Ma is having friends over for dinner. Her colleagues: secondary school teachers. Like all of Ma's friends, they are nosy, noisy; they are somewhat ugly, they never stop talking.

Anyway, here they are, so I'm going to stay in my room. But no, one of them comes straight at me with a big, loud smile: "Oh, so this is your son lah? Aiyoh, so cute! What's your name?"
(Silence)
"Zedeck," Ma nudges me: "Say hello."
I give a small smile.
"Aiyoh, so shy one!"
I point to my room.
"No, no such thing! Go help Pa scoop the rice."
So I go into the kitchen and close the door. Pa sees my face and laughs.

I do not like noise. Noise is intrusive, disruptive. Especially organised noise, like voices. I can't think. Talk is just distasteful. I'd rather it be just me on the floor, and the silent death of ants. And now Ma forces me to sit at the table. It is a wonder that these people get out the staff room to teach at all. Ma says some of them don't.

I'm not exactly shy, you know. I don't have a choice. I couldn't answer her question. I think some of Ma's friends know. The rest probably assume I'm just shy. After all, everyone knows that little five-year-old boys don't talk among grownups. Well, I've never talked at all.

I can't.

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