The Last Diaries of Auntie Christina

By SiewJin Christina Jee

2014 was the year when the British author Sue Townsend passed on. After her death Christina, a Malaysian fiftysomething and aspiring writer, dug out her collection of Sue's famed series 'The secret diaries of Adrian Mole'. While reading them and reliving her delight in Mole's exploits, Christina came to the realization that her own encroaching twilight years were every bit as eventful and hilarious as Mole's. Hence she set off to document daily events pertaining to her, her family, her pets, her relationships, her country Malaysia and the world at large. Along the way, she spiced up her sometimes mundane anecdotes until there was no clear distinction between truth and fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SiewJin Christina Jee
• Release date: Nov 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310444128

SiewJin Christina Jee

At an early age, I was encouraged to read and write. As an only child, loneliness I have to fight My vivid imagination I grow to like These are some of the reasons why from teaching I retire to pursue the course I desire that is, write and inspire until the day I expire.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Friday 11 April

Sue Townsend passed on yesterday. Today the minute I finished my chores, I went upstairs to the study, clambered onto a chair and dug out my copies of her series The secret diaries of Adrian Mole. Yeah, ‘dug’ is the right word to use because the books were packed ...no...pushed and pummelled on their spines ...until they acquired their places on the shelves. Was chuckling away when Mel stuck her head in at the door and asked, ‘What’s so funny?’ I showed her the book I was reading and told her about Sue Townsend. ‘Why don’t you write something like this?’ she asked. ‘It must be great to be able to make people laugh.’ THAT kept me awake the whole night.

*****

Sunday 4 May

Mel and I were about to pick up Hubby from his workplace when I saw Heidi sitting by the front door. From her alert stance and constant sniffing, I could tell there was something behind the door. She had her stalker look on. I was busy putting on my last touch of lipstick so I instructed Mel whether she could ever so kindly take a peek at whatever was behind the door. She came away dancing on tip toes. After all the education I gave her, all she could utter was a string of high pitched ‘eeks’. It took her several seconds to be coherent enough to say, ‘mouse’. I took one look at the offensive animal to confirm its existence and then ran for my weapon of rat destruction – a broom! Heidi sprung to her feet. To her, the sight of a broom in my hand is equivalent to the command ‘action’ given to an actor. At a signal from me, a tremulous Mel pulled the door away from the wall. Even as she did so, Heidi sprung into action. The up till now immobile mouse was even faster though. It slipped past Heidi’s appendages, claws and all and ran for better cover. Not finding it behind the shoe rack or the aquarium, it tried to play dead behind the sofa. But several prods from my broom changed its mind. It ran back the way it had come. Despite the flurry of movements and the pandemonium that ensued, its quest for survival rendered its wits razor sharp. It headed for the main entrance and right out the gate, closely followed by our white feline. Both of them disappeared into the drain outside. My guess was Heidi would be camping there in the near future.

While in the car, Mel commented that she had read somewhere that cats bring home their catches to show their love and affection to their owners. Really? I would gladly forgo Heidi’s love and affection if she agrees to not bringing home rats, snakes, birds...just to name a few. On the other hand, if she brings in gold ingots, diamonds, pearls, I suppose I would view her differently then.

Monday 5 May

News: Papal commission on sex abuse to push for accountability.

Poor Pope Francis. I am sure that when he took up this job, he never thought he would have to deal with so much sex in his life. A case of the shepherd putting his sheep to the test again?

Tuesday 6 May

I swear diarrhoea is communicable by phone. I have been problem free health wise for at least half a year. Yesterday, Kris rang up to say that she had diarrhoea and voila, today I have it too. You call that coincidence? I am sure there’s more to it than that. Anyway I spent the best part of today running in and out of the toilet. If I had not studied Biology before, I would have thought I have two urine bladders, the way my waste materials came gushing out of me.

Hubby said I had ingested something dirty. Since then I have been trying to figure out what could be so filthy as to liquefy my waste thus. That was until I happened to look down on my nails. Had managed to grow them a full millimetre. Harboured dreams of having long gorgeous nails that would make Empress Dowager Tzu Hsi turn green with envy. Ah well, dreams will be dreams. I woke up from this one with a wrench somewhere in my tummy. Upon emerging from the toilet yet another time, I headed straight for the dressing table to get my nail clipper and trimmed my nails off. When tomorrow comes, may my stool become something I can dump.

Wednesday 7 May

A patron made an interesting comment while I was at my hairdresser’s today. She said that all human ‘itches’ (urges? temptations?) start from the feet up and the human ability to control these ‘itches’ tend to decrease in the same direction too. First, wanderlust at feet level. She asked all those present to think of anyone they knew who was currently under the grip of wanderlust. Okay, I am overcome by wanderlust occasionally. My bank account just has to show some signs of wealth and I start poring over AirAsia websites. Not extreme, not like one of Hubby’s friends. This retiree goes off regularly on backpacker trips all alone to parts unknown for a month or two whenever this ‘itch’ arises in him. Then the customer moved her hand from her feet to her genitalia level. She winked lasciviously and said, ‘I bet you people know what this means.’ The sedate ones looked away, dropping their heads in that swan dip of decorum I admired so much. Reminded myself I must practise that head tilt some more and get it perfect. A few sniggered, somebody guffawed and slapped her thighs and one or two looked pained, the wounds in their hearts ripped wide open. For a few moments I wondered whether I should look away and let my love for stories take a back seat this time but then I think my eyes stayed on the speaker a bit too long. All she needed was one interested listener. For the next fifteen minutes she undertook to tell us of some of the scandalous affairs that she knew of. Most of them were about older men falling for sweet young things. Finally one woman could take it no longer. Although she was in the midst of getting her hair dyed, she got up abruptly and left, citing her urgency to use the washroom as an excuse. Watching her clumsy exit, everybody looked discomfited. Somebody had the presence of mind to ask quickly, Now what is the next ‘itch’? Back on centre stage, the speaker beamed, ‘What do you think?’ Not expecting a reply, she continued sagely, ‘The stomach.’ Noting our quizzical countenances, she added like one talking to a bunch of morons, ‘Food.’ She went on to tell us how hard it is for people to control their food intake or change their eating habits. ‘Look at Mr Song,’ she said. ‘He’s already had heart bypass twice but still he must have pork leg rice every week. It’s not that he’s uneducated. He’s a teacher, man.’ Well, no man was around to defend Mr Song but now everyone was looking downright guilty. Except for one slim teenager who was getting her bangs trimmed, the rest of us had droopy bags under our forearms, expanded waistlines and cellulite problems. These were what I could see on the outside. From past conversations overheard or participated in this salon, I could deduce that those present had diabetes, arthritis, high cholesterol or a combo of these ailments. Remembering my own fight against high cholesterol and my love for belacan meehoon, icecream, nasi lemak, ice kacang, I knew it was time to move onto the next ‘itch’ before I turned melancholy, so I said, I think even the young ones have a hard time controlling their diet. They want to retain their figures; we want to maintain good health. Can you tell us about the next ‘itch’? The speaker moved her hands theatrically from her tummy area to form a heart shape on her ample chest. ‘Do you know what this is?’ she asked archly. Everyone knew but the teenager was faster than all of us. ‘The heart,’ she exclaimed excitedly. She had been quiet up till now, speaking only when spoken to. No doubt one of those well brought up youngsters who had been taught how to behave whilst in the midst of elders. So everyone was startled by this outburst from her. Feeling all those stares on her especially her mother’s, she started to wither but then the speaker asked, ‘And what has the heart got to do with?’ The teenager leapt to her feet and shouted, ‘I know, I know. LOVE!’ The speaker said, ‘Clever girl.’ The teenager beamed and sat down again, giggling. Judging from the look on her mother’s face, she was in for a lengthy lecture that night. The speaker was saying, ‘Even at such a young age, she,’ she pointed to the teenager, ‘knows about this itch already.’ I surreptitiously took