While Stocks Last

I grew up with my two little female cousins. Or, as it would be more accurate to say, they grew up around my brother and I.

Our mothers are sisters, and through sheer coincidence their family moved into a house in the adjacent estate. Since then, our two families have spent a lot of time together, even going so far as to have dinners together most days of the week.

And as they grew older, one girl of 12 and the other 8, they began to interact with my brother and I on different levels. I mean, when they were young, interaction was limited to animal noises and peek-a-boo games. But as they got older, they began asking more difficult questions.

Just last week, the older one proudly shared her newly acquired nugget of trivia with us, that the youngest mother in the world is 10 years old. We adults of course shook our heads, saying that she was far too young to be a mother. Shauna (that's the 12 year old) then said it wasn't the girl's fault, she probably didn't even know she had hit puberty, and maybe was just sleeping in the same room as her father.

Cue the uneasy silence.

And then we changed the topic.

You see, it isn't about the difficulty of talking about the birds and the bees. It's having to explain to a child the reality that some people out there abuse their children. It's having to explain that the world is really a very raw place, that not all parents are nice, not all children get to live as happily as you think.

It's even harder with Sophia, the younger one. She's insatiably curious. She's also awfully direct with her questions.

"Kor-kor Honteng, are there any friends you hate?" "Why did Fido (our dog) die?" "Why did you have to break up?" "If Grandma wasn't Christian, then is she in hell now?" “Why are you so pimpley?”

I like it best when after I reply with my most PR, tactful answer, she would just scrunch up her face in concentration, say, "Wa I don't understand a word you're saying!" and then run off. It's an innocence she shouldn't be too hasty to lose.

Shauna, Sophia, if one day you're reading this, it's not that I want to lie to you. It’s just that even I, all 22 years of experience, can't answer some of the questions you're asking.

Why do bad things happen? Are they for our own good? Why do people go out of their way to hurt each other? How does love die? Do things really get better the older you get? Why can't we seem to understand why things happen?

It’s always painful to learn things that rock the foundations of your world. I remember, back when I was a kid, my parents had a fight so bad that I sat crying in my room, shutting my ears out and just praying really hard that they would be nice to each other again. I never took them for granted, after that.

And it doesn’t get easier, the older you get. The only difference is that you can’t really go back up to your room and wait out the storms. Most of the time you’ve got to face the unpleasant realities head-on, and try your darndest best to deal with them.

Hey, go on, find me an adult with no emotional scars, and I’ll give you a 22 year-old with wisdom.

So, my dear cousins, enjoy it while it lasts. The world’s bright and shiny now, with good people walking the streets and bad ones all locked up in jails somewhere, where rain means rainbows, and loss means your sister snatching away your Barbie.

I hope for your sake it lasts just that little longer.