Kaypoh: Being overly interested/curious about the private life of others.
I think most people identify the hallmark of auntie-ness with:
- Good with deals.
- Level of Kaypohness.
- Kiasuism
- Courage of a tigeress – will tell others things that they don’t want to know, but auntie thinks that you should be aware anyways.
- Oversharing – DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MY CAT AT HOME? 5 minutes into convo, you know about her household situation. The good, and no bad, definitely not ugly ( I mean you cannot air your dirty laundry to the person you just met at the bus stop)
- Telling a mean story – they describe things in detail, often weaved with strong emotions, hence weirdly at the end of 5 minutes, when she say BYE-AH, to catch the bloody bus that arrived. You feel an odd sense of connectedness. Like you were a part of her life, until that very second she is gone with the bus.
Aunties are great, lest the unwanted advice portion. The only disturbing thing that I realized is that they want a story in exchange when they tell you theirs. Their expecting eyes twinkled with anticipation when they uttered the final LAH of their story. It’s like those ancient Chinese Drama where people become sworn brothers by mixing blood in a bowl of water and sharing it. We become closer because I share my story, so you should share yours.
Shit.
I ran through the stories in my head, and considered about using a real story but with names changed to maintain confidentiality.
GIRL AH. Need to think so long, so young so forgetful already.
The auntie tutted at me.
Ok lor. Just as I was about to share something mundane. Her bus arrived ( how timely! Thank you bus uncle you just saved me from having to talk further ).
BYE AH.
She hopped on the bus. The small frame moved swiftly, though she was limping slightly as she walked.
I stared at the empty seat next to me as the bus left.
It was nice talking to someone and hearing their stories. The warmth of her voice, and how proud she was of her son. So….human.
And it led me to think of how cold we humans have evolved to be over the days, months, years and decades.
Even our kaypoh is now hidden behind the screens of our laptops and phones. We read blogs, about people who share about their life. We obsessively follow them as they update, poking our abnormally cyber noses into everything we are curious about.
It feels like we know that person, because of the stories that they share, yet when we see them in person, it struck me deeply that they are very different. What we perhaps read and judge them on, is merely the tip of the ice-berg. Either that, or we are deluded by the facade that they’ve created.
We are actually all the same, no matter what identity we chose to assume, what mask we chose to don today.
We are all the same.
The bus stop gets populated once more, and the reality sinks in.
Hiam 