When you pass by somebody familiar, you’re unsure whether that person still remembers you. But you’re quite certain that it is the person you once respected, looked up to, or idolised. And you start to wonder: what has happened to him or her over the years to result in him or her to become in that state (whether good or bad)? How were the wrinkles over his face formed over the years? How did that scar on his forehead appear? What place does he live in now? Is he still able to speak coherently now?
I headed home from Sim Lim Square a couple of days back after a fruitless hardware shopping session there. That day, after meeting a friend for a short lunch at Bugis, I went to Sim Lim to look for something to buy.
The only straight bus home was from the bus stop opposite Tekka Centre across the canal. I rarely preferred buses because they usually take longer to bring me back than the trains do, especially with their lousy arrival frequencies. But somehow, it was an instinctive decision to take the bus home that day, and also probably because I didn’t want to walk to the MRT station which was a good 10 minutes away.
I sat on an empty seat at the bus stop beside a haggard old man. Actually, the old people you see on the streets nowadays are all haggard actually so the former description was probably redundant.
I started to scrutinise him. It was not by choice but rather due to the direction I was looking towards – the right, to see whether my bus has arrived. I observed him, with an almost bald head, wearing a shirt with shorts and covered shoes. Occasionally, he would turn in my direction, perhaps aware that I had been watching him.
He was my primary school teacher. When I was primary three, he coached me basketball. It was when I was still too young to even do a proper lay-up, was still 1.2 metres tall, and was the shortest member in the entire basketball school team. (Yes, I was in! Believe me!) I recognised his features immediately. He was almost unmistakable.
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. Sometimes, he would touch his almost bald head, maybe a gesture he’s gotta used to when he previously had more hair.
10 minutes passed. The bus didn’t come. I still haven’t spoke to him. He would repeat those gestures, perhaps showing his frustrations with the inability for the buses to keep to their schedules.
He was wearing a checkered shirt, and navy blue shorts, and had a cardholder in his pocket. I continued to scrutinise him, trying to find any trace that would lead me to finding out what he was probably doing now.
20 minutes passed. I didn’t speak to him though I had the strong urge to. I sat at my seat, trying to gather courage. What if he wasn’t the person I thought he was? Worse still, what if he wasn’t able to speak?
But more importantly in my mind, where did he go to since he retired? What is he doing now? Is he now a rag and bone man? Is he doing his own business? Is he happily retired at home? Is he married or still alone?
But none of them could override my instincts, that were telling me that he was not in a exactly a good state. Neither his dressing nor his gestures suggested that he was in good wealth or good health. Hmm…but wait a minute. He was a teacher, and don’t teachers have pensions, eh?
“Uncle, what bus are you waiting for?” I broke the silence and asked in Mandarin. (And in a kinda weird fashion.)
“851. The bus is taking so long to come!”
“Uncle, were you a teacher?”
“Hmm….. What is your name?”
“Taught in Kuo Chuan Presbyterian Primary? Used to coach basketball too?”
Our conversation started like that and carried on till the bus came. 68 this year, he was still teaching, albeit as a relief teacher, at Balastier Hill Primary School.
“The kids are damn naughty nowadays,” he lamented.
Ya, I agreed. Having attended CEP Exclusive, I knew what he meant. ha.
“Nowadays, everything’s being taught by computers. Luckily I knew how to use one.”
“I couldn’t not work with our ever increasing costs of living.”
“Singapore’s being invaded by foreigners and they are taking our jobs away.”
…….
14 years on (1994 when I was in primary 3), I never expected to see a familiar face in the midst of our concrete jungle on a random day. People come and go in our lives. Nowadays, technology has changed how people interact with one another. Teachers have students as friends on their Facebook. Schoolmates wouldn’t be afraid of losing contact with one another after graduation thanks to MSN. And with handphones, you could be notified if someone got married.
What about life without them? People who had once touched our lives would have disappeared without a trace, leaving behind only memories at the back of our heads. Even if they died, you wouldn’t have known. There’s absolutely no way you could know without any means of communication with them.
But also because of technology, we somewhat start to take our friends for granted. Each friend lose importance because with the sheer amount of people around and the ease of knowing them, you could easily find one to replace one that you’ve lost.
……
“You still remember me? Was I fierce last time?”
“No lah, not at all! The other basketball teacher was fiercer.”
……
45 minutes later, the bus came. It was sardine-packed.
“Go, young man. You’re energetic. I shall wait for the next.”
Up the bus I went. That would probably be… the last I would see of him. But this brief yet meaningful meeting, I hope, would be his greatest satisfaction in his career as a teacher.
Posted by psyber85 
Posted by psyber85 
Posted by psyber85 
