I had dinner in the West Coast Road Market today.
I ordered my food from an old lady. A hunching, balding man took my order for a 100-Plus in the coarsest voice I’ve ever heard. When he returned with my change, he had a hard time handing over the coins to me. He then sat down at a table beside me, accompanied by another old man, who had earlier passed in front of me singing an old Hokkien tune.
In fact, looking around the hawker center, I realized the median age for the people there was about 65. I’m only 25 this year.
My HDB estate has seen at least 6 funerals already in the last 12 months since I moved here, I expect many more.
When I walk back from NUS, I catch a glimpse of old men loitering in void deck, sometimes playing Chinese Chess. Others would sit around and chit chat. Once, there was this old man who played the Erhu, and sung along with it. I found it very poignant.
Back home in KL, I stay with my grandparents. One is almost blind, my grandmother is getting mentally slow. Without her dentures, her cheeks would just stoop down.
I see old age wherever I go, I notice it and I wonder: What would it be like growing old watching my time pass, fading like the day that turns to night?
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