Chapter 36 Me In Your World
Me In Your World
We woke up, incredibly early the day of our flight to Jakarta, much to my dismay.
The airplane humming softly beneath us, alongside the sound of the clicking of Soleh’s Nintendo Switch was all I could hear.
Although the cabin lights were dimmed, I was written with anticipation of seeing my mother after so long, fidgeting in my seat and making Wyn’s attempt to sleep impossible.
“Do you ever not move?” Wynter asked me, his deep voice edged with exasperation. He had his hoodie pulled up, his dark hair slightly messy from the flight, and even then he still managed to look drop-dead gorgeous.
“Sorry I can’t help it. Just nervous I guess,” I whispered back, leaning closer to him like a hyperactive child. “I can’t believe that I’m going to see my mom again. I can’t believe that I get to show you my world.”
“I’m happy for you. Maybe someday I’ll get to show you my world too. Maybe our next destination will be Korea or Nottingham,” he contemplated.
“Hopefully. I can’t wait for you to try authentic Indonesian food!” I sighed, leaning back. “Nasi goreng, rendang, and the beaches—oh my God, Wyn, you’ve never seen any like that before, I assure you!”
“It isn’t particularly difficult to beat UK beaches, they’re all rocks and fog,” he explained. "Now, darling, I ensure you your excitement is shared but you’re bouncing up and down like an Energizer bunny, and it’s making me motion sick just by looking at you."
I did my part trying to calm down for the rest of the ride, but we continue to feel the occasional kick on the back of our seats and ever so faint beeping and music from my little brothers and Nintendo Switch coming from behind us.
I glanced over my shoulder to see him completely immersed in his game.
“Cooking Mama?” Wyn laughed then learned closer to catch a glimpse of his screen.
“Of course,” I responded, “he’s been hooked on it for weeks—it’s like crack or something. It’s a childish game if you ask—”
“Cool, can I play?” Wynter asked Soleh, and he paused, glancing up at my boyfriend in shock.
“You’re making fun of me…aren't you?” Soleh pondered.
“I wouldn’t dare, I know Cooking Mama demands excellence in her kitchen,” ne mused, and Soleh smiled.
“You get it. Game on, Kwon,” He challenged, passing Wynter his Switch.“The curry is the hardest. aApparently you have to chop the carrots in perfect timing or else you fail.”
“Soleh, Wynter, doesn’t know the first thing about gaming. He spent his childhood actually playing outside unlike you,” I teased.
“Meh, outside is overrated. It’s time for me to learn,” Wynter supported my brother in comradery. I knew exactly what he was doing and it was sweet.
“Chop the veggies,” Soleh instructed, practically bouncing in his seat. “But don’t go too fast, or Mama will get mad.”
Wyn furrowed his brow, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he tapped the screen. The little cartoon knife began slicing carrots and onions with surprising precision, each cut landing perfectly on the chopping board.
“Okay, okay,” Soleh said, clearly impressed. “Not bad, not bad. Now stir the pot—but keep the temperature steady!”
Wyn nodded once, focused entirely on the task. The virtual pot bubbled on the screen as he moved the stylus in smooth, deliberate circles.
I leaned closer, grinning. “You’re really going to let a cartoon chef stress you out?”
“Quiet,” Wyn muttered, his lips twitching. “I’m in the zone.”
The final step came: plating the dish. Wyn carefully arranged the digital curry rice onto the plate, garnished it with a sprinkle of green, and tapped the “done” button. The screen flashed with colorful fireworks, and Mama beamed with joy.
“You’re even better than Mama!” the game announced cheerfully.
“Five stars!” Soleh shouted, throwing his arms up in triumph. “You’re a natural, man!”
Wyn handed the Switch back with a small, satisfied smile. “Told you I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” I said, nudging him playfully. “That was impressive. Who knew you had a hidden talent for virtual cooking?”
“Talent’s talent,” Wyn replied, his tone teasing but his expression soft. He glanced at Soleh. “What’s next? Cake? Sushi?”
Soleh grinned. “I think you’ve earned a spot in Mama’s kitchen. Let’s do some tempura next!”
As Soleh set up the next level, Wyn leaned back slightly, glancing at me. “Happy?”
I rested my head against his shoulder, watching the two of them bond over frying virtual shrimp. “Very.”
For the rest of the flight, the soft sounds of Cooking Mama filled the cabin, blending with the hum of the engines, and the sight of Soleh and Wyn laughing together made my heart feel fuller than ever.
The plane had landed a while ago, and being back in Jakarta felt surreal. I felt shrunk back down to my childhood self, and for the first time it was in a good way. The familiar warmth in the air hit me all at once I took off my jacket. I was definitely back home.
“Jakarta,” Soleh sighed deeply, stretching his arms on his hips. “Finally I’m free from the shackles of deep fried everything and overpriced coffee.”
“Why must you always be so weird? Sometimes I think Yesoh is the weirdo, but I’m always promptly reminded that it’s certainly you.” Cahya scoffed, tossing Soleh his backpack, which he caught promptly. “Focus, we have to grab our luggage and head to Mom’s before the traffic gets bad.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ignore them darling,” Wynter assured me, taking both our luggage because why would I carry anything around him ever? He walked silently beside me, lost in thought.
“Don’t look so serious, you’re not having a scheduled meeting with the CIA.” I snorted a laugh.
“I am meeting your mother,” he emphasized. “Which is somehow far more daunting.”
“True!” I giggled. “But Pat’s just strict, she isn’t scary.”
“Says you!” Soleh blurted out scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t let Soh fool you, our mother is in fact spooky!”
When we finally arrived at my childhood home, the familiar white gate swung open, and I spotted my mother waiting in the doorway.
Our house in Jakarta was far from luxurious, it was a one story, three bedroom home with wide bay windows, and a charming swingset on the porch.
My mother, Pat, had her perfectly ironed blouse and neatly pinned hair.
As crisp as ever her sharp eyes assessing every detail the moment we stepped inside.
“Mummy!” I called out, running up to hug her. She stepped back slightly before returning the hug, her movements polite but distant.
“It’s a pleasure to see you even though you’re seven minutes late. I don’t recall raising tardy children. You’ve been in America far too long, you’re losing your values,” she criticized, her gaze then drifting to Wynter. “And you must be?”
“Wynter Kwon,” Wyn introduced himself, formally taking a bow in respect, then extending a hand towards her, but she just nodded in acknowledgment.
“Ah right,” she said, as though the name didn’t ring a bell “You’re the one she mentioned last time.”
“The one I’m dating, Mummy,” I clarified, practically bouncing between them. “You’d met him and his sisters lots of summers ago when you visited, remember right?”
“I meet a lot of people, Yesoh,” she replied coolly, her gaze flickering back to Wynter, “it's nice to meet you again though. You’ll be staying here?”?
“Yes, Mrs Yeo, I hope that is okay with you,” he affirmed, his expression unwavering. “I could always stay at a nearby hotel if there isn’t enough room for me.”
“Depends on how well you take up space in my house,” she clarified, a double meaning to her words.
“Of course you’re staying, Wyn, don’t let her sike you out.” I grabbed ahold of his arm. “Mummy, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” She hummed absentmindedly.
“Oh brother, this will be a long trip,” Soleh grumbled. “Hello, Mother!”
“My Soleh.” She smiled and hugged him close.
“You can say that again.” Cahya sighed, lugging the bags inside. “Long trip.”
I turned to Wynter and gave him a thumbs-up, whispering, “You survived the first round!”
“Barely,” he muttered, but I caught the faintest twitch of a smile as he followed me inside. “Cooking Mama was easier.”
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of activity. Cahya helped our mother organize things in the kitchen while Soleh and I dragged Wyn around the house, showing him everything from my old room to the little garden in the back.
“See that tree?” I pointed proudly at the mango tree in the corner. “I planted that when I was eight. It’s like my tree. Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s a tree,” Wyn said flatly, though I could see the way his lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh.
“You’re the worst,” I told him, grabbing his arm and dragging him closer to the tree. “You have to appreciate it! Look at how tall it is now. That’s all thanks to me.”
“Clearly, you have a gift,” he said, his tone as dry as the Jakarta sun, but his hand lingered on mine just a little longer than necessary. “A true green thumb.”
“Thank you for recognizing my prowess.” I smiled, accomplished.
From the kitchen window, I could see Mom watching us, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Maybe Wyn didn’t notice, but I did—and it gave me hope.
By the time dinner rolled around, the tension had eased slightly. Mom served up a feast—plates of nasi goreng, rendang, and sambal that had Wyn’s eyes widening slightly when he tasted the spice.
“Your home is lovely, Mrs Yeo,” he said after a moment, his voice steady but his ears turning red from the heat. “This is delicious.”
“It’s okay if you can’t handle it,” Soleh teased, smirking as he piled more sambal onto his own plate.
“I’m fine,” Wyn said stoically, but I noticed him reaching for his glass of water a little too quickly.
“See?” I whispered to him, grinning. “I told you she liked you. She made the spicy sambal. That’s how you know you’re in.”
“Stop spreading misinformation,” Cahya whispered over.