quite recall whose birthday it was this time. It was during the June holidays, and for the first time I stayed over without my parents. My father told me to be good before he left, and then I received a notification after he topped up my phone for me. I slept between the other 1995 girl and our little 1998 cousin; I know it's unimportant to you, imagine having such insignificance stuck in your head like this.

I woke up the next morning to see all of them gone. I stood by the back door and stared at the swimming pool in the distance and that was when I heard a girl's voice calling out my name. I hadn't put on my glasses yet, but as you know it that scenery itself is still in my head, blurry as it was.

The three 1995 musketeers went to Escape Theme Park in the evening, the boy screaming his head off during the Inverter ride. And then we went to rent bikes, but I didn't know how to cycle yet so the girl and I got the kind with two seats. We were just chilling, me peddling as hard as my cousin in the front seat. At one point the boy exclaimed: "Yang orang kat belakang tu macam relax je!" and that was when I discovered that the pedals at the back don't do shit and I was just burdening my cousin.

Two years later, there was yet another chalet, a birthday celebration for one of the older cousins. I wore my school uniform beneath my grey hoodie, my hair tied so sloppily in a ponytail. I remember how one of the pictures we took looked, our oily skin making our faces shine.

I refused to return home that night; it was during my rebellious stage, you see. I went home to my 1995 girl cousin's house, a spontaneous sleepover. The other cousins wanted to watch Paranormal Activity, and I didn't. I was a coward who hated horror movies (still am).

My mother wasn't happy about it and she came banging on the door at two in the morning. I didn't want to go, I wanted to stay, but my aunt and uncle eventually relented and told me I could come back anytime I wanted.

Came 2012, when my anger was at its peak. When I hated my parents and the way they treated me, the way they jumped to conclusions and overlooked my own feelings. My classmates were finally treating me nice, inviting me to their chalet and everything. I stayed until midnight, being one of the posers taking long drags of cigarettes. Ignoring all the phone calls.

The other kids were tipsy, taking their drinks pure. One of them was called Cedric and I remember so clearly the image of him pouring in Coke and getting asked why he didn't just take shots. I still have his voice answering, "I don't like!" so clear in my head for some reason.

I switched my phone to flight mode eventually and just talked with everyone. We stayed awake the entire night, and that was honestly the happiest I was with my classmates the entire year. I chose to stay with them, because back then my love for other people was at its blindest.

I reached home at nine in the morning to see my clothes thrown across the room. All my t-shirts and jeans and dresses were in a pile beneath the window, which was right opposite my wardrobe. That was definitely my dad, his tendency to throw his anger on things, on people, on me.

He didn't go to work that day, I think he took urgent leave. Because of me. He came storming into the room just as I was about to fall asleep, with my contacts still on. His loud voice was the only warning I got before he smacked me hard across the face and threw a foot into my stomach, again again again.

And he said Why don't you go to your aunt's place I can't take care of you anymore I can't love you anymore.

He kicked me out, and I became a Paya Lebar girl instead for the whole of 2013. I didn't see him again until early 2014, when I came home and he stepped out of his bedroom, immediately hugging me and saying Daddy missed you so much.

All that because I stayed out overnight at a class chalet.

Fast forward to November 2017. The beanie and one-eyed fringe from November 2012 disappears, replaced by two bright eyes and a smile. Mine.

My dad comes over to my niece's birthday party after work, his shoes being removed at the foot of the chalet. The boy next to me stands up to take my dad's hand and kisses it. There is peace in this chalet. It ends in tranquility and there is no sign of anger. No fire.

It's safe to say chalets are an emotional thing, especially if you lived my life.