Brats we are

I was at a diner with 2 of my friends. WL has been on leave for the past 2 days and she bemoaned having to get back to work the next day. We all know that feeling well.

Just then, I became aware that we were being served by a middle-age auntie. I like aunties, they always take everything in their stride without fuss. They are made of more resilient stuff than the younger ones, the whiny, filmsy brats. I was acutely ashamed of myself.

She was doing manual work, dirty work, serving us, us who are complaining about working in air-conditioned comfort, who are probably getting twice the amount of salary than her, us who were going to a hotel lounge later for jazz and mocktails. And when we are gone, she'll be clearing up the mess we left behind.

She reminds me of my mother. Some years ago, she decided to be a part-time helper at a beef noodle stall near our home. She's had very little formal education and it was, frankly, the only type of work she could get hired for. I remember every night after work, she would come back with a bag of chocolate pancakes that she got at a discount from a neighbouring stall. I never heard her complain about tiredness or boredom. I think she relished the feeling of being able to earn a living, of being useful to people other than her own brood. For her, being able to work is a privilege.

I wonder how the aunties see us. We lament about being submerged in lukewarm water that's too comfy and about the necessity of getting stimulated by hot/cold water once in a while to feel alive. What about those people who have to be in those waters because they really have no other choice?

I will not complain my life away. I will not. That's not the way it should be. I may fumble and stop to rest awhile along the way, but I cannot plonk myself down on the path like a spoilt child and whimper, refusing to go on.