The Sham Diaries

Saturday May 2^nd

Mom calls to tell me she’s eloping to somewhere she can’t mention, “We haven’t had a moment of peace, a group of paparazzi has been hounding us everywhere. The Expat broke down the other night to tell me he’s got two wives, one in Chicago and the other in Beijing. So apparently, I’ve been the bitch of a scandal for some time. But, quite the globe-trotter isn’t he? He’s given me half his frequent flyer miles, more a couple thousand I’d say. Think of the places I can go!”

I tell her I might be jobless soon, seeing how the office is being taken over by hipsters. She remarks “Age is a state of mind, Sham. I hope you’ve been exercising regularly though, you sound like a 90-year old croaker on his deathbed over the phone.” Before I get to respond, she quips “I have to go now Sham, the pests are here. I’ll be in touch soon”.

On my way out to the gym, I bump into the Jasons by the elevator. Both dressed in full khaki and looking thoughtless, as if permanent vacationers. Upon seeing me the two immediately head for the stairs, their steps awkward. “We need more cardio!”, the husband shouts my way.

Tuesday May 5^th

Kamilia calls, a newfound fury in her voice. She tells me she doesn’t support my “excessively materialistic” lifestyle, unaware to the untruths I perpetuate to spite her mother: among them, I actually don’t live in a massive bungalow so large I sometimes get lost and need to GPS my way out. Apparently washed anew with strange ideals, she’ll be penning an autobiography about her life and the family titled “Full Pockets, Empty Souls”, which she suspects “will be an instant bestseller in the Creative non-fiction for Discerning Adults genre”.

At work I spot two cubicles now empty and a mounting wave of anxiety. Even as the clock hits lunchtime I sense everyone reluctant to leave, glancing up nervously from their computers. I stray to Anna’s spot to catch her typing gibberish into a Word document. She tells me she actually left her work at home, but felt a trip back to collect it unwise. The entire floor acutely aware of Mr. Tim Lim’s hourly rounds, when he is seen writing notes into an inconspicuously large notebook while and at times, humming to himself an ambiguous tune no one can decide is a good or bad song.

After a bit of coaxing, we leave and drive to her house. Inevitably getting caught in traffic, a school bus full of children passes by, to which Anna turns sentimental: “ Look at that, how joyous”. I ask her a few questions pertaining to her experience with marriage, expecting not things to become somber. “Well, I always just expected to get married and grow kids and be happy. Now I’m still wondering what the alternative, or other path is, or if there even is one”.

The whole time my eyes lay fixated on the road, so when she puts her hand on the gearstick-a delicate but chilly slate of meat-I press on the accelerator and finally breathe when she leaves the car running into the house.

Thursday May 6^th

I wake up before dawn to a small commotion outside, and peek through the blinds to see a few figures running down the corridor. I hear one yelling “Quick, to the car!” accompanied with a screeching sound, no doubt another day of the Jasons behaving eerily.

At work, Mr. Tim Lim returns one of my articles with a large red X on the front-“Something about your technique, and methodology feels so aged”. When I ask him to specify, with a shot of macabre he says “I just didn’t like the presentation of it, how the paper felt in my hands or how antiquated the chosen font is. Youth is about gusto and theatrics Sham, evolve with us”.

I run down to a café feeling clueless. A lanky teen with a ponytail serves my espresso, his handsome moustache and long arms a look of contradictions. I tell him about trying looking to lure in the younger market for Voice. He takes out a pen, and lists on a napkin a few of the latest gadgets, a number of bands and TV shows I should look into. Finally he jots his name and number at the back, “I’m Zimet, just call me if you’re still stuck. I’m quite into this stuff”.

Although a pacifist by nature, I’d hate to be made redundant and allow those bastard youngsters in the office feel triumphant.

Friday May 7^th

Later I sign a UPS package in the office. Labeled “From: Mom, Location Undisclosed” and filled with a dozen strips of organic condoms and a note reading “Have some fun, but safely: I’m too young to be a grandmother”. I am hurt, but more perplexed, to the fact that Kamilia’s existence is still perceived as a half-myth in her mind.

I make a dinner appointment with Affendy, he arrives a couple minutes late. I open a packet curiously: there is a pungent smell of herbs to the latex, and it unfolds to a preposterously ambitious length. Distracted, I don’t notice the villainous heels of Aisha approaching.

“Still the revolting sleazebag that you are, Sham”, she reaches into the box and pulls out an entire strip of condoms. “ Thank God Diana left, she definitely traded up for the Olympian, who is a better man than you in every respect. I hope you have the decency to not show up at the wedding next week, you’ve ruined her life quite enough Sham”. I tell her that maybe I won’t go, watching her saunter for the exit I feel for my unbalanced chest and wonder how shabby I would look next to Diana’s new man, the purported Olympian.

Affendy arrives and I immediately shove the box of contraceptives his way, knowing them more use for him than me. To this, he stages a perfectly cheerless face and says “Not for me, Sham. I’ve ended my adulterous ways”. “I’m loyal only to One now”, a finger pointing heavenwards, “and that silly bitch of a wife I’m still stuck to of course.” Apparently diagnosed with syphilis earlier this week,a few of his sexual partners who were affected threatened to sue. So his best defense was to turn religious, day to day his former mistresses have been calling less often and when they do he adopts a serious, pragmatic tone learned “from listening to Deepak Chopra’s audiobooks”.

...

next: The Sham Diaries, Finale