Of childhood days I remember

My family was very poor then. But we were happy.

My mum sewed for a living to support us. She often worked late till midnight most of the days, alternating between two commercial sewing machines in the kitchen industriously. The humming sound generated from the machines was part of my bedtime lullaby that often lulled me to sleep while I am a kid.

I remembered enjoying the moments talking to my mum as I stood tiptoe by her side, my shoulders barely touching the top of the sewing machine, watching in awe and captivated by her finger work as she painstakingly put together the pieces of cloth, running them nimbly through the needle; weaving and threading the fabric into beautiful dresses. My fingers works like bear paws and fumbled with the needle, so I was never successfully in claiming any of her wonderful sewing skills.

Most of my dresses were sewed by my mum. I recalled having one with pleated yellow hems, a sailor moon collar and a little smart tie which become my favorite. Another of my pet dress would be a white lacy print dress with ribbons tied to the back that made me look like a little angel. In times like this, the dresses that I had back then would have considered ‘exclusive’ by classification given they were hand-sewed and specially tailored. Indeniably, they were my treasured posessions.

The day often starts with the raw materials delivered in a van and I would diligently accompany my mom downstairs to help her drag the bags up to our house.

Our kitchen was a place for every flurry activity. The bags of fabric are emptied to the floor as my mom rummaged through them, teaching my brother and me how to snip off excessive threads with scissors. My brother and I helped out wherever we can in between our studies. We were careful not to mix up the pieces as each represent different parts of a dress and would line them up in heaps like mole hills from one end of the kitchen to the entrance for easy identification. The trail sometimes extends to the living room depending on the delivery, which normally account for about one hundred dresses by batch based on the factory demand.

Naïve and young, my brother and I would leap across the mole hills of cloth, manuveuring between tiny spaces and stealing fun amidst the hard work for play. We would race each other across the kitchen, hugging the kitchen cabinets and walls as we giggled and chuckled when we knocked things over. Occasionally, we would compete against each other for the fastest person to complete the thread snipping. Other times, we would get into a frenzy trying to find a missing piece, furrowing our brows as we counted and check the heaps of fabric all over again. And when we finally found the missing puzzle, we squealed with delight.

Sometimes, my cherub little cousin would come over for stay and we formed the monstrous jumble of three, often not paying heed to my mum’s pea-hen like quarks to discipline us when we got too rowdy. My tomboy-like cousin love to get into a sparring pillow fight with my brother, howling with joy if she won victoriously and got him sprawling on the ground or his face pressed against the wall with a bolster. Naturally, I and my brother were the better assistants to mum, with my mischievous cousin, occasionally trying to copy our work but fumbled with her scissors even though I knew that she was earnest to help. That was how adorable she is.

At the end of the day, we are rewarded with plain sugared crackers and cups of hot cocoa to dip in. The only tea time treats that we can afford to have in those days. But boy, although the tea treat was simple, it remained today our favorite tea special talk as my cousin and I reminisce the nostalgic days together whenever she is back from New York for vacation.