Three Hundred Ringgit

When I was ten years old, a happy-turned-sad incident happened to my family.

One afternoon, while my siblings and I were playing Billionaire in the sitting room, a white Mazda pulled up in front of our open gate. The driver, a fashionable young man, came into our house looking for Papa.His dark, purplish sunglasses captured our interest. Papa's face brightened when the visitor mentioned something like two hundred and fifty in his Foochow-accented voice. He shook the young man's hand and said thank you in a gush of gratitude. Then,he saw him off outside the house.

In a flurry of excitement, my eldest sister Ah Hui ran to Mama's side with my brother and I in tow. Tugging at Mother's sleeve, she asked:

"Mama, is it true that the sunglass-wearing man has ordered two hundred and fifty steamed buns from us?"

"Yes, he will come and collect them tomorrow evening," said Mother, smiling.
"Will Papa be selling buns in the market tomorrow evening?" asked I.
"No, Papa will be taking all of us to a movie."
"Yippe!" exclaimed Weng Weng, my youngest brother.
"How much will we get from the sale, Mama?" asked Ah Hui, curious and concerned.
"Three hundred Ringgit," said Mum, her eyes sparkling.
"That's big money!" piped Weng Weng, capering in delight.
"Ya," nodded Mum. "The money will recoup all the money your father spent on the repairs of our car."
"Hey, you three," hollered Papa, coming into the house from outside." It's time for you to do your homework."
"Okay, Papa," my siblings and I chorused happily.

I am sure all of us had a nice sleep that night. It had not been easy for Papa to earn such a huge sum of money recently. Silently in my heart, I thanked the Mazda-driving man for doing us a good turn.

At 10am the next morning, my parents started making steamed buns. They went through the process of weighing flour, mixing overnight-fermented yeast to the flour and kneading the dough. While waiting for the dough to prove, Mama wasted no time to prepare the filling. She put the pre-marinated pork into our old oven and baked the meat until a mouth-watering aroma wafted out and filled the entire kitchen.While waiting for the meat to cool, she cooked the gravy for the buns. First, she sauteed shallots until fragrant. Next, pre-toasted flour was added. She diluted the flour with water and seasoned it with barbecue sauce, sugar and salt. Mama kept stirring the gravy to prevent it from curdling.After straining it, she left it aside and cut the slightly charred meat into cubes. Then, she poured the gravy over the meat and mixed them well.

When the dough had doubled in bulk,Papa mixed it with a fresh amount of flour. He kneaded it gently until it was smooth. He left it to prove again. After thirty minutes, he portioned out the dough and rolled each of them out into a circle with a roller.With the help of Mama, Papa spooned the filling onto the center of each rolled out dough and sealed it by pleating the edges. Ah Hui, Weng Weng and I watched on with keen interest. Occasionally, Papa and Mama would let us try sealing a few buns.The folds on our pleated buns were never as many as those of our parents.

By the time my parents finished sealing the buns, it had already been three in the afternoon. They arranged them neatly in bamboo steamer trays and staked them up on the stove. All the buns were steamed on high heat. While the buns were steaming, my siblings and I were told to play in the shady backyard. The rented house of ours was literally as hot as a kiln. Our parents' faces were slicked with sweat and their clothes stuck to their skin. The only fan of our house whirred ineffectually in the kitchen. At night, it would be moved into the bedroom.

My parents always checked if the buns were cooked after every fifteen minutes. Each time they opened the lid, Hot steam would burst out in clouds from the steamer . They would keep a good distance from the released vapor to avoid being scalded. With gloved hands, they transferred cooked buns on platters and filled more uncooked buns into the steamer trays. Sweat trickled down their faces in rivulets.By four in the afternoon, all the buns were cooked. Puffed-up and fluffy in sheer whiteness, they cracked naturally across the center, revealing the reddish, savoury filling inside. Our buns were Hong-Kong Styled and not many people could make them with success. It is not easy to make the skin because the yeast fermentation takes many hours.

I looked at the fruit of my parents' travail with pride. In two hours, the sunglass-wearing man would come and collect them. Papa would earn three hundred Ringgit and take us to a movie.

At 6p.m., all of us waited in eager anticipation for the fortune-bringing man outside the house.We were chattering excitedly with Papa.

"Papa, what movie will we watch?" asked I.
"A Kung-Fu movie that features Jackie Chan," answered Papa.
"Yay, I love Jackie Chan!" shouted Weng Weng.
"Pa, would you grant my request if you have received the three hundred ringgit?" asked Ah Hui.
"Ya, what is it?"
"Can you buy us 'Candy Candy', the famous Japanese comic series?"
"Sure, no problem," grinned Papa.
"Thank you, Pa," chirped Ah Hui.

However, the man did not show up at his promised time. Our wait turned out to be an interminable one. Evening segued into night, leaving behind some remnants of red, purple and gold in the sky.

"Mama, it's almost seven! Where is that man?" groaned Ah Hui.
"Robert, can you phone that man?" asked Mama, her voice sounding worried.
"Okay, I will go next door and telephone Mr. Yang," said Papa.

While waiting for Papa to come back, I was on the constant lookout for any car which resembled the man's white Mazda on the road. Every time I saw a white car approaching our house from afar, I would yell: "The sunglass man is coming, the sunglass man is coming!". My excitement would quickly dissipate when each of them whizzed past our house.

Fifteen minutes passed. Papa returned home with a bad news. The Mazda-driving man had changed his mind and he would not be collecting the steamed buns from us. Our hopes of earning three hundred ringgit and watching a movie were dashed. Never in my life had I seen my parents that hurt, angry and disappointed. Ah Hui, Weng Weng and I cried.

"Robert, can you phone Mr. Yang again? If he had a modicum of conscience, he would pity us and collect the buns," pleaded Mama, her voice choked in the tears she was trying to hold back.

"I have tried my best, Ah Lan. But he was adamant!" bellowed Papa, his face flushing with fury.

My parents could not for the life of them figure out why that man went back on his word.

On my way to the bedroom after a shower, I saw father looking morosely at all the uncollected packets of buns on a table. His brows were tightly knitted and his shoulders heaved with the force of the emotion within him. The sight brought a lump to my throat.

Before I slept, I told Mama how I felt.

"Mama, it's not fair. That man should not have lied to us."
"Tai-tai, we can't do anything. That's life," said Mama.
"Does it mean that bad people can get away with breaking promises?"
"I am not sure. But we should avoid doing that all the time," advised Mama.
"I hate that accursed man. The world is hopeless with liars like him!"
"Don't be like that, Tai. The world is hopeful as long as we practise good values in our life."
"How to practise good values, Mama?"
"Be honest, be truthful, be hardworking and be persevering. Nobody can harm us if we uphold all these values in our life."
"Do you and Papa have the mood to sell buns again tomorrow?" asked I.
"We have to," said Mama. Her voice was full of benign love. "We love all the three of you. Selling steamed buns is the only way we earn a living. However sad we are, we should move on with our life. We should never be afraid of failures."

After Mama switched off the light and left the bedroom, I made myself a silent promise: I would study hard to give my parents a better life when I grew up. I wanted them to receive more than three hundred ringgit every month.