Blinded

The squatters in the village stood on rotting refuse and human neglect, yet the spirit of
camaraderie in the community was obvious even to the casual observer. Young children were
running around, high in spirits as they enjoy the simple game of `catching'. Their tattered
clothes were by no means a deterrent to theirebullience. Awangku was the leader of this
community, and he watched the children in their game with much envy as he thought of how
their innocence shielded them from the harsh realities of survival that plagued their parents.

He recognised what many would have missed when he first saw the squatters. They were a
family, bonded by years of common suffering. Where there was no one to care about their
lives, they had each other. Even in the face of the rightful owners coming to claim this piece
of barren land, their solidarity had stood strong to ward off the rich and greedy landowners.
Finally, the latter had given up trying to force them off the land and turned their attention to
more profitable ventures. Awangku was sure that they had all finally found a place of their
own.

However, a report appearing in the local newspapers the following week threw the once
congenial village into a stagnant pool of suspicion and hate. Some geologists had discovered
that the village was sitting on a wealth of oil, one of the last few natural oilfields hitherto
unexploited. The news shook theequanimity of the villagers and crumbled the once solid
feelings of amity they had for each other. Overwhelmed by the thought of being rich, each
began planning his future, a future suddenly cushioned by real money.

The weeks following the news report saw hostility erupting in the once amiable village.
Neighbours who had once shared meals with each other now became combative as the worry
over the fair allocation of wealth loomed. The villagers were unsure over how the money
would be distributed. Those with a brood of children claimed a share for their offspring,
while those with none or few decried such allocation. Awangku was in despair. His villagers
were hurling accusations and displaying hatred towards one another, even before anyone
came to confirm the existence of the oilfield. Almost overnight, the village was
sundered by the prospect of wealth.

In no time at all, the prospect of wealth disappeared as quickly as it had come. The
landowners were quick to reclaim what was legally theirs and sent survey teams to plan the
construction of oil wells on the now precious land. The hue and cry raised by the villagers
were to no avail as the landowners refused to be thwarted by such inconveniences. Within a
month, the villagers found themselves tossed out of their 'homes'. There was no more land, no
more village, no more family homes. For the first time since they became ensnared by the
obsession with wealth, they saw clearly the foolishness of their actions. They had destroyed
their only real wealth by their divisions and by hankering after an illusion.

ebullience enthusiasm
equanimity Calmness
hankering yearning

Useful but untreasured

Write a story about the fate of plastic ware.
"Get off my back. You're squashing me."

"Step aside. You're blocking my view."

"What's that squeamish liquid swimming in you? Are you insane to allow such inedibles to
be in you?"

"Look at your state! You get easily chipped and you melt when hot water is poured into you.
As for me, nothing flaks me, hot or cold, chilly hot or water hot. I can take anything."

These exchanges were heard, day in and day out in the pantry where Mrs Locke kept all her
containers that were made of plastic, metals of copper, tin, aluminium, stainless steel,
porcelain and wood. You name the material, she has it. If only Mrs Locke could understand
what her "prized" possessions were saying, she would be surprised at their lofty and arrogant
talk.

Little square keeper gave a contented sigh. "My sisters and I come in such lovely hues. Mrs
Locke looks for us whenever she wants to pack her sandwiches and tea cakes. We are never
ever forgotten. We love the cries of pleasures whenever she drops us off at her Thursday tea
party."

The bamboo "bakul siah" turned up her nose and snorted. "You are absolutely wrong. You
can't beat my status. You can see my family members at all Peranakan engagement and
wedding ceremonies. Without us, the authenticity of the traditions is missing."

Her arrogance was met with a stony silence as all rudely ignored her. She was really a pain
and no one could be bothered with her claims and self praise and glory.

"Friends, stop acting like spoilt brats. We all have our uses. Some are used more often than
others but they get tainted, chipped, broken and discarded faster. Look at the cheap plastic
containers that are in abundance in the "2 dollar plastic shops" - they are used but once. Can
you see the flying Styrofoam food containers , the plastic water containers that lie in agony
on the streets and drains, the expensive water bottles with all the famous trade marks are
abandoned just as well when they turn smelly or discolored. We should demand for quality
production so that we can serve mankind longer." The words came from a scarred
Tupperware tumbler that had seen better days but now was left to fend for herself in some
dark corner, practically forgotten.

"Serve mankind better! You must be out of your mind. Years ago, they said plastic is non-
biodegradable, now they say we're recycleable. And I won't be too surprised if they say we're
unreliable or even indispensable." The grumblings emitted from a dark corner in the pantry.

Some of the plastic receptacles nodded sagely in agreement while some

othersfeigned ignorance or intolerance.

A sudden stream of light filtered into the pantry as the pantry door was pulled ajar. In the
doorway stood rotund Mrs Locke and her long-suffering domestic help. "Anna and May told
me to get rid of all these plastic, wooden and metal stuff. They're getting for me a completely
new set of durable stuff and I need storage space for them. So, Siti, throw away those that no
longer look presentable or pack them into black plastic bags to be donated to anyone who
fancies them."

Those words put the fear of abandonment into each and every resident in the pantry. Who
would be the unlucky ones? Who would get a second chance of survival?

All were struck dumb until a quick-witted small pair of plastic chopsticks slipped off the
shelf and whoa!, as Mrs Locke turned her back to exit, she slipped. The impish chopsticks
had lodged themselves in the path of the feet. She gave a loud cry as she caught hold of her
maid and both of them fell, the fat one on top of the puny one.

For once, the whole pantry was united. They were vastly amused and their glee knew no
bounds or limits as they laughed themselves silly at the bizarre sight.

"That reminds me, we should stick together against mankind. We have to be the masters, not
the slaves at the whims and fancies of man." Injected an unfamiliar voice from the floor - a
rubber ball.

with kid's gloves to pretend to feel something, usually an emotion

rotund big and round

puny small and thin