Holding Out (April24)

                      

The usual passing parade this morning with friends old & new. Offers of a cuppa from the Haig delivery-man with the Viet girlfriend that he's hoping can win over his mother and thereby open the way to marriage. Lass proved herself over a number of years now, though the mother was still resistant. Two or three enquiries on lunch. Makan? Have you eaten? They mean it. You'll get a plate if you want. (Both the Chinese and Malays—and in fact the Tamils too—share the same old greeting: Ni chile ma? Makan? and Sappit’ing’la, respectively. At least the old Chinese of Geylang. (Many of the younger Chinese could not possibly know of the former standard.) An old chap unsighted all these many months earlier, lonely "Chinaman", venturing some chat: You American?... British?... European? The answers were not important. Greatly encouraged by any response. Tourist? Working?... Engineer? IT Engineer??... (Firm negatives failing to dissuade from single-toothed grins of pleasure.) Good, good, good. Old Malay Security Guard one of the ones standing back hesitant before the clear signs of occupation: the book, pens, newspaper. This morning he told of heartache at the old former kampung across the road with all its people, family & friends, unable to be brought back. Beyond the most fervent prayers. Could he achieve anything by it the man would pray endlessly, he said. Some people had refused to leave when the government tried to move them on; couldn't be muscled. You know what they did? Surrounded their houses with banked dirt.  The rains brought it down upon their heads. Mud, impossible to endure. Finally the chubby Malay Chin with the minimal English working at one of the Mr. T. T. back-counters, still fruitlessly seeking a girl. Tall one, short one; blonde would be nice, but he'd settle for less. A phone number or intro. Anything. Months and months past pleading. The trip to Java, could he accompany? This morning near the end of the sit coming across to the table. Rarely does this chap intrude; rarely venture. The fatty jokes perhaps stung a little. (No more.) Most of the exchange with this young unhappy man glancing and in passing. This morning, over he bowls.

         — Where my girlfriend?
         ….Ah. Oh… On the way, buddy. Still sorting through the candidates. It's gotta be a good one, right? You're certainly not forgotten...
        — I die, ready!
         Classic Singlish construction. Someone familiar would appreciate more.