THE WOMAN WHO RUNS A MINI MART

Kak Limah runs a mini-mart in our neighbourhood. She's this petite lady with a beaming smile that can brighten up anyone's day. 

But what's really funny about her is her obsession with keeping things organised: everything on her shelves is categorised in perfect graduations of depth, and everything is in perfect sequence—colour-coded, of course! And how funny she is—darting from one spot to the next with a twinkle in her eyes whenever she catches someone disturbing the perfect order she has achieved. But nobody dislikes Kak Limah any more than they dislike shopping at her mini-mart.

One afternoon, while she arranged a pyramid of bright candies for sale, a customer grabbed some from a shelf so violently that a few ended up on the floor. The packets burst open in a splatter of colours. Kak Limah stared wide-eyed. She gasped.

Her tiny body a whirlwind, she flew between shelves, claws swatting and scooping up the spilled candies in quick, precise movements as if operating on a scale matched to a hobbyist; by the time the workers finished their cigarette break, the back wall looked pristine, candies all back in order and colour-coated just so.

Though the customers giggled at Kak Limah, they also secretly admired her obsession. Her relentless obsession with order calmed their chaos.