It would not be the last.

In a bid to save the already fragmented family, the mother a widow threw a dinner for her children and relatives. Only one unwitting cousin attended the dinner, which ended rather disastrously.

If you were to observe this family, you would say that they were good looking. Like all mixed-race children, their looks garnered enough attention wherever they went, because they didn't look like everyone else. One was still in school, while the other two scraped through college.

No we're not rich

If there is a myth about mixed-race families, it is that they are wealthy. It's a perception that has no grounding, but a deep-seated one in our society: if you are white, you must be rich.

It was only in the last 10 years that the widow sought religion to find peace and calm in her already fraught life. Her children had been educated privately, " Malaysian kids don't treat mixed kids well, and it's better if they were with their kind" so with the little her husband had left her, and the number of enterprises she got herself involved in, she managed to provide a home and some schooling, albeit private, for her children.

She sought the help of her cousins, to instil religious education in her children.

When an ustaz turned up to teach, she shocked him with her dressing: wearing a singlet, braless, and shorts. He bolted.

She called everyone up, asking what's the best zikir or doa for money? Peace? Make sure the kids have some iman?

The kids rebelled by partying hard with the rich kids from school.

One moment the widow took to wearing the scarf; the next week she was seen at a shopping mall wearing a tee-shirt and Bermuda shorts, trying to sell insurance to a disinterested customer.

Her family did their best to help, for to be a widow with no qualifications was not easy. With no contacts, lack of skills and a degree and age being a barrier, it was a mountain of a challenge.

They brought her to religious classes, paid for groceries, listened to her, and encouraged their children to talk to their cousins.

But they don't want to talk to us Mama! They hang out with all those ISKL kids!

And then something happened, which the widow did not want to talk about, but damned if she didn't do something to save her family, so she threw a small dinner and asked her relatives' children to attend, and only one cousin turned up, because the dinner was an impromptu event.

The last supper

The cousin turned up and greeted everyone cheerily, only to find the eldest child smoking sullenly in one corner, the youngest one watching television and the second missing.

In the kitchen was the widow, her aunt, cooking furiously, who told her it's been so long since she cooked for anyone outside the family and all she could cook was Western dishes.

It's all right, the widow said.

Dinner was served, and the second child appeared from her room, in a daze. Slumping in her chair, she picked at her food listlessly.

The widow then announced that her daughter was on Xanax.

"Mother, why don't you tell her I'm on E too?" she screamed.

"You go out clubbing, you come home drunk, you're on this medication

for your periods, all this will combust! You have to take care of your health! And now you're on Xanax because you suffer from depression!"

"What's wrong with clubbing? I'm only young once! I bet you she went clubbing too when she was my age," the daughter pointed at the hapless cousin.

"We were all young once Auntie," the cousin ventured, "we"

"See Mother! She went clubbing too!"

"You know, Auntie, maybe I can come back for dinner another day..."

"No you sit here. I want you to advise my children about religion."

Three Pan Asian kids looked at the guest balefully.

"You know, if I, your mother, didn't have Allah, in my heart, you think

you'd be here? I would have gone mad a long time ago, if I didn't have HIM in my heart! Yes, I did the wines too when your father was alive, but I always had Allah, Allah, beating in my heart!" she clapped her chest.

"I want daddy," the youngest wailed.

Throughout dinner, the matriach kept asking the guest for the miracle prayer, what did she recite so that her life was as good as it was now? Was it "La illah ha illallah Mohammadu Rasullullah? (There is no God but God and Mohammad is His Messenger?"" Or would reciting Allahu Akbar - God is Great - be better?"

What was it? And did the answers come overnight?

The eldest child whispered to the cousin, "I can't deal with this religious thing. I mean. Look. I don't even consider myself Malay. People don't even think of me as Malay. I'm more at home there than here. Get over it."

So why are you back in KL, the cousin asked.

"I didn't get my degree and I couldn't find an entry level job there."

The widow finished her dinner and went to the kitchen to wash up.

The second daughter said, "Actually my shrink said that I'm ok and the one that needs a shrink was Mother."

Why are you on anti-depressants then?

"Because."

What do you think of your mother's attempts at religion?

"It's a personal thing, isn't it? I mean, come on. It wasn't like we were brought up like real Muslims, it's only the last few years that she discovered God. It's in the heart you know? Just because we're not practising Muslims, it doesn't mean we're bad people."

"I miss Europe."

Why don't you go back?

"I don't have money."

A few months later

The last she heard about her relatives was that the eldest was working for a caf as a barrista, while the second was flitting from one job to another. They kept to themselves.

The widow's saving up for Umrah. It's all I can afford, she told her relatives. Three thousand's a lot of money. But I hope when I reach God's land, the answers will be there. They have to be there.