My mom says that, back in the day, they didn't consider fish as meat. So they daringly packed dried, salted fish into their suitcase back from Malaysia. I remember this salted fish: in plates of fried rice, vegetable stir fry, or in rice porridge.
Back in the day, they also didn't sell Milo in the stores, so she would have to wait till a friend or relative brought some over from Malaysia. Then she would drink it on the saddest of days, or on the happiest.
Yu-Zhi is my 13-year-old cousin. These are the things he is excited about in our home: carpeted floors, a bathtub, a garage, and two living rooms.
You-Yu is my 5-year-old little cousin. It's kind of strange to think that I just met her two years ago. She is the youngest of my generation of cousins (last I counted, there are 27 of us).
My uncle 小叔 stops halfway through his plate of char kuey teow. He asks my mom for a cup of coffee, because in Malaysia, they drink kopi or milo or teh tarik for just a few ringets with every meal.
They sit around the table--dad, mom, his youngest brother and his wife. Two brothers, 13 years apart, who see each other every few years. At least this time, mom and dad will fly to Malaysia in another month to be with family.
It's nice having relatives over. It's good finally having cousins in our space, in our home, for us to host. It adds a bit of pressure trying to keep the younger ones entertained, but we've rarely been in this position to welcome them into our home. It makes me wish I had family who lived closer.
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