One Fine Morning

It is one of those mornings. As I awake just that slightly earlier today, I tell myself it is a good opportunity to further another of my New Year’s resolution to be on time, or even, early, for work.

I busy around my room, picking out my clothes and I eventually settle for a multi-coloured striped short-sleeved shirt – with colours of orange, lime green, pale yellow, black, white, khaki, grey and pale blue, a multitude indeed – and my latest pair of favourite white denim pants.

After packing my bag, putting on my makeup and donning my accessories, I am ready to leave. I feel good, thinking that for once, I will really be early.

And then, as Murphy will have it, an old favourite song of mine, "You to Me, are Everything" comes on Class 95. This song always reminds me of my old friend, Benjamin, who sang it to me before and whom, each time I’m with later, always find ourselves hearing the song somewhere or other. I decide, in a few brief seconds, that I am going to dance!

So dance, I do. I skip and move around my room, just slightly at first, my senses still dull in the early morning but as the music kicks in, so do the motions and soon, I find myself wiggling around the corners of my bed, looking stupid but feeling happy and enjoying myself at that hour.

And then, I dash off to work.

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The first person I meet on my way out is the gardener cum cleaner at our estate. He only started work sometime late last year, replacing another auntie. We used to exchange greetings – that auntie and I. But this gentleman doesn’t smile and I hesitate to say hello to him after my first attempt brought little response.

But I try again. These days, he acknowledges my presence when he stops sweeping his leaves even though he is some distance away, whenever I walk past. In return, I offer a brief smile. I hope he takes it the way I intend it to be – a friendly hello.

Today, as I am feeling good, I sense a lighter skip in my step and I feel as if I am half jumping along the cobbled pathway. I wonder what he thinks of each resident of the estate as they walk past him every morning – each with their own preoccupations, each his own step and each with her own intent look.

Does he wonder what they do at work? Try to guess by the way they dress? I am usually dressed casually since my work does not dictate that I don anything formal. But there are many who are dressed in what I call "power suits" or walk with that swagger as they carry their expensive briefcases, laptops and PDAs. Then again, they are usually not the ones who tread on the slippery cobbled paths but head straight to the basement where their Lexuses, Mercedes Benzes or BMWs are safely stowed away.

For the rest of us common folk, I wonder what Gardener-Cleaner-Uncle thinks of. I wonder too, if he wishes he holds an office job like us or if he is secretly happy with being out there in the garden every morning, and being able to slowly enjoy the cool dew in the morning air, watch the dogs and occasional stray cat hopping around at play, and make friends with the older folk in my estate who take their morning walks. Does he appreciate what the rest of us, who rush about in those same hours, fail to notice?

+++++

I rush on.

My next stretch of road I have to cross to get to my first bus stop opens up in front of me and this morning, I take that road with cheer.

It is still a good day.

I have walked past these houses for almost eight years. There is one family inhabited by some rather rude people. I find their entire household, well, screwed up. They like to walk in the middle of the road, children and adults, with no regard for passing cars. I have even seen them kicking the tyres and the sides of the cars parked by the side of the road. I dislike that family immensely. They are rude and uncouth, and they make comments about passing strangers. Someday, I will like to throw a rock at them.

Another house has a golden retriever and a black cat. Their previous retriever just died recently. That dog has been with them for years, since before I moved to my estate. I’ve watched it age and gradually grow from a limping dog to one that cannot move. I knew its days were numbered and that made me sad. He was a sweet dog. One day, it just wasn’t there anymore.

The family was quick to replace it with another retriever. I think I will do the same when my cat dies. The replacement might make the grief of loss easier to bear. In any case, this new retriever gets along very well with the black cat that has taken up residence at this house too. Strange.

At the end of the road, by the last house, an old auntie is watering her potted plants. She is dressed in a very light pale green matching top and pants, the kind that the older generation wears in one set. Her short, curly hair is tinged with many white strands. She is bending low over her plants but looks up as she hears me walking towards her.

I look at her as she looks up at me. I think about what her day must be like. What will she do after this? Maybe she’s prepared a pot of black kopi-o and it is sitting on her dining table waiting for her. Perhaps she’ll enjoy her breakfast by herself, and then proceed on to Serangoon Gardens to catch up with some old friends? There may be a mahjong game lined up for her sometime today, a game I will love to join in.

Does she think about her granddaughter as I walk by? What does she do? Well, I suppose she is merely thinking about how her plants are growing and how pleased she is to be able to water them everyday and to watch them bloom.

+++++

I see my approaching bus even as I reach the bus-stop. As I step on the bus, I renew my New Year’s resolution to smile and acknowledge bus drivers. It is really merely a response on my part. I’ve noticed that the drivers today, especially those on the buses around Serangoon Gardens, tend to do their job with a little more heart. Some of them smile at each commuter while others actually bellow out a "Good Morning!" to us.

So I decided with the dawn of 2007, that I will return that greeting.

It started out well because I was merely returning the smiles that some of the drivers offer. Lately, it hasn’t been going on so well.

Firstly, I found myself smiling at a very angry-looking driver. Someone might have pissed him off earlier and he probably thought I was a cuckoo.

Secondly, some drivers look lecherous and as I smile at them, they look at me funny, probably wondering if I’m sane and possibly believing I’m not. I don’t really want to know what other thoughts passed through their heads.

Yesterday, I half decided to do away with this silly resolution.
But today, I did not.

So we shall see.

It’s amazing how many people I meet in one brief morning. How many lives are intertwined on just one street, I don’t know.

It is equally amazing how I can live eight years in one estate and not know even two families on the street I am on. How many life stories they could have shared with me, I wouldn’t know. I know they have as many stories as we all do. And in some way, I believe we all yearn to share our life stories, even as testament that we have passed this way, in this game of life.

What’s your story?