On a cab home, my taxi-driver who is triggered by a sudden memory, swings around and blurts- you know Miss?
No, sir I don’t.
With precise oratorical skills, he narrated the events spanning three decades back, without break or pause to ponder, no the memory came out in staccato-fashion, like a band major not missing a beat.
Well you know way back one day in 1977, when I was a boy living somewhere near Ten Mile Junction, that day that the rain came all the way up to my chest? To my chest! We had to hide from the water on the second floor, and that night, we all shivered under one wet blanket, my entire family. We waited the whole night for the waters to subside. When the rain waters finally came down- to my knees, I remember, I went downstairs and first thing to do was I had to cook us some food. That taste of the hot food, that was the best minced meat porridge I had in my entire life.
He goes on.
That house was great. Now its the land of the Land Transport Authority. Moved us out. But I can see my mango tree there still. Pity I can’t have any fruit. Not me. Even though that’s our mango tree right there. I bought it myself – the mango tree was from India sold for $35, and I planted it. Now I can’t even have the fruit, but that’s my mango tree alright Miss?
He went back home- to Ang Mo Kio, right behind a certain well-known convent school for girls.
Bless him. Never met a more spirited man at nearly 10pm in the night, ready to wind up and head home. And extra kudos for not being a deadbeat dad- he is heading home to five daughters- 20, 19, 17, 14, and 10 years old, all convent girls -’the school is known for churning out the best students!, you read the papers?’ The pride was so inspirational. I told him he was a lucky man. But maybe multiply this man by five, they’re lucky girls.
I hope your girls make you happy sir, bless you.
Posted on November 8, 2010
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