Sometime ago I began an adventure in reintroducing fruit as part of my food intake, I discovered that… I am probably allergic to most of them.

All because I used to insist I was allergic to fruit to avoid eating them. Of which Nina had stated, “Ini balasan tuhan.”

Now everyone is using that line! Apparently it sounds better in Malay. Even the donkey sesat-like-whoa (and yet still determined to watch Cicakman) Jules thinks it. GAH.

As part of the Get Pa Well programme, he’s given ice-cream and fruit for dessert every night. The only way Mr Diabetic will eat the stuff is if I share it with him. Of course, all I eat is the ice-cream, but today, there were strawberries and I thought ooh, strawberries, yum! WRONG. Even through all the ice-cream my tongue started to itch and throat close up.

Now strawberries have been added to the Fruit That Will Kill Jean list.

Brickfields is AWESOME. I wanted to get a sari (I am an embarrassment to half my heritage; as if I’m not one to the other, hehe) and was terrified but the people at the store were so nice!! They rolled out all these pretty saris in colours they thought would suit me, and they even showed me how to tie it, then made me try on my own!! Of course, when they started to show the different ways to hang the er, shawl-like bit, my mind shut down because omg information overload.

Of course I am still useless and have enlisted Disco Sari Barbie Jan to write an instruction manual. Hehehe.

Finally, my too-fat-to-carry-off-a-cheongsam self actually looks good in a sari. Skinny whores should give it a miss and stick to the cheongsam. Bwahahahaha.

So it begins. The looks. The whispers. The awkwardness. People whom I don’t speak to trying to pass on messages.

HE IS NOT FUCKING DEAD AND HE IS NOT GOING TO DIE. WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING SO SORRY FOR?!

Forget the regards, and oh my god, forget the condolences HE IS NOT DEAD AND HE IS NOT GOING TO DIE.

I can take “How is your father?” but condolences and regards? Hell no to the former and the latter I only accept for those who actually met Papa. At least with that I can say, “Pa, Marie says hi and hopes you get better real soon.” And he knows who that person is.

It’s bad enough having to hold back from breaking down because of a simple comment, let alone a big spiel about how sorry they are. If you have nothing to say, shut up. Kalau nak cari pasal, silakan.

Welcome home is seeing the people that you actually care about. The rest are traffic jams, mamak, toll price increases, Starbucks and sales. Although this has been a much-needed leave, life trudges on.

Last Thursday I was told that Papa has cancer. He underwent surgery the Friday before and was recovering in hospital. Tests showed one of his lymph nodes has cancerous cells and he will undergo chemo for six months. My parents had chosen to conceal this and had even wanted to wait until I returned from my vacation to tell me. Fortunately my godmother hit the roof. So I was told… 6 days after his surgery… 10 days after he found out… and 13 days after I left on vacation.

Not a good way to start the new year? Perhaps to others, it isn’t. But the prognosis is good, cancer when caught early is manageable and one can live for many years in remission.

Hmm, when I was thinking about writing this, I had so many things I wanted to say. But now as I sit here, nothing comes to mind other than fragments basically made up of he cannot die… he’s my father… he can’t go… he’s too young… he has to fight this.