In Continuum.

In The Company of Strangers

The melancholic notes of the song of Road to Perdition came through the earpiece into my ears.The soft breeze blew in the night air,a little more windy that usual in Singapore today.I dashed across the road with my hands in my pocket,with the wet ground under my shoes and the slippery tiles threatening to send me off my feet.It must've rained here a little while earlier,which must've been why nobody was at the cafe downstairs.The void deck was empty too,and the music kept on playing it's saddening notes.

*

The chair felt awfully cold even through my pants.It was winter in Taiwan,and the stone benches in my grandparents' livingroom felt terribly chilly then.The marble floor felt freezing through my socks,and the volume of the television was turned up so loud,i swear the condition of my grandfather's ears,which was already coming close to their retirement age,would only worsen.That's not to mention how close he sits to the television screen,claiming that he can neither see nor hear the television properly back then.The newspaper sprawled on the wooden table,and even that felt cold at the touch of my fingers.Bold,chinese characters stared back at me with the least bit of interest,and i found myself retreating into the world of my music,with the earpiece plugged into my ears,but still drowned out by the ever rising volume of the newscaster in the television screen.

My grandmother emerged from the kitchen,in her hands a metal bucket full of fruits.She motioned to me,pointing with her pruny fingers at the little hill of tropical fruit and offering them to me at the same time.She said something in Hokkien,and i guessed she wanted me to eat some of them.Im not a big fan of fruits save for apples,but those clearly werent apples.I wasnt in the mood for them,but i forced a smile anyway as i took forever to finish a single piece of it.It was soggy i realised,and perhaps a little old.

Old,old like my grandparents,and everything in that cold marble house of theirs.The chairs were old,the massage chair was old.The dining table was old,the table was old.The fake roses were old,and even the air was old.Everything just was there,and it felt like it was decaying as we spoke to each other,by not speaking at all.

I was uncomfortable,and i remember fidgeting so much in that chair of theirs i was getting irritated with myself.The music wasnt helping to kill the awkward atmosphere,and because of the blasting sound from the speakers,any form of communication was naturally denied between any of us.My parents were probably downstairs in the office then,and i was trying desperately to scream through the marble floor and call for them to come back upstairs.Rescue us!I thought i screamed into the phone,but all that came out of my mouth then was the question of whether they are done downstairs or not."I am bloody dying here..." i mumbled under my breath."What?" asked my mother."Oh,no.It's bloody cold here."

*

In the corner of the seats in the void deck sat two shadows.One of them had her back faced towards me while the other - an old lady probably in her late sixties - sat facing me in her wheelchair.The long hair of the lady with her back to me probably was a filipino maid,and she had her cheeks to her palms,the old lady staring into the distance with a blank look,mildly excited as i approached the elevators and pressed the button.

I recognised them,they are there all the time.The same maid with the same old lady in the wheelchair,staring at each other in the void deck when nobody is around.I've seen them there before,and because i was usually in a rush to get home,i'd dismiss them as two very bored residence of Chuan Park,and that i should mind my own businesses instead of staring at the blank stares they were giving to each other,while at the same time calling out for help at any passerbys who potentially had the power to make the 'interaction' between them a little more interesting,perhaps.I didnt care too much then,but tonight with Thomas Newton's music in my ears as i took the steps up onto the void deck and to the lifts,my eyes caught the old lady's,and there it was right there:She was calling out for some sign of sympathy or help,begging for me to take her out of this silent madness that was between herself and the filipino maid.It was killing her right there in public's view,as she sat on the wheelchair and was being consumed by the awkward silence as well as her own age and disgust.The way the maid merely sat there,digging her nails while she stared into the opening and closing doors of the lift.

*

I remember a GP essay i wrote back in the forgotten JC days.Or rather,the days i actually chose to forget,part of my selective removal of memory process.I was always amongst the better students when it came to GP,despite not studying or paying any form of attention during Mr. Yee's classes.Sure,he is a nice guy but he also was a very boring and mundane person.I never took interest in whatever views he had on child abuse or racism,only the puddle of sweat on his chest and the secret joke the class shared about his nipple bursting disease and of course,those bloody blinks.

There was an essay i wrote about marriage,and that essay was the higest i ever scored for one in my JC life.I remember it recieved a special mention in the class,and the fact that i obtained that kind of result attracted a lot of attention.But of course,my fifteen minutes of fame - being fifteen minutes of fame - was rather shortlived.But still,i cannot deny that that piece of material was good,despite being single back then and too far and distant from a true-blue marriage.

All i had was my imagination,and of course the movies and my parents' marriage as references during my writing.I dont even know where i got the ideas from,and whatever i wrote never came from any personal experiences(Naturally).I depending solely on my imaginations,and i conjured out a rather decent essay in no time,and remember getting a kick out of it because i dealt with a rather matured subject in a very age-surpassing manner.

I remember mentioning the death of love in my essay.Because love never lasts,i told myself.Everlasting love was thought to be bullshit in that essay,and of course i left the word 'bullshit' out.I mentioned that love evolves from being a very innocent emotion,to a sort of compromises at the end of a relationship.A married couple gets married in the first place,in a perfect world,because of love.They love each other,and they decide to have a baby.Afterwards they decide to buy a house,a car,and then share a bed to sleep in at night.That goes on for a couple of blissful years until a turning point: You dont find your partner interesting anymore.You start to get pissed off at gatherings with friends,when he keeps saying the same bloody joke at the exact same point in a conversation,or the way he never lifts his seat up in the toilet after use.How about the way he chews with his mouth opened,or those ear-piercing snores at night.Because really,this strange man who sleeps next to you every night is starting to piss the hell out of you.

But the problem arises.By the time you feel these emotions for your partner,you are already too old to divorce or to find a new partner.You cant even choose affair as an option because you are probably too old for that too.Just imagine the wrinkles at the end of your eyes,the loose skin under your chin and the veins around your feet.Who is going to have an affair with somebody like you,unless you are filthy rich or disgustingly wealthy(Wait,they are the same,right)?

What i am saying is,at the end of a relationship when love dies,it is all about compromises for one another.At old age,love doesnt really matter anymore.Of course,there are cases when a person's love for another follows him or her to the grave.But let's face the statistics and the facts,how many of those poetic and dramatic life stories do we get in reality?Not a lot i am afraid,and the truth is at that age people are living for each other,because all we want is somebody to be there at our old age.Because unlike teenagers,the older population in any society can be the most helpless and lonely bunch of people in the world.

*

I wonder what the orders were,what the old lady's daughter or son was thinking when he or she ordered the maid to bring her down to the void deck."Take my mother down to the void deck because my father is dead.Entertain her somehow,walk her like a dog.Or just sit around the void deck and stare at her,i dont care.Just as long as she gets some fresh air,and i get some freedom in my home finally.I am dying with her mere fucking existence" ?Can you imagine the instruction?Can you picture that scene in the livingroom one fine Saturday afternoon?Just imagine the employer saying that to the maid,and the maid being forced to interact,or communicate with the old lady.The probably couldnt communicate in any way,considering the language barrier,and it's not like the act of pushing her down to the void deck displayed any form of respect in the first place.She probably felt insulted,being walked like a dog but only,without the walking and a leash.

Oh i'm sorry,you guys were probably too bloody busy with your own narrow lives.Very convenient to just ask the maid to push your mother down to the void deck like that,when all she needs in truth at that kind of age is the company of others,and not family members feeling like strangers.They dont need to breathe fresh air with a maid in sight,but a person there whom she can talk to,relate to,whom she had liked or loved some point in her life.That is the role of a husband at times,at the end of a relationship and when love doesnt exist anymore.It is about the company,and it is about the existence of somebody to hold,to talk to and to be entertained.Because at that kind of age,how many old people can actually say that they dont feel depressed or in any way,lonely?

Sure,push me down to the void deck,let me see the kids in the swimming pools.Show me the road and the busy cars.Let me feel free,because that's all i need in life.Go ahead and message on that handphone of yours maid,i will mind my own business staring.Oh,look at that kid coming up the steps,in that black polo shirt and jeans.Why is he looking at me like that?Is he seeing my fears,oh what is he looking at?The awkward silence between myself and the maid?The regrets in my life,or the longing for a conversation partner?Stop looking at me like that.Stop looking at me like that.STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.

*

I think at the end of the line,all we ask for is to have this warm body next to ours in bed at night.You cant replace that warm body with a dog's,or a maid's,or a bundle of pillows.It certainly doesnt work that way,because they are not nearly as responsive as the person that you once liked and loved.I know,that at the end of the day it is all about compromises,but at least when that time comes,you can still look back with him by your side and be glad that you once HAD,and not to think back all alone and then weep deep into the night.

The truth is,we as youngsters can never fully comprehend what it is like to be old,to be withering away as the world grows at the speed of sound.Can we not imagine what it is going to be like when we are old,with the people in departmental stores giving you those cold stares,like you are merely a burden to our society?That feeling of dejection and rejection,can we comprehend that feeling?Can we,really?