Last Sunday, Nabil, our 11-year-old, asked:

“Ummi, how did you guys meet?”

(Nabil is good at asking interesting questions).

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and we had just picked him up from karate class.

My wife eagerly told him the usual: about how we were placed in the same 3-month English prep class before being sent to the UK.

“What made you like Ayah?” he probed.

“Well, back then, I thought he WAS funny,” answered his mom.

Ouch.

We were at the traffic light, and I had just enough time to look at her. I stared hard. She saw the look on my face and laughed. She said, “I guess I’ve been had then!” and continued laughing.

We both laughed, except mine didn’t last very long.

She was right.

I realised that I’m less funny now. It is true. And I wonder what made me become less and less funny over these years.

Last month I had lunch with a well-known comedian, and he really was funny. He was funny when we got introduced to each other, when we sat down for lunch, when we talked about his future projects, and when people interrupted him for selfies—hundreds of selfies (somehow group photos don’t mean anything anymore). Even his wife laughed hard at his jokes. He’s a fun and lovable guy. And he entertained everyone who came, even when he was interrupted while having dinner.

I don’t think it’s nice to disturb people having dinner just because you wanted a selfie for your IG. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m not a celebrity.

For almost a week, I thought hard about when did I begin to become less funny.

Some of my friends think I’m funny, which is why I can clown in hospitals. Little did they know that I’m the opposite of funny. I’m serious even when I clown. I’m serious about being a good clown. The same goes for other areas of life. I take all my assignments seriously. Maybe too serious at times. I became a perfectionist. I wanted things to be in order so that I could perform at my best. It is actually through clowning that I reconnect with my fun side.

This morning, my wife asked me what made me like her.

Without skipping a beat, I told her that I thought she was a good listener.

WAS.

She laughed.

“And you ended up with a fixer-upper!” she laughed so hard she almost cried.

Well, I guess I’m becoming funny now.

Funnier than last week, at least.

ps:

The topic where women listen better than men was discussed heavily by relationship counsellor John Gray in his book Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Women listen to understand while men will immediately try to offer solutions and fix things. Mariam could possibly come for Mars.