Passive resistance (Singapore)

I have never been a “fight” person, being more instinctively a “flight” one.  It is certainly not in my upbringing, as a girl, to fight, even if only metaphorically.  It had always been drilled into me that one didn’t behave like a fishwife -- this was, of course, doled out only to the girls; the boys were not actively encouraged to fight, but they were not held back either, and certainly not with such deterrents as “undignified behaviour”.

On the odd occasion when I did have to “fight” for what I wanted, I’d go for the middle way—that must be the Libran bit in me, then.  When I was 10, the girl next door invited me over for a game of Monopoly, but when I asked my mother for permission (yes, we had to ask for permission to do practically anything), she said no.  There was really no reason for her refusal, because I’d done my homework (not that she ever played any rôle in supervising my life, least of all schoolwork) and it was the school holidays.  So, at lunch time, with my mother and I being the only two at home, I put in a presence but didn't touch the food.  My trump card was my acidic stomach condition, brought on by years of not eating breakfast (the time was more precious for an extra few minutes in bed).  Sure enough, this attracted my mother’s notice, “Why are you not eating?”  “Because you won’t let me go next door to play.”  Instant result!

Some 40 years later, on a visit home, my mother recounted a similar incident (not triggered by recollections of the one-meal "hunger strike", as I’ve never referred to it, not wanting her to get wise to my wiles, even though I’m no longer a little girl now…).  Apparently, when I was aged four and out with my mother somewhere, we walked past a shop which had some “masak masak” sets displayed on the trestle tables at the front.  (“Masak” is a Malay word meaning “to cook”, so these toy cooking sets were called “masak masak”; ditto the children’s game of cooking.)  I wanted one of those sets, but my mother said no, so I sat down on the pavement, most likely—even at that early age—knowing full well that it would be frightfully embarrassing for her, as the pavement would be dirty, for one thing.  Instant result again.

So, it looks like passive resistance, rather than fight, is more my style, even going back to when I was four.

(Singapore 1950s/1960s)