The Morning After

Truly does feel like one is being targeted specifically here. Virtually every visit to NTUC at J. C. Complex the thing comes on at the top of the escalator as if a trip wire has been crossed. Where there was silence before, a mind focused on the Wheat Bix second row on the right, the swelling flood suddenly pouring down without warning: ....Take….these broken wings.... Inundating the brain, the frontal lobe, and deeply saturating. Take….these broken wings....and help him fly again whatnot repeated how many times as if the needle was sticking. Exposed and nowhere to hide there beneath the fluro glare. There was no counterpart to Jingle Bells for the Muslim festive season, nor the Gong xi fa cai — gong xi, gong xi, gong xi ni....of CNY. So “broken wings” perhaps, delicately referencing the saints and angels of the Islamic world in the run-up to Ramadan and Hari Raya. It sounds far-fetched. A stretch, granted. But you would not put it past these programmers here, really. You would not. As anticipated, many inches in the morning’s paper were devoted to the celebrations of the day before. Happy MAY DAY! was the banner at the main rally at Downtown East, attended by the Prime Minister. Again, polos as anticipated: orange and yellow for functionaries who were being re-routed by the PM (in cherry-ripe red himself) after recommendations from the relevant committees. These recommendations had been accepted; so-be-it, agreed the paramount leader. As in all the years previously, once more at the Wadi tables in the afternoon there had been no twigging at the crowd. Oh! A gathering. It happened occasionally. No twigging it was a mandated public holiday in Singapore. You read right. Singapore celebrating May One. May Day no less. The day of the toilers &etc. Nevertheless, one of the young cherubic journos in the newspaper coverage next morning was reminding the populace in his column that the workers should remember there was no such thing as a free lunch. Or was it no-one owed anyone a living in this life…. Young dude pictured early thirties had studied hard at university, attained all his insights and now delivered. Salutary reminder of the way of the world duly delivered next morning, May 2, in case anyone was getting ahead of themselves. Evening coming down quickly as usual in Lower Geylang, not so many noticing the blush through the trees in the West. Clouds prevented Manager Zahruddin from removing the awnings. Couple chapatti and dahl would suffice for supper, the  concession a fourth teh halia after the privation in Jogja. Leaning back lazily in the green plastic chair in that settled calm, a sight that still, despite oneself, could disturb and unnervingly rattle. Here was a tousle-haired fellow not having had a good day you could see immediately. Hanging his head more than a bit and held up by his girl as they paced toward the Changi corner returning to their pigeon hole after the trials endured between breakfast and the supper hour. Take the FIRST STEP was black with faded white lettering. Newly bought the fabric had sat more handsomely on that light frame. The chap had crumpled since; the collar of the tee stretched and come loose. Chap had tried, done his darndest striding forward; just lately it wasn’t working. There were obstacles and unexpected misfortunes. Set-back on his heels temporarily and catching breath, this might not prove his undoing. The lass at his side offered hope. Together they would continue with a will onward and steadily forward. Just now it mightn’t look like it.