hui(2) niang(2) jia(1). traditionally, the second day of the chinese new year is when those daughters who’ve been married out return to their old family homes, bearing gifts for the parents they left behind. and so, my good mother bought us all bus tickets to KL, and we rode into town with a box of mandarins, a box of persimmons, a box of belgian chocolate truffles, and half a tub of plant fertiliser.

there is quite a range of buses to choose from doing the singapore-KL route; some have toilets in the back and karaoke lounges downstairs. some have a hostess who serves you a satisfying meal of dry-fried beehoon with nothing more than a few bean sprouts and a couple strips of thin egg omelette. based on the bargain price of $50 for the return trip, we rode the one which is known for nothing more than its on-board oreo snack. and it’s true, behind the check-in counter at the depot office was a wall of cartons: classic oreo, and a new-fangled variant filled with an unholy (though strangely compelling) union of peanut butter and chocolate creme. krim kacang dan krim coklat!

at the pagoh reststop, i bought a beefburger and a bag of fries, solely on the basis that on the bus, it would be easier to eat than soupy noodles… and then many hours later, during the night, in the royale bintang damansara hotel, i had four dreams about vomitting before getting out of bed at 6am to make my dreams come true. twice.

the rest of the day was spent in bed, in the darkened room, while everyone else went about paying their respects and exploring the hot and dusty hellhole that is KL. nellicent was kind enough to bring me a $14 (ringgit) green tea frappucino, of which i only dared to drink half because i wasn’t up to experimenting with verdant vomit… but it really is my favourite starbucks beverage.

the next morning i was healed enough to savour teh tarik and roti bakar from the greasy, greasy place next door. it turned out to be honey toast, with a bright yellow slick of what i’m sure could only have been planta margarine. mmm.

we ate at aunts’ houses, and at indian eateries. at ikea (it was across the road from the hotel, really), we bought a packet of mild, milky cheese to supplement the pitiful hotel buffet breakfast. at the indian vegetarian place, the kid was plied with free pappadums. at my grandmother’s, we feasted on such things as stuffed crabs (in which the crabmeat and minced pork and other things are put into the crabshells, and deepfried) and salted vegetable and duck soup, which we will never know how to make, and perhaps soon, will never have to chance to eat again.

sigh.