The knock comes loud and unexpected, but eerily familiar. I know it's Bas before I open the door. Before I can even say come in, Bas brushes right past me and walks straight to the kitchen. He is speaking a mile a minute about how pissed off he is at his boss for scolding him about something that clearly wasn't his fault, and I am left standing like an idiot holding the open door.
I don't remember ever giving him a key, or permission, or even a particularly enthusiastic welcome, but here we are. Bas takes over the kitchen and treats it like his second home (or, judging by how much he eats, more like his first home).
"Yo, Wei-Wei," he calls, already opening the fridge. "You got anything good, or are we surviving on mangoes again?"
"Bas, you can't judge my taste when you were dipping your chocolate in chili sauce last week. And I don't just eat mangoes, I had some pineapple too."
"Sure, little Wei, because having two pieces of pineapple with three whole mangoes makes a difference. Is this congee edible?"
"Yeah, I made it just this morning."
"I wasn't asking when you made it, I was asking if I am risking a trip to the hospital, or possibly the morgue."
"You know what, Bas," I say as I grab the (perfectly edible) congee from his hand, "you can just go and make your own congee in your own kitchen in your own apartment, if you are going to judge my culinary skills."
"Fine, fine. Chill Wei-Wei, I'll eat the congee and call Big Rock if I need to be rushed to the ER."
I huff and give a good punch on his arm. He overreacts like usual, and I feel quite proud that I managed to actually make it hurt, even if he is just pretending. He deserves it for judging my culinary masterpiece.
I get back to my painting, which I was busy with before he rudely interrupted, and continue working on Grandma's silhouette on a garden bench. I stay at my easel, trying to focus on the painting; it's a birthday gift for grandpa, while Bas is pattering away in front of the stove.
He emptied the fridge quite efficiently. He reminds me of one of those game-show players who has to get the task done in 30 seconds. In a minute or so, he's standing in front of the stove in my frilly pink apron, making sounds that sound like a horror movie soundtrack and cracking eggs like he's the next winner of MasterChef.
I watch from across the room, accepting of my new role as supporting character in the Bas Show. I am also slightly worried that my kitchen might catch fire. (It has happened before.)
As Bas is stirring his concoction, his eyes land on the windowsill.
"That's a new plant," he says.
I keep my focus on the canvas. "Yeah."
He looks back at the plant for a moment, "What happened to the last one?"
I shrug, trying to sound casual. "It left for greener pastures."
"In other words, you killed it."
"I didn't kill it; I looked after it with great care. I just decided to join its ancestors on their journey to a greater place."
"Just don't ever start looking after me. I would definitely not like to join my great-grandpa on his journey to a greater place."
"Shut up, Bas, and don't burn your eggs."
He just smirks and continues to cook. I know he is judging me.
Here is an update on the new plant: it is still (somewhat) green and, against all odds, upright. I have decided to take this as a sign of progress. So, take that!
Bas is transferring his food onto a plate when he spots the canvas, which is strategically facing the wall. I put it like that very purposefully.
"That's suspicious," he says.
He begins the slow, deliberate approach of someone about to poke a sleeping animal, or in this case, my dignity.
"No," I say right away, louder than I mean to. "Bas, seriously, don't touch that. Just leave it."
My reaction is basically the sign he was waiting for, as he, clearly unfazed and more motivated than ever, walks over and turns the painting around.
I try to stop him, but clearly, words don't mean anything. That leaves me with just one choice: I body-slam right into him.
The result: I end up bouncing off him and onto my but a few feet away. Bas is still standing strong and laughing so hard he is folded double.
"Ouch, that hurt. How are you still standing?"
Bas is laughing so hard, he's struggling to form words, "Wei-Wei, you weigh like 45kg soaking wet, and you're half my size."
"I probably weigh at least 52kg, you know!"
"Sure, Wei-Wei, whatever floats your boat. Now, who is this interesting male god?"
"No, don't look at that."
I am still struggling to get up, while also trying to stop my nosy neighbor, who doesn't know a single thing about boundaries."
He ignores me and stands there, studying the painting with the intensity of a detective in a crime drama, except the only crime is my lack of subtlety.
Then he turns his head and looks at me.
"Who is that?"
"No one," I say quickly.
Bas looks back at the canvas. "It has a jaw – a very striking one, too."
"It is a compositional element," I reply, stepping closer.
Bas raises an eyebrow. "A compositional element with a very specific jaw."
"It's abstract. You're reading too much into it."
"I'm reading a jaw, eyes, mouth, nose, and chin. It's a very recognizable face when everything is put together."
"It's not recognizable. I think you're just imagining things."
"It has that little dent right here," Bas says, pointing. "Exactly like —"
"It does not," I interrupt, louder than I should. "You're imagining things. It's just lines. Artistic lines. Very abstract. You wouldn't understand."
Bas grins, clearly enjoying himself. "Then help me understand, Wei-Wei. Because it doesn't seem very abstract to me. It actually looks quite realistic. It kind of reminds me of a very popular actor."
I step between Bas and the painting, arms out like I'm protecting a priceless artifact, but it's actually my dignity that needs protection. "Stop staring. Go eat. The eggs are getting cold, and so is my patience."
Bas leans sideways to see around me. "The jaw is following me."
I steer him back to the kitchen by the shoulders, like a bouncer escorting out a very cheerful trespasser. "You are officially banned from this corner. Go eat. The compositional element is under witness protection."
Bas laughs the whole way, not even pretending to resist. "Okay, okay. But that compositional element has a very strong jawline, my friend. And an uncanny resemblance to--"
"Don't even say it!"
Bas just laughs and shoves a bite into his mouth.
Thankfully, Bas drops the subject. He continues to eat his congee while telling me about the vendor who tried to overcharge him for mangoes again. He worries about me only eating mangoes, but drops a couple of them off every week or so. I don't get it.
He also complains about the auntie who keeps giving him extra chili "for strength," and the stray cats that now wait for him at the corner every evening. That's what happens when you start feeding them tuna every day. That reminds me, I need to stock up on actual cat food, because if we need to wait for Bas, we will be feeding the cats tuna for the foreseeable future. Not that I think they would mind too much.
I respond, laugh when I should, until the conversation wanders off in another direction. But I keep glancing back at the painting that's now facing the room.
Bas, thank goodness, doesn't say anything, but I know he notices.
Later, Bas stands up, stretches his arms over his head, and says, "Alright, I'm out. Thanks for the food, the congee was pretty good this time."
He gives me his usual warm, easy grin.
"See you tomorrow, Wei-Wei. Don't let the compositional element keep you up too late."
He gives a lazy wave, lets himself out, and the door clicks shut.
Finally, I am left alone in the quiet apartment with the compositional element staring at me from the corner of my eye.
I stand there for a while, then walk over to the painting.
I stare longer than I mean to. The strong jaw and dark chocolate eyes are there. I keep telling myself it's some abstract painting of an interesting face, but I know I'm lying to myself.
I turn the canvas back around and lie to myself again, because this dumpling is not ready to face the truth just yet.