No. 897

There is an old man sitting by the door of his stilted house. Most of the days, you may find him there, resting on his lazy chair, staring out in to nothingness, staring in front at the blank wall. His eyes remain unfocused, except on some distant memory that still replays itself in his mind...everything may seem like a memory for him now.

His face is lined, tell-tale signs that can only be brought upon by age and experience. His head is bare and shiny, fringed with a collar of silver hair at the midsection of the skull. As he sits in his chair, his ring on his right hand taps out a rhythm on the arm of his chair. He does it unconsciously, or maybe he is conscious of that rhythmic tapping...only he would know...his hand stops tapping momentarily as he brings it up to his nose to scratch away at some imaginary annoyance. But as he returns it back to the arm of the chair, idleness causes it to tap once more.

From the stories that I had heard about him, I knew that he worked as a clerk in a police station during his younger days. He travelled to China to bring his bride back to his country and he had 8 children. He separated his 8 children into 5 different schools in Seremban. His wife was given 50cents daily, maybe less, to feed her family of 9. When his son needed 10cents to buy an exercise book, he had to produce a letter of authentication from the teacher. His family was poor but he was...relatively well-off.

I cannot remember this well as I had heard it when I was a child...He used to beat his wife. And his children. To what extent, I do not know.

When his wife died, he was seated on that lazy chair by the door, staring out into emptiness. I remember seeing tears roll down his eyes. I think that was the first time I'd seen him cry. I've not seen it since.

For all the stories that I've heard about him...yet I do not know him. And I did not keep to my word. I had 3 months yet I did not take the time to know him. With just one week left...there's very little that can be done.

I said Good-bye the other day, I hope he heard me. He smiled...asked me what form I was in now, just to find out that I was in university. I shook his hand and walked down the steps. As the car drove away, I could still see him sitting there...this time looking longingly at we who were leaving.

I waved and he waved back.

That's the best I did.