See alot, Learn alot
Having nothing better to do other than entertain thoughts of travelling, doing chores for people with big houses for a small fee or climbing over condo walls to swim for fun, or visiting annabel's church, I decided to follow my brother jafakree to Bukt Panjang Plaza. he was helping a friend with a flat that needed to be showed around, so I waited at BPP and suddenly decided that if life was to have any meaning at all, I would humbly put into action a thought I had conjured up not too long ago.
What it must be to live until one is old and frail and to, only then, know! Surely old men know truths young men do not. I would cheat life today and be honest about it. It was a good time to communicate with fellow fish.
I came along Wang and Lim. For the confused and immersed slang-americanized Chinese and Asians, Wang is pronounced WH-Uh-NG not waaang.
By chance, that characteristic of life, I spotted him outside the Ah Wang Cafe benches alone, looking out toward the light from the shade. His skinny legs were crossed, his arms folded feebly. His weathered, haggard face and stained clothes beckoned me. I resisted, and walked around the locality, passing another elderly man doing his 4D lottery tickets. But I finally returned to Wang and his mid-level cataracts. Embracing the beauty of the connectedness of life in its entirety, I sat down next to him. I guessed that he was 70, he said up, up. I said 75 and he said 73. The eldest of a family of 4, two of which have returned to Old Heaven, he now lives alone without a family of his own. Apparently his wife and children left him for money, and this spurred the conversation along.
In ubiquitous singapore rojak of Hokkien Mandarin Chinese and English we began talking about life. Good and bad people could be differentiated by observation, and by the measures of whether they drank or smoked. I didn't tell him I had a cigar now and then, but we carried on. Bad people were gangsters, and they resolved problems by fighting. The best way, he said, was to take them in one ear, and out through the other, and ignore them, and befriend the good people, those whom one could tell by simply observing in silence.
I had met the nice guy, the street smart labourer and discerner, the observer, the survivor who stayed out of trouble and survived becaused he saw truth in having money in your pocket (put your hand on your pocket and feel the change) instead of its equivalent blowing away in puffs of smoke. He saw wisdom in spending money to eat, and drink, and knew the folly of indulgent alcohol and tobacco.
Lim came along about when Da Wang and I were talking about how expensive cigarettes and bus rides had become. I guessed 75, he said up, up, I said 78, he said 80. Lim is the son of the brother of Lim Bo Seng. He told me his greatest regret in life was not having spend more of his grandfathers fortune on holidays and treats, and not learning more Mandarin. He was English educated from a young age, and if he could, he would have studied further, and credited the occupation of the Japanese for this regret. We darted from topic to topic, talking about the war and how the Japanese were crazy and shot even those who surrendered, unlike the Americans who invented a lot of things and were compassionate not to bomb Tokyo but just blast Hiroshima. As a fortunate son his filial business line son supports him and fetches hm for meals now and then. I asked, and he told me Gui Hui died two years ago from cancer, a relapse from 5 years back. Did he still ache from her demise? No, this is life. Was she pretty? "Of course, I say yes, other people say no way! But of course I say yes; she's my lover!" Later, Da Wang left us.
Expectedly some intervals allowed me to share about myself. Lim saw my writing material and subtle scribbling, and commented to Wang that I had good writing skills. I elaborated that I had completed some studies in journalism and communcations, that I was a fortunate son with loving parents, but I was seeking wisdom and truth from old men. In some geniality he told Wang I was intelligent, and that I should go out and see the world; see alot, learn alot. Scrunching his wrinkled affable slim face Lim says life is very short, and time flies. Was it wise to pursue money in a doldrum life, I asked.
Of greatest importance in life? Health. Then, happiness, then money.
Of course, we talked about the too perfect government, the 100% perfect finesse of Lee Kuan Yew, and that a 50% perfect would have been OK too, albeit crediting him for what Singapore is today.
Would Da Wang still smoke and drink now, if he could?
What it must be to live until one is old and frail and to, only then, know! Surely old men know truths young men do not. I would cheat life today and be honest about it. It was a good time to communicate with fellow fish.
I came along Wang and Lim. For the confused and immersed slang-americanized Chinese and Asians, Wang is pronounced WH-Uh-NG not waaang.
By chance, that characteristic of life, I spotted him outside the Ah Wang Cafe benches alone, looking out toward the light from the shade. His skinny legs were crossed, his arms folded feebly. His weathered, haggard face and stained clothes beckoned me. I resisted, and walked around the locality, passing another elderly man doing his 4D lottery tickets. But I finally returned to Wang and his mid-level cataracts. Embracing the beauty of the connectedness of life in its entirety, I sat down next to him. I guessed that he was 70, he said up, up. I said 75 and he said 73. The eldest of a family of 4, two of which have returned to Old Heaven, he now lives alone without a family of his own. Apparently his wife and children left him for money, and this spurred the conversation along.
In ubiquitous singapore rojak of Hokkien Mandarin Chinese and English we began talking about life. Good and bad people could be differentiated by observation, and by the measures of whether they drank or smoked. I didn't tell him I had a cigar now and then, but we carried on. Bad people were gangsters, and they resolved problems by fighting. The best way, he said, was to take them in one ear, and out through the other, and ignore them, and befriend the good people, those whom one could tell by simply observing in silence.
I had met the nice guy, the street smart labourer and discerner, the observer, the survivor who stayed out of trouble and survived becaused he saw truth in having money in your pocket (put your hand on your pocket and feel the change) instead of its equivalent blowing away in puffs of smoke. He saw wisdom in spending money to eat, and drink, and knew the folly of indulgent alcohol and tobacco.
Lim came along about when Da Wang and I were talking about how expensive cigarettes and bus rides had become. I guessed 75, he said up, up, I said 78, he said 80. Lim is the son of the brother of Lim Bo Seng. He told me his greatest regret in life was not having spend more of his grandfathers fortune on holidays and treats, and not learning more Mandarin. He was English educated from a young age, and if he could, he would have studied further, and credited the occupation of the Japanese for this regret. We darted from topic to topic, talking about the war and how the Japanese were crazy and shot even those who surrendered, unlike the Americans who invented a lot of things and were compassionate not to bomb Tokyo but just blast Hiroshima. As a fortunate son his filial business line son supports him and fetches hm for meals now and then. I asked, and he told me Gui Hui died two years ago from cancer, a relapse from 5 years back. Did he still ache from her demise? No, this is life. Was she pretty? "Of course, I say yes, other people say no way! But of course I say yes; she's my lover!" Later, Da Wang left us.
Expectedly some intervals allowed me to share about myself. Lim saw my writing material and subtle scribbling, and commented to Wang that I had good writing skills. I elaborated that I had completed some studies in journalism and communcations, that I was a fortunate son with loving parents, but I was seeking wisdom and truth from old men. In some geniality he told Wang I was intelligent, and that I should go out and see the world; see alot, learn alot. Scrunching his wrinkled affable slim face Lim says life is very short, and time flies. Was it wise to pursue money in a doldrum life, I asked.
Of greatest importance in life? Health. Then, happiness, then money.
Of course, we talked about the too perfect government, the 100% perfect finesse of Lee Kuan Yew, and that a 50% perfect would have been OK too, albeit crediting him for what Singapore is today.
Would Da Wang still smoke and drink now, if he could?
posted by doug3fflux at
1:40 AM
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