Short stories

The man is running on the beach in his red swim trunk.

I see his calf and thigh muscles bulging and contracting in the rhythm of his steps, his biceps and triceps screaming for attention in every swing of his arms, his naked torso glistening under the evening sun like the polished sculpture of a Greek god. His stomach was flat and taut, with not even an inch of flab. The heaving chest was boasting a pair of perfectly-formed pectoral muscles, and I could not pull my eyes away from it.

"Oh God, I'm staring at man-boobs!" I feel disgusted as I pressed the button on the remote control.

With a blink the television screen turned blank, wiping off the fantasy lifeguard. Only if reality could be turn off with such ease, I wished.

I was slumped on the sofa of my living room, with a cup of instant noodle in my hand. As I slurped away the last strand of the noodle, I sneaked a peek down my legs. The pair of pudgy limbs reminded me of snooker table's legs. Instead of a flat steely washboard, my tummy was a bouncing, rotund ball of flesh. I pinched the flesh around it, and held those two inches of flab between my fingers. And if there was such a thing as a male-bra, I probably needed a B-cup for the sagging twins.

"You too can have a dream body. Don't give up!"

I turned my head to the direction of the voice.

It came from the treadmill standing proudly at the corner of the room. I was totally freaked out when it spoke to me for the first time, but now I was used to it. The treadmill was no ordinary exercise machine. It was the top-of-the-range PTX3000 model with a grey plastic console that housed an 8'' LCD monitor and assortment of buttons. From a touch-sensitive heartbeat sensor to muscle-density measurement, it had more than enough tools to tell me how in or out of shape I was. It even had a DVD drive and built-in TV receiver to ensure endless hours of entertainment while I was sweating it out. The console was held between two white metallic arms, which looked like the twin neck of the machine that linked the console to the running mill below. The running belt was made of durable plastic with a layer of black soft rubber to provide cushion to the user. There was a handle at both side of the machine, clad in matching black rubber grip, and the handles were adjustable to the height of the user.

No doubt that the machine was engineered to provide maximum comfort and safety while pushing the user to the limits of physical perfection. Else I would not have bought it two months ago.

During the first few days I woke up an hour early than usual to jog on the treadmill. Then in the evening I spent another hour sweating it out before dinner. I felt so alert and alive for that few days, until day number five. That morning I woke up with chains of lethargy coiled around my body. Every movement of my limbs was accompanied by throbs of pain. Apparently on my way to the fitness nirvana, I got sidetracked into the hall of physical suffering. But that was not unexpected, considering I had not exercised regularly for five years. It would take time for my thirty year old body to adapt to this new rigorous regime. Not so easy to be back 'in the zone', so to speak. Thus I told myself to take it easy; not to overdo it and think of long-term.

"Don't learn to fly before you learn to walk!" I quoted the Chinese proverb to myself, and grinned. Not everyone could turn words of wisdom into weapon of procrastination.

So that day I lowered my expectation and revised the work out schedule. I rewarded myself with a one-day break between three consecutive workout days. The three to one ratio sounded good. Or at least for a week it did. One cold and rainy morning a week later, I pulled the blanket over my head, and revised my schedule to a more reasonable and humane ratio of one-one.

Once my will power wavered, the ratio became alive; fluctuating and changing on its own. As of this morning, two months after I first stepped on the treadmill, the ratio was at one-seven. Yes, it had been seven days since I last touched the machine.

"Mr. Chua, it has been seven days, four hours and thirty seconds since the last time you used PTX3000. Please do not give up. It's never easy in the beginning, but it's always worth it in the end," said the syrupy female voice from the console, coaxing me back onto the painful path to physical perfection.

Its advertising blurb was not lying when it claimed 'Having a PTX3000 is like having a personal trainer at home!' I just did not expect it to nag at me! It started two days ago, and the frequency of the advices had been increasing gradually. Worst of all, there was no way of shutting it up. I already pulled its plug from the socket, but apparently the treadmill came with an internal battery in its console. More than a few times I had considered using an axe to hack the machine into pieces, but its three-thousand ringgit price-tag killed that notion.

I was about to call them to complain when my hand phone rang.

"Good evening, Mr Chua," a familiar voice cheerfully greeted me.

"My name's Agnes, and I'm calling from Perfect Solution. We've been receiving feedback from Ir PTX3000 treadmill, and we understand that you're not actively using it."

"Are you serious?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes sir! We're very serious about our customer's fitness. Here at Perfect Solution we …"

"I meant the treadmill actually sent feedback to you guys?" I cut her off.

"Yes sir! Our treadmills are programmed to inform us if the customer is not benefiting from their investment."

Wow. Not only the machine knows how to nag me to exercise, it also can seek help from outside. I could not help but being impressed.

"We ran a thorough scan on your machine, and found no mechanical or software defect. So pardon us for being so direct, but we feel the problem is you, Mr Chua."

Guilty as charged, I said nothing.

"If it's convenient, we would like to invite you to our office tomorrow. We would like to work with you on an alternative plan, or at least refund your purchase."

Wow! While many companies out there promised refund, this is the first time a company actually offered me a refund on its own accord and initiative. No complain letter was needed. Without a single word of threat uttered. And it was not even their product's defect or anything like that.

Something was definitely not right.

***

The next afternoon I was at the showroom of Perfect Solution in MegaValley shopping mall.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Perfect Solution," a young lad cheerfully greeted me as soon as I stepped into the showroom.

"Hi, good afternoon. I'm here to see Ms. Agnes Lim," I told him.

"Oh, you must be Mr Chua. Please follow me this way, sir!" The sales personnel escorted me into one of the consultation rooms at the back. It was a small rectangular room with a low wooden table in the middle, and a three-seat leather sofa at one side. An aquarium filled with myriad species of small colourful fishes was perched on a wooden cabinet on the opposite side of the room.

"Would I like some coffee or tea, Mr Chua?" he asked with a smile.

"Coffee will be great, thanks!" I answered. He nodded and left the room.

Barely two minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and a young lady stepped into the room. She was wearing a buttoned-down white shirt with black mini-shirt, which accentuated her curvy figures. Her hair was short, and tinted light brown to compliment the colour of her twinkling set of eyes. She found the perfect balance; looking very appealing without compromising her aura of professionalism.
"Hi, Mr Chua! I'm Agnes," she flashed a winning smile and held out her hand.

As soon as both of us were seated on the sofa, an elderly lady arrived with a tray of beverages and cookies. Everything seemed to operate with a clockwork precision here.

"Mr Chua, as I mentioned on the phone last night, we're very concerned about the drop of activity level in your fitness programme," her voice was soft, but firm. "And based on our latest anabolic and vital rates analysis, we do not believe that you have any physical difficulty to continue enjoying the PTX3000. Therefore, sorry if we're too direct, the problem is your mind. To be specific, you lack of the necessary will power to stay on the difficult path towards your physical well-being. "

That was a nice way to tell me that I was a lazy bum with no discipline to exercise. She flashed her million-dollar smile again, and I wondered who could ever get angry to that face?
"Well, I guess it's my fault. Sometimes I just feel too lazy to work out," I admitted.

"Don't worry, Mr Chua. That's why we're here today. I believe everyone can have a dream body. We'll help you with to achieve it. Just don't give up!" her voice syrupy sweet.

Suddenly I recognize the voice. It was the same voice from my treadmill console, but with a subtle yet important difference. Each word coming from that girl had the warmth of emotions, compared to the cold, robotic intonation by the machine. Perhaps that was something technology still cannot duplicate. Not yet, anyway.

"How are you going to help me? And how much do I have to pay?" I cheekily asked. There was no such thing as a free lunch.

She took out a piece of paper from her leather briefcase and handed it over to me.

"This is a cheque for three thousand one hundred ringgit. It's the refund for your treadmill, plus addition goodwill payment for all your troubles."

I paused for a moment, and then looked straight into her eyes, "So what's the catch?"

Her eyes suddenly twinkled with excitement, and the sweetness of her smile was raised to another level. It was so saccharine that I could have drunk the coffee on the table without a single pinch of sugar, and not noticed the difference. It would not be easy to say 'no' to her, whatever she was going to sell to me.

"The condition of the refund is simply; you have to try these on for at least 2 hours."

Agnes reached inside her briefcase again, and pulled out a silver envelope. The packaging reminded me of the facial masks that my ex-girlfriend religiously wore at night. She tore open the envelope, and pulled out a round silver patch the size of a fifty cent coin. It looked like those nicotine patch used by smokers to quit their habit.

"This is one of those medicine patches, right?" I asked.

She nodded, and explained, "Not quite, but it's something like that."

"You guys want me to try some drugs in order for me to get a refund?" The tide of anger suddenly rose inside my chest. I knew there must be a catch somewhere; most probably customized training programmes or other schemes that cost me money. But never in a thousand years would I have imagined their audacity to push drugs.

"We're not going to put any drug into your body, Mr Chua. Instead, the patch will imbue you with something that has been lacking in your system lately," Agnes replied calmly. The smile never left her face.
"And what may that be?"

She stared into my eyes, and gave me an enigmatic look.

"Trust me, Mr Chua. You're not going to believe if I tell you."

***

My feet felt as if I was running barefooted on shards of glasses. My lung was breathing in pebbles of fire, which were burning my spine. The world was spinning around me, urging me to end this torture; to collapse.

"Hang on there, Mr Chua! You're very close to your target, but not quite there yet," the robotized voice of Agnes gave me the encouragement.

"Yes, I can do it! I must do it!" my voice shouted inside my head.

About a minute later, I could feel the roller began to slow down, letting me warm down as I trotted towards my targeted distance.

"Congratulations, Mr Chua! You've completed a 2.5 km run today!" the voice came from the console three minutes and seven seconds later.

I wobbled off the treadmill and sunk down onto my sofa; indifferent to the disgusting fact that my perspiration had drenched the fabric cushion. With a practiced gesture, I flicked open a can of 100 Plus and downed its content with a long, slow but uninterrupted gulp. My body was sore and battered, but not my mind. I was happy, and frankly, insatiable. I felt like running another kilometer, but I knew the roller would not move another inch. That was another one of its high-tech features; it would push its user to the physical limits, but by using its complicated bio-metric sensors it ensure that he would not step over the line. I threw a glance at the workout chart on the wall, next to the treadmill. I had not missed a single day of the new fitness programme prepared by Agnes during our meeting eight days ago.


When she first told me about the patch, I laughed in her face.

"Oh, come on! I think this is one hell of an original idea. But, come on, you expect anyone to believe that?" I scoffed at her explanation. To her credit, her smile was as enchanting and sweet as ever.

"Honestly, this is the first time I heard of anything as absurd like this. Your marketing people get high marks not only for originality, but also bravery for even trying to pull this off. You're really insulting the intelligence of your customers! " I ranted on and on, hoping for a reaction from her. But there was none. In fact, the look from her eyes suggested that this was not the first time such accusations were thrown onto her face.

"Mr Chua, I know the concept is very radical. Your reaction is totally to be expected, and understandable," she explained calmly. She was good, very good indeed.

"This patch is the end product of many years of scientific researches by some of the top scientists in the world. It's touted as one of the biggest technology break-through in the past fifty years."

I threw a cold, skeptical stare into her eyes and she returned it with the conviction of an acolyte.

"You're serious?"

She nodded her head.

"Oh, hell! No use for me to argue this with you. If I put this on for two hours, I will get my refund back, right?"

"Yes. That is, if you still want to return the treadmill to us. Which I really doubt so," she was beaming with confident.

"No drugs or other illegal substances, right?" I needed more assurance.

"Yes, we guarantee that. It's stated in black and white in our Refund Form. Our patch has no drugs or illegal chemical." She pushed the piece of paper across the table towards me.

"It contains only pure will power," she proudly claimed.

There. She said it again. I did not hear it wrongly earlier. The patch was designed to imbue the user with doses of will power. It would increase our enthusiasm and fortify our mental strength to overcome laziness and reluctance. Just like the way those colorful pills at pharmacy counter help our body to produce vitamins.

"We always maintain the high quality of our products, so the will power in our patch is sourced only from proven athletes," she elaborated.

"Athletes?"

"Yes. From our research, we know that athletes have the strongest will power to perform daunting physical exercises. In search of excellence, most of them have to go through endless hours of training, and even overcome the pain-barrier to reach another level of physical perfection," she elaborated.

"I just hope you guys didn't source it from our local footballers!" I jested.

"No, sir, God-forbid! We always maintain the highest level of quality in our products!"

I smiled. It was an interesting concept, but I was still skeptical.

But that was eight days ago.

Today, after using a few packs of the patches, I am a believer. I had never felt so much enthusiasm and willingness, pardon the pun, to exercise as I did in the past eight days. Not even in the days of my youth. The Will Power patch was really a miracle product.

After taking a long shower, I picked up my hand phone and called Agnes.

"Mr Chua! It's so nice to hear from you again," she exuded enthusiasm, as usual.

"Yeah, same here. I just want to tell you that I'm really impressed with your Will Power patch," I told her. Of course I realized she must have already known it, since my PTX3000 was feeding them with my progress reports

"I'm glad that you're happy with our products. I believe you're getting the appropriate returns from your investment now. The samples we gave you were the extract from local athletes. When you're ready, we'll recommend upgrades to International Athletes, and finally to our Olympian Winners patch."

"Yeah, OK." I paused for a moment. "Listen, I'm really intrigued by this wonderful scientific breakthrough, so I'm wondering if there's anyway I can find out more about it."

"Sure, Mr Chua. There's a book titled Neuroscience Evolution by Prof. Alfred Milton. Outside retail price for the book is RM345, but for our customers we're offering a 20% discount."
"Huh? You guys are selling book on this subject?" my voice was layered with surprise.

"We've received so many similar enquiries from our clients. It's only natural for people to be very interested in such a marvelous technology, so our marketing department thought it would be sensible to include the book as our after-sales service," Agnes explained.

"Ok. I think I'll get the book. But it's written by this professor guy, right? I'm just a supervisor in a supermarket, with no degree or what-so-ever knowledge in this neutro-science stuff. Would I have trouble understanding the book?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Mr Chua," she assured me.

"We've wide range of Intelligence patches."

Labels: Chua Kok Yee

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by Chua Kok Yee

Lisa was ten years old when she found a message in the bottle.

She was on holiday with her family at Pulau Pangkor, and strolling along the beach with her eldest sister, Mabel. The sun was sinking into the ocean, leaving fading layers of orange across the graying sky. The ocean shimmered with reflections of the remaining sunshine; a welcoming prelude to the twinkling of the stars arriving soon from high above.

Lisa was shuffling her bare feet along in the soft sand, when she came across a half-buried bottle.

"Ah Jie! Look, there's a bottle there!" she pointed it to her sister. Mabel, who was seven years older than her, picked the dark green bottle up, and dusted away the sand. Then she pulled out the cork, and fished out a roll of brownish paper from inside.

"Is it a pirate's treasure map?" Lisa asked anxiously. She was already wearing an eye-patch and holding a long sword in her mind.

"Hahaha, no, it's not! It's just a message in the bottle," her sister told her.

"A message? What does it says?" Lisa studied the note in her sister's hand.

Both of them were standing at the edge of the water as Mabel's slowly unfolded the roll of note. Even though she squinted, her eyes lightened up when it traced through the lines of the note. Her lips sculptured a smile, and she read the message in the bottle to her little sister. Those simple words seemed to glide across the paper, sailed through the air before it anchored inside Lisa. That evening, under the embrace of the tender sea breeze and vanishing daylight, young Lisa received the first love letter of her life.

If you're holding a small piece of my heart; no matter where you are , I will never be alone again.


Twelve years later, Lisa wrote her first love note on a beach.

"You sure you're OK?" Mabel's voice over the hand phone was soft and tender, with a hint of concern.

Of course I'm not. I just found out that ex-my boyfriend is a pretentious jerk who has been cheating on me all this while. I gave him everything; treated him like a god and asked for nothing more than his love. It hurts like hell when I found out that the person I genuinely love think of me as just another conquest. When we kissed for the first time; I was thinking how special it was. But it must have been just another routine for him, another steps in his scheme to get into my pants. It made me feel so stupid; I'm so frustrated and angry with myself!

"Don't worry, Ah Jie. I'm OK," Lisa told her sister. Her pains were entrenched too deeply inside that she would not be able to share it even if she wanted to. Besides, she knew that she must overcome the pain on her own; only she could stitch back the pieces of her fragmented heart.

"When are you coming home?" her sister asked, but Lisa knew the question was from her mother.

"I'm not sure yet. Most probably next month or so after the results come out." At that time, Lisa was working in a beach resort in Cherating while waiting for the results of her university final examination. But Lisa did not go home the following month.

Upon her graduation, the management of the resort offered her a permanent position. Since she has always loved the tranquility of the seaside, she decided to stay on. From the day she arrived at the beach, she had been religiously taking slow walks along the beach late in the evening. She loved the sound of the waves as it gently rolled over the sand, and then slowly recede into the sea, taking along all the regrets and hurts of yesterday.

During one of her evening strolls, she saw a young girl working building a huge sand castle. The girl, most probably about seven or eight years old, was diligently scoping out buckets of sand with her plastic spade, and then patiently re-shape them as the walls, towers or blocks of her castle. The castle was quite impressive for a young girl to build on her own, with a tower on each of the four corners of its square wall, and a huge tower in the middle of the courtyard.

"Hi there!" Lisa squatted down near the east tower, and waved at the girl. The girl has a pair of huge eyes, and her brownish hair was tied neatly at the back. She looked at Lisa for a moment, then her little lips curved to a smile before she continue to pile wet sand onto the basement of the centre tower.

"That's a nice castle you have there," Lisa tried to coax a conversation.

"Thank you. I hope she'll like it," the girl barely lifted her eyes from her castle.

"Who is it for? Is it for me?" Lisa teased her.

"No, you silly! It's a present for the Mermaid!"

"Oh? You know the mermaid too? She's my friend too. I think she'll love it!"

"Really?" the girl eyes widened with joy.

"Yeah. It's a very nice castle," Lisa assured her.

"I hope tomorrow she will come visit the castle, and we can play together," the girl said, her face brimming with hope.

Lisa stood up, and looked further out towards the sea. A heavy feeling of dread came to her heart as Lisa confirmed her anxiety; the girl has built her castle too close to the edge of the water. When the high tide comes in the morning, the castle will be washed away. Tomorrow the girl would come back to the spot with great hopes, only to be disappointed by the disappearance of her castle. But how do we tell a child that, sometimes in life, our honest toil and pure intentions worth very little?

Lisa stood in silence as the girl put small flags on the top of the towers.

"What if tomorrow when you come here the castle is gone?" Lisa asked. She felt she had to gently prepare the girl for the impending disappointment. The girl continued to adjust one of the flags as if she was ignoring the question. After the flag was straight and flapping in the evening breeze, she returned a question to Lisa,"How can the castle be gone?"

Lisa unconsciously bit her lower lips,"Maybe some bad people steal it?"

The little girl stared at her for a moment, before she gave her a smile that seemed too wise. Then she told Lisa,"It's OK.

"You won't be sad your castle is gone?"

She shook her head as she flattened the western wall with her spade, "The mermaid don't like it anyway."

"How do you know that?" Lisa did not quite understand her. Her bafflement must had been comically obvious on her face, as the girl giggled at her expression.

"You're so silly! If the mermaid really likes it she will protect it. No one can steal it then!"

Lisa would not had expected that answer in a thousand years. She stood there for awhile, slowly contemplating the words, while waiting for the girl to complete the castle. Later that evening, after sending the girl to her hotel room, Lisa returned to the sand castle. She brought along a chopstick, and scribbled the words from her heart onto the wet sand next to the castle. That night, Lisa wrote her first love note on a beach.

If you're holding a small piece of my heart; no matter where you are, I will never be alone again.

Three years later, someone finally replied.

That evening, Lisa was strolling along the beach as usual when she noticed a peculiar shape on the edge of the water. Under the fading light, it looked like a huge semi-circular wall of an abandoned sand castle.

"Oh, no! Another grave for the pet!" Lisa moaned. In the past, she had a few cases of kids burying their pets on the beach. She had nothing against kids paying a meaningful last respect to their beloved pets, but a hastily-dug grave on the beach usually meant floating carcass when the tide is high.

But as she walked closer, she realized that it was not a grave. The pile of pebbles and rocks were arranged carefully in circle, with a layer of plastic sheet wrapping the inner wall. It was quite crude, but the two feet high circular wall played its role to perfection by preventing the seawater from invading inside.

Lisa stared unbelievingly at the words in the centre of the circle.

In her heart, she was hoping that a man will find the words she left behind on the beach, and he will keep them in his heart to protect them from being washed away by the waves. Then one day, he would look into her eyes and then return them to her, word by word.

She had never expected, or dared to hope for, anyone to actually physically preserve her love note on the beach! Now she did not know what to do!

Shall I leave my hand phone number or what? Or maybe email address too?

Lisa pulled out her chopstick, and wrote down her phone number underneath the original message.

"Hi!"

Lisa turned around and saw a girl. She was a tall girl, with a fashionably short and spiky hair. Her large almond eyes were diamonds that sparkled on her smooth round face. The white singlet she wore accentuated her womanly curves, and her slender legs looked great in a pair of khaki shorts.

"Hi!" Lisa replied, feeling the color rising in her cheeks. She has written so many times on the beach, but always alone in the dark. No one has ever caught her doing it before, and she suddenly felt vulnerable. It was like reading aloud the most intimate poem in her diary in front of a stranger.

There was a wall of awkward silence between them, before she pointed to the writings on the sand.

"You wrote those?" she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Lisa nodded her head.

A wave of disappointment washed over the girl's pretty face, and sluiced out the lustre in her eyes. She withered, with her slumped shoulders and bowed head, like a morning rose under the afternoon sun.

For a moment Lisa was perplexed by both the girl's question and reaction. Then the cursed needle of realization slowly drilled into her heart, and injected bitter doses of reality into all the sweet possibilities. Lisa searched for the stranger's eyes, demanding the answer to an unnecessary question.

"I'm sorry," the girl apologized without lifting her head.

"It's OK," Lisa lied.

"Really. I'm sorry. I didn't know who wrote it, but it was so romantic. I thought it was by a guy, so I.." she explained.

"It's OK," Lisa said, this time she meant it.

The girl and her were so alike; both victims of their own lonely heart. Inside, they built an incomplete puzzle of love, and waiting for the arrival of the final piece. It was a cruel twist of fate that they heeded each other's call, even though they did not have that final piece.

"Thanks," Lisa said. The girl lifted her face, and stared at her with eyes as clear as that morning's blue sky.

"Yeah, I wish it was a guy, but at least you get it. You knew what to do, and that means a lot to me," Lisa told her.

She nodded, and beamed a sunshine smile that Lisa thought was the sweetest she had ever seen.

"At least now we know there are still some romantics out there, and we can always hope, right?" she replied with the words that were lingering on Lisa's tongue.

"Yes, we still can hope," she murmured to herself.

That night Lisa and the girl sat together on the beach and shared stories of loves, heartbreak and hopes. When the morning came, they hugged each other, bid farewell and never see each other again in their lives.

Labels: Chua Kok Yee

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by Chua Kok Yee

My grandpa passed away this morning, and now I am late for his wake.

Slowly I trudged towards the temporary awning that occupied the narrow street in front of my aunt's house. There were large white lanterns hanging on two opposite top corners, both adorned with Chinese characters with my grandpa's name and age. Despite my poor command of Chinese I could read the character of our family surname, and the numbers 'six' and 'five'.

Underneath the awning were a few rows of plastic chairs and three round tables draped in white cloth. The tables were occupied mostly by elderly guests, engaging in idle conversations while munching away on groundnuts. Sporadically, there were bursts of lively chatters that countered the supposedly solemnity of the occasion.

About ten members of a local Buddhist sect were chanting inside the house compound. Their chorus of incantation filled the night's air with a sense of calm sadness. It's a haunting tune that penetrated deep into the soul like a melodious spear of sorrow.

At the entrance of the living room, the huge black-rimmed picture of my grandpa smiled at the visitors from the altar. The golden urn in front of the picture was filled with joss-sticks, its smoke shrouding the altar in a thin white cloak. There were a few plates of fruits and vegetarian food offerings around the urn, all sprinkled with specks of dark ashes. My grandpa's wooden casket was behind the altar, occupying the middle of the living room. Its lid was opened, offering a final window for the mourners to bid him a farewell.

My mother and the rest of the family were standing in front of the altar in rows of three, holding a yellow booklet in their hands. An elderly monk in yellow robes said something to them, and they began to flip the pages of the booklet. Those who found the particular pages began to chant the Buddhist incantations; their hoarse voices disturbing the harmony of the sect members'.

I was contemplating joining them in the ritual when I saw him.

He was sitting at the back row, alone and isolated from the other guests. Wearing a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of beige pants, he looked as if he was going to the school where he washeadmaster for the past twenty-five years. His grey hair was neatly combed to the back, revealing the prominent forehead on his square face. His slanting eyes were hidden behind the thick glasses of his black-rimmed spectacles.

I walked over, and sat next to him.

He looked intently at the proceeding near the altar, without any hint of acknowledgement of my presence. Perhaps he was enjoying the unintentional comedy of my young nephew, who was obviously lip-synching the incantations as he could not read Chinese. Maybe he was trapped in the deep wall of his own thoughts. Or probably it was presumptuous of me think that he could see me just because I could see him. For a moment we shared a room of silence amidst the droning chatters and incantations.

"It's nice for you to come by," he turned his head and gave me a warm smile. There was a blissful calm in his voice which discomforted me. I was more accustomed to his loud voice, always with a hint of anger, which often sent fear into my heart when I was a little boy.

"Sorry I am late," I apologized.

"It's OK. A few minutes doesn't make much difference now, does it?" he replied.

There was a plump guy sitting in front of us, and he turned around to throw a puzzled glance towards our direction. I returned to him an assuring and comforting smile, but anxiety was already written on his pale face. Abruptly, he stood up and made his way to the crowded tables at the front row, clumsily knocking down a chair in his haste. Although most people do not have the gift, or curse, of vision beyond the living world, they still could sense it at an instinctive level.

"Hahaha, that guy was one of my students. During his younger days, his friends used to mockingly call him Fearless Lim. I guess some people never change," he chuckled at the plump guy's antic.

"Can't blame him. It took me years before I finally stopped being afraid," I put out a defense for Fearless Lim.

"It must have been hard for you. I always knew you're different ... special since you're young," he continued.

"Really? How did you know?" I asked. Not many people knew of my gift, and even less would understand it. Even my mother thought I was either lying or delusional when I told her about it. Even today she still does not believe me.

He paused for a moment, as if he was pulling out pieces of words from the recess of his memory.

"Your eyes. I've been a teacher for over twenty years, and seen thousands of kids growing up. But I have never seen anyone with eyes like yours."

"You have the oldest eyes pair of eyes I have ever seen."

I did not say anything, contented to let my raised eyebrows to implore further explanation. He took another long pause before he continued, "I could see that you had an old soul, even when you were just a young boy. I remember one day when you were about nine or ten, I looked into your eyes and i thought to myself; this boy had seen way more death and suffering that children at his age should."

I remained silent, letting his words to slowly caress my soul like a cold night breeze. I never knew that he understood the burden of the gift that had chained a shadow of gloom to my soul. His words, even if it was a bit too late now, felt like pillars that helped to hold off some of the weights in my heart.

"Why you never tell me this when…" I paused to reassess my choice of words, before rephrasing my question, "Why you never tell me this before, grandpa?"

"Perhaps the living is not granted with the clarity of the dead."

In front of the altar, even among the grieving members of the family, my eldest aunt was a picture of wretchedness. Her usually radiant face was now haggard and tears were streaming down her cheeks from her puffy eyes. Her voice was hoarse and dry as she recited the incantation between her sobbing. Grandpa pointed towards her and turned his face towards me.

"Do you think she's crying for me, or for herself?" grandpa asked me.

"Of course for you," I said, knowing well that was not the reply he wanted. It was an easy question that demanded a difficult answer.

"Maybe. Or she could be crying for herself. Her tears could be out of the regrets for things not said or done, while I was still alive and she had the chance to."

After a long, heaving sigh he continued, "My point is, we often realize the important things only after it's too late."

My grandpa and I sat in silence again, lost in our own mist of contemplation. At the crowded table a few metres in front of us, Fearless Lim was stealing glances in our direction as the colours of fear, doubt and confusion took turns to paint his round face.

When Grandpa spoke again, there were tears welling up in his eyes, "I should have done more for you. At least I could tell you that I understand your burdens. Perhaps it would have made some difference, and you would have not done it."

"It's OK, Grandpa. That's all in the past," I tried comfort to him, despite being stabbed in the heart by the truth in his words. I could have been walking on a totally different path if he had been there for me. Any word of comfort from him, or anyone else, back then could have been the barricade that held me from falling into the abyss of depression. A long, suffocating depression which eventually drove me to suicide at the age of twenty two.

The sobbing at the altar had become louder, at times even drowning out the incantation. A few friends were consoling my eldest aunt who was weeping hysterically, while the other family members were struggling to maintain their composure. My Grandpa flinched uncomfortably at the scene, as if every tear rained a needle onto his heart.

"Maybe it's time for me to move on," he told me as he stood up. There was a flash of reluctance in his teary eyes, which was swiftly replaced by a gleam of steely resolve.

He clenched his hands onto mine, "I'm glad that He sent you."

"It's an honour for me, Grandpa."

Together, we walked towards the blinding, pure light.

END

Labels: Chua Kok Yee

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