Mary's Life
Mary, a 50-year-old retired corporate professional, now spends her days as a stock trader. She lives alone in a small apartment with her cat, Leo. Her daily routine revolves around the volatile world of the stock market, where she navigates a constant stream of advice and fluctuating prices. The market's unpredictable nature leaves her feeling exhausted, with too many of her investments in the red.
To break the monotony, Mary finds solace in her kitchen. Cooking is a grounding activity for her, a simple and rewarding process. She prepares a lunch of chilli mackerel, a dish that requires a blend of red chilies, onion, garlic, and ginger. She skillfully marinates and fries the fish, then creates a fragrant sambal paste to pour over it.
As she sets the table, her cat, Leo, joins her, and she prepares his lunch of canned tuna. In this quiet moment, a wave of loneliness washes over Mary. She reflects on her life—unmarried, without a family, and with a past love life that was "a mess." Her decision to remain single has led her to a life of quiet solitude, with Leo as her sole companion. Her world is small, largely confined to her apartment and the ground-floor shops, with only occasional visits from friends for coffee. Her life, though peaceful, is marked by a deep sense of emptiness.
TESSA YUSOFF
3 September 2025
Contact: aeedaoli@gmail.com
The Scent of Sambal
Suri sat on the bench in her yard, a quiet sanctuary of well-trimmed plants and lush green grass. The world beyond her fence was a familiar blur of motion: people walking, brisk and purposeful; cars passing, some with a roar, others with a gentle hum; children giggling on bicycles; and the rhythmic pace of dog walkers. It was the normal, everyday hum of her neighborhood, a routine she had observed for years.
In this very yard, beneath a small stone, lay her two beloved cats, Oscar and Daisy, buried one after the other. The ache of their absence was a constant companion, a quiet, dull throb in her heart. She often found herself wondering when her time would come to follow them, a thought that brought a strange sense of peace.
At 78, her body was a testament to time. Her bones ached with a creaking protest, a constant reminder of her age. A simple flu now clung to her for days, a stubborn, unwelcome guest. Her health had taken a sharp turn for the worse after a bad fall down the stairs, leaving her feeling frail and detached from her former self.
“Mom, what are you doing out here?”
Suri turned with a gentle smile to see her daughter, Mimi, a tall, slender woman who mirrored her father’s grace. “Just passing time,” Suri replied, her voice soft. “Nothing much to do inside.”
Mimi sat beside her, taking her hand. “I know you’re lonely, Mom, especially since Dad passed. Let’s go inside and figure out what to cook for lunch.”
Inside, the kitchen was bright and smelled of home. Mimi opened the fridge. “Mom, we have fresh prawns and five red chilies. What are we supposed to do with this?”
Suri’s eyes lit up. A familiar spark of mischief danced in them. “My dear, we’re going to make something beautiful. Get the blender. We’re making sambal udang.”
“Okay,” Mimi said, grabbing the blender. “I’ll blend the chilies while you clean the prawns.”
“Wait, you need to chop the chilies first,” Suri instructed, a seasoned chef in her element. “Then blend them with one big onion, two cloves of garlic, and a pinch of belacan.” Suri continued, a smile on her face, “Heat some oil in a wok, add the paste, and stir-fry until it's fragrant and the oil starts to separate. Then, add in the prawns, along with some sugar and salt to taste.”
As they worked in comfortable silence, the doorbell rang. A delivery man stood there, holding a pizza box. Suri looked at Mimi, confused. “Who ordered this?”
“That was me, Mom,” a voice called from the stairs. It was her son, Adam. He walked into the kitchen, taking the box from the delivery man.
“Why?” Mimi asked, her voice laced with playful annoyance.
“Because it’s a quick, convenient, and satisfying meal that’s easy to eat,” Adam said, taking a slice.
Mimi laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “Of course! When I lived in an apartment in town, I did the same thing.”
“But we just cooked sambal udang,” Suri said, gesturing to the steaming wok. “That’s what’s good for my tummy.”
Adam took another bite of his pizza and winked at his mom. “I can eat both, can’t I?”
Suri, Mimi, and Adam looked at one another and shared a laugh, the three of them together in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by the scents of home-cooked food and the comfort of family. It was a perfect moment, a reminder that even when life changes, some things remain the same, and that sometimes, the best meals are the ones you share.
Layla
The last time Layla saw the rose garden, it was in full bloom, a vibrant monument to a love that had withered years ago. Dawood had always insisted on a perfectly manicured garden, a detail that now felt like a metaphor for their marriage. Everything had to look flawless on the surface, regardless of the rot below.
"It's over, Layla," he had said, his voice as clipped and precise as the shears he used on the bushes. "I'm leaving you for someone else."
The words didn't sting as much as she expected. They just confirmed what the whispers from her friend Nona had already suggested. She felt a strange sense of freedom, like a bird being released from a gilded cage. Dawood had built a beautiful life for her, a life of leisure and comfort, but it was a life she had never truly chosen for herself. Her days were spent in a blur of mundane luxury—shopping, lunch with friends, and maintaining a perfect home.
"I’m moving back to my parents' place for a while," she said, her voice steady. She didn't want the house, the roses, or the memories. She just wanted to start over, to find out who she was without Dawood's expectations.
As she packed her bags, she took one last look at the rose garden. The meticulously pruned bushes seemed to mock her, a symbol of a life lived for appearances. She felt no regret, only a quiet resolve. This wasn't an end; it was a new beginning.
The Unsung Melody
Months later, Layla found herself engaged to a man named Alim. He was an executive in a predictable and stable industry, a stark contrast to Dawood's flashy world. Alim was quiet, kind, and emotionally distant. Their relationship was built on a shared silence, a comfortable, undemanding routine. It was a new cage, Layla realized, but with a different kind of lock.
One evening, while Alim was away on a business trip, Layla found a crumpled napkin with a single lyric scrawled on it: "A melody unsung, a song unheard." She knew Alim had once aspired to be a musician, a dream he'd long since abandoned. The lyric felt like a window into his soul, a glimpse of the passion he had tucked away. It mirrored her own life, the dreams she hadn't dared to pursue.
Later that night, as she sat on her balcony, a haunting saxophone melody drifted up from the street below. The music was soulful, melancholic, and deeply personal. It was the "unsung melody" from the napkin, a song that felt alive and full of passion. It was everything her relationship with Alim wasn't.
In that moment, she knew she couldn't marry him. She couldn't trade one unfulfilling life for another. She left him a note, not of anger, but of understanding. She had to find her own melody before she could share her life with anyone else.
The Faded Yellow House
Layla moved back in with her parents, a decision that felt both like a regression and a necessary step. Her sister, Ida, a vibrant and compassionate woman, came to visit one weekend.
"It's time to sell the old house," Ida said, referring to the home they'd grown up in. The faded yellow paint was peeling, and the garden was overgrown, but for Layla, it was a sanctuary of memory. She and Ida spent the weekend there, sifting through a lifetime of memories. They laughed over old photographs, cried over letters from their late father, and rediscovered a bond that had been strained by Layla's two previous relationships.
As they cleaned, Ida spoke about her work at a local animal charity. "The animals give you so much back," she said, her eyes shining. "It's the kind of work that truly matters."
Layla, surrounded by the echoes of her past, felt a flicker of something new. For the first time in years, she felt a sense of purpose beyond her own comfort. She saw in Ida a woman who had built a life on meaning, not on money or status. She saw a path forward.
A New Melody
After leaving the faded yellow house, Layla fell into a deep loneliness. She tried to fill the void with her old habits—shopping sprees and endless online dating. But the luxury items felt hollow, and the dates were filled with the same empty conversation she was trying to escape.
One day, she called Ida, tears in her eyes. "I don't know what to do," she confessed.
"Come help me at the charity," Ida said immediately. "You'll be great with the animals."
Hesitantly, Layla agreed. She began volunteering at the shelter, and a transformation took place. The work was dirty and hard, but it filled her with a profound sense of purpose. She spent her days walking dogs and comforting abandoned cats, and in their unconditional love, she found a love for herself she had never known.
She started a small project to help the shelter. She went home and began the long process of clearing out her luxurious clothes, her designer purses, and all the possessions that had once defined her. She held a huge garage sale and donated the proceeds to the charity. With each item she sold, she felt a little lighter, as if shedding the skin of a past life.
Shared Harmony
A few months later, Alim called. He had heard about her work through a mutual friend. "I'm so impressed, Layla," he said, his voice full of genuine respect. "I never knew you had this in you."
He invited her for coffee, and this time, their conversation wasn't silent. Layla spoke passionately about the animals, about the shelter, and about her new dream of building a larger animal sanctuary. Alim, in turn, shared his music, the "unsung melody" he had finally started to play again. He offered to use his business acumen to help her with fundraising and logistics.
Their new relationship wasn't a romantic one built on dependency. It was a partnership of equals, two people who had found their own paths and were now walking them together. Alim was no longer a muse, but a collaborator, a partner in her new life.
One evening, as she was falling asleep, Mia found herself dreaming. Not of Dawood's perfect roses or Alim's quiet luxury, but of a large, sunny animal sanctuary. In her dream, the air was filled not with the sound of a saxophone, but with the happy yapping of dogs and the soft purring of cats.
The dream was no longer an unattainable fantasy; it was a vision of a future she was building with her own hands, a life full of purpose, passion, and, finally, a melody all her own.
TESSA YUSOFF
12 August 2025
Contact: aeedaoli@gmail.com
