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Questa è Enida 
Oh Enida, I hate balloons, not for the colour or shape or size not even for the happiness it always brings to little children but mainly for the heartaches it store in after. They cry buckets over burst ones, scream over flewn ones, get scared over blown ones about to be popped but still they beg for more and more of those inflatables. Letih la.
Oh Wiz! Tell me about it! Dah laa I takut dia meletup, because I illogically associate loud noise with pain. I so lah cannot tiup balloon manually besar-besar sebab I takut kalau dia meletup while the tonchet is still in my mouth, nanti my lips are going to pecah berderai macam balloon tu jugak. Hah, morbid tak morbid?
When Edrick’s balloon terbang tinggi di awan biru kat depan car dealer tu, I yang terasa seperti sesuatu telah diragut dan direntap dari hatiku ini. It was such a ‘revelation’ yang selama hari ni I had been looking for. I was never able to understand why lah I tak suka balloons. That fateful afternoon di pinggir Lebuhraya MKAD Kilometer 78, it became clear to me – clearer than the Swarovsky crystal punya lah clear nye. I detest balloons for the sorrow they bring right after the shortlived so-called fun.