Metaphor

One last story of SABARIAH BINTI KESE, KUJAIMAH BINTI JANDIH, SITI ADILAH BINTI MOHD ALIAS, SAIDATUL SYUHADA BINTI SULAIMAN and ME before the semester holiday starts.

“—Ana and Jai would be the mother and father, and you would be the drunk aunt, and I would be the prized daughter!” Dila says happily, ticking off each member with her fingers.

“Why am I a drunk?” Saba asks. “And what about Said?”

“Said is the cranky grandmother, and you’re dissatisfied with life,” Dila answers solemnly.
“Why am I dissatisfied with life? And why is Said the grandmother?”

Dila giggles, lying down with her head in Saba’s lap. “You’re dissatisfied with life because that makes the story more interesting, and Said is the grandmother because she stepped on my toes this morning and I’m mad at her.”

Saba sighs. “A metaphor isn’t the same thing as a story,” she says with a longsuffering air that is trademark for people who spend long amounts of time around Dila.

But Dila isn’t listening; her eyes are focused on something on the ceiling as she wonders between Ana and Jai, who would make the better mother, and who could pull off a pink apron better?

---

“Who would look better in a pink apron, you or Jai?” Dila asks.

Ana thinks about it for a moment, pondering the likelihood of Dila actually sticking one of them in a pink apron, apologizes to Jai in her head, and answers, “Jai. Definitely.”

Dila nods. “Yeah, I think she makes the better woman, too.”

“Huh?” Ana says, hoping Jai would forgive her for whatever fate Ana seems to have sentenced her to.

“I’m trying to metaphor all five of us to something, but the perfect something, you see?” Dila explains.

“Huh?” Ana says again, and quite reasonably she thinks.

Dila punches Ana lightly on her shoulder. “Stop dazing off when people are talking to you!”

---

Dila decides to write it down, hoping that will clear everything up. She writes:(woman) Jai + (man) Ana + (me!) Dila + (drunk) Saba + (cranky) Said  = Family?It doesn’t clear anything up. Dila thinks that maybe she should try a different metaphor.

---

“Jai. Jai. Ja. I. Ja. I. Jai,” Dila says, accompanying every syllable with a poke.

Jai’s video game makes a sad little noise, and Jai turns it off. “I hate you.”

“I love you,” Dila says, to neutralize the hate, and then, “Does Said remind you of a duck or an otter?”

“What?” Jai asked.

“You know, a duck,” Dila says, flapping her hands around like wings, “or an otter?” and then she wiggles a hand behind her like a tail.

Jai gives her a look that clearly states her opinion on Dila’s mental health, or lack thereof.

“Fine, don’t help,” Dila says sulkily, storming off.

---

“I’d probably be something cool, like a tiger,” Dila says to the mirror. She pauses, looks around to make sure the room is empty, and makes her best tiger face.It doesn’t exactly strike fear into her heart.

Dila decides she needs a little help, and wanders off to find Said.

---

“If you help me think up a good metaphor, I promise not to make you a cranky grandmother or a duck or an otter,” Dila pleads, throwing her arms around Said’s waist and nuzzling at her stomach.

“You’d think I’d be used to hearing you say things like that,” Said replies, “But I’m not.”

“Help me!” Dila says. “I beseech your knowledge!”

Said swats Dila away and says, “My knowledge tells me that Saba should stop teaching you new words. What are you even talking about?”

“I’m trying to compare all five of us to something else, only I can’t figure out what.”

“Why compare US to something else at all?” Said asks, hoping if she resolves this quick enough she’ll have time to re-do her nails.

“Well,” Dila says, pauses, and then starts again, “So that people can understand it.”

Said laughs, “Understand what?”

“Understand what it’s like to be us!” Dila exclaims. “Because it’s not fair that only we have it and I want to be able to tell everyone, so they can have it too, and so I thought a metaphor would help.”

“Dummy,” Said hits Dila on the head and walks out of the room, calling behind her, “It’s called happiness, and other people do have it, they just don’t have to share it with such stupid people.”

---

Dila shoves a piece of paper in Saba’s face the next day. It reads:(apron wearing) Jai + (dazing off) Ana + (not a tiger) Dila + (not a drunk) Saba + (helpful) Said= Happy

“Look, I figured it out!” Dila says, the living definition of jittery. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Saba laughs. “Yes, you’re definitely right.”

“Good! Want to help me stick Jai in a pink apron?” She pulls one out from behind her back, and wiggles the apron and her eyebrows simultaneously.

“Definitely,” Saba says again, allowing Dila to pull her along at the wrist as they run to Jai’s room.

It takes them five minutes to find Jai, ten minutes to actually get her into the apron, and the world’s twisted sense of timing to have Ana and Said walk into the room a minute later with a camera handy.