The clown I know

My uncle is a clown. Correction. He works as a clown sometimes. People invite him to events and they pay him to entertain kids. Sometimes they don't tell him how much they will pay him but he goes anyway. I think he enjoys it. He loves to make children laugh. I haven't seen him at a gig but I've seen him with Zoe. He's her hero. He used to be my hero too. He's a photographer, an artist, a jerry-rigger. He put wheels on a plastic chair and it became a sort of wheelchair for my grandfather.

Crazy guy!!

"Where is 二舅公 (2nd grand uncle)? Is he coming today?" She would ask incessantly.

Last night she saw him for a fleeting moment, while he was in between gigs. He was home to grab a bite and change outfits. We were there for makan after the prayers for my grandmother on the anniversary of her death.

Surprisingly, she had no issues with him taking leave without making some funny balloons for her or playing with her. Probably because all my aunts were present and they were each fawning over her in their own way.

I was too busy wolfing down some much anticipated laksa. Chinese style. This is thick rice noodles, topped with fresh local herbs and raw veges (daun kesum, raw shallots, cucumber, bean sprouts, long beans), bathed in a rich, creamy, curry coconut broth that is infused with finely pounded mackerel. It's just heaven...I'm telling you.

That's it. Can't think of anything else. I'm just going to re-laks--a