Saturday, 23rd December 1988

I would probably never know what my sleep capacity is. The dictatorial regime that run the house has decided that it's citizens must be up and engaged in "useful" work by 8am - even on the Saturday of the Christmas weekend. Considering I am kicked out of bed by 5:30am on school days, can't say I am not grateful for the additional two and a half hours - but given the chance I could probably, and would love to, sleep till noon. Fortunate, today, my useful work assignment was outdoor which I preferred for various reasons. Soon after breakfast I was given a machete and instructed to chop down a branch of our mango tree that was hanging precariously over the tile roof amid the strong protest from the second-in-command who thought I was too "skinny" for the job. She blamed my lack of strength on my eating habits. But my father insisted the "boy could do it". My brother who was two years older was exempted from doing chores due to exams coming up next year. But instead of studying that morning he decided to keep himself entertained by watching me climb the mango tree, hoping no doubt, that I will land on my face.

The Mango tree is my perch from which I could get a bird's eye view of the vicinity. I could easily engage in espionage into three neighbouring gardens. I didn't quite understand why the household members thought it fit to cut a branch off the harmless tree. However I also did not want to contest the majority vote cast on this matter. Any protests would fall on deaf ears. Once atop the tree, armed with machete, I looked into the Bartholemeuzs' garden. I could see Suzanne stroking and talking to that cat with the ridiculous bow. She was in the shortest of red shorts. Creamy white legs and short red shorts. Suddenly my task became difficult. When her eyes started moving, I focused on my job and started axing the branch with vigour and vitality I didn't think I possessed seconds before. It is a difficult task to bludgeon a sturdy tree trunk with a heavy machete, whilst looking macho and strong. May be I should have let Dasa help me. Little beads of sweat crawled down my face. As the branch started to creak and give way, it dawned on me that I was seated on the very same branch that was taking this beating from me. Realisation crept a little too slow. Down came the branch along with me. I could hear a thin wail slipping from my throat all in slow motion. The rest was darkness.