Brenda: On life and other quirky bits

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Hello, I'm Brenda

I talk way too much for my own good and possess an ego too large for my small frame.

I like to challenge social norms and do silly stuff like work under the table instead of at it. Easily bribed with colourful balloons.

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Remember the missing piece of white cloth I was griping about in my previous post?

Well, yes. That was more than two weeks ago. And as of three days before today, I was still a wreck, wondering where that dratted piece of cloth was because I really wanted to sew my pants. And this was after nearly two weeks of checking every single corner of my room. (Nope, still no white cloth.)

Two days, I came home from work … and found the white cloth sitting on my desk.

When I say sitting on my desk, I really mean sitting on my desk. In full view.

So, obviously someone has found it and placed it there. But who … ? And where … ? So, I decided to ask the family maid, since she usually cleans up some stuff in my room when I’m out.

Well, she said she found it behind the boxes stacked by my window. But as far as I know, the cloth had always been sitting on my desk .. until the day it went missing, that is.

“How did it get there?” I pressed. She became a little evasive, hem and hawing in her responses.

Both parents were standing nearby and watching this little exchange with barely concealed grins. By then, all three of us knew … the family maid must have accidentally misplaced the cloth, dropping it in a completely random spot while she went about doing her cleaning (and unfortunately, also yakking on the phone at the same time).

How did we know? Because the same thing happened with my dad’s car keys last week. The object will suddenly go mysteriously missing … and then end up in some random spot not touched by any one of us.

Now, the white cloth is placed neatly on the shelf next to my desk, in full view (and extremely accessible) to me when I want to use it.

Unfortunately, I no longer feel like sewing my pants now. :(

Sidenote: I also mentioned in the earlier post that I decluttered my desk before discovering the cloth was missing. Well, honestly – I can’t remember whether I saw the cloth there when I was clearing my desk either. So what’s worse than one absent-minded person? Two absent-minded people. :/

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Two weeks ago, I bought about a foot worth of white cloth as I had a pair of jeans I wanted to patch.

However, I was way too busy at that time and left that folded piece of white cloth somewhere on my desk. Directly within sight, so that I’d remember to fix my jeans.

A few days later, my neat freak streak got the better of me and I decided to declutter my desk. I ended up placing the white cloth somewhere else in my room.

Now, I want to fix my jeans and have no freaking clue where the cloth is, despite racking my brains for almost three days.

FML. Welcome to my world.

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I met an autistic boy today.

He was one of the helpers at the craft store I went to this afternoon. A cozy family business, that craft store was. I was really glad that the family business somehow allowed him to be part of the crew so that he gets to mingle with and meet new people.

The expression on his face when I approached him for help in the store was … hard to describe.

A mixture of joy and confusion perhaps. Joy towards how I approached him and spoke to him like a normal person, but confusion because he had no idea how to help me. His face was initially all aglow, before it was shrouded in bewilderment and he finally, gestured towards another lady to assist me.

Later on, he had taken to following me around the store.

I was looking for ribbons, and he lingered around in the nearby vicinity as I pored through the shelves and shelves of ribbon reels. It was clear that he could communicate, just that he didn’t know how. Occasionally, I’d pick up a roll of ribbon and go “hmm,” “too narrow”, “too wide” or “too expensive”, and I can hear all sorts of murmuring and squeaking noises coming from his general direction.

It was like we were having a conversation, only with both parties speaking in different languages … but still understood each other.

There was one point where I jokingly lamented about how the ribbons here were sold in reels and not per metre and he giggled along with me.

Later on, I reached for a tri-coloured (red, blue and white) ribbon reel and the murmurs and squeaks from the boy became louder. I looked up at him, and he pointed to the ribbon reel and gestured to his neck in a roundabout motion in response.

“Ah, this one is for medals!” says I.

And the boy began nodding wildly, squeaking and murmuring his approval.

The boy shadowed me around the store until I was ready to checkout. At that time, I stood patiently by the counter, waiting for one of the ladies in charge to finish whatever she was doing so that she could ring up my purchases.

The boy didn’t let me wait, though. He gestured/squeaked/murmured loudly for the attention of another storekeeper to come assist me and I was all ready to go in a matter of a couple of minutes.

I could have sworn that he said “bye” when I left the shop.

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