tanglin halt

the taxi driver took me on a journey. in an inner road, away from the highways through an old neighbourhood. tanglin halt. my grandma, while she was still around, used to live there.

i can't remember the block number she lived in, but i can describe its surroundings. the hawker center two minutes away, the provision shop, the confectionery and the chinese medicinal shop were all nearby places and landmarks which detailed my journeys in the neighborhood as a kid. in the opposite block facing grandma's, a malay family would sell ice sticks from their back kitchen.all you'd have to is knock on their gate. the auntie or uncle would emerge from the dark behind the door grilles...you exchange your 20 cents for an ice stick. it comes in different flavors marked by their colorings. red, blue, yellow or green. it's essentially a syrupy mix that fills a bamboo shaped plastic covering that has a deep fold in the middle. the sticks are frozen into yummy sunny afternoon treats. two floors above grandma, lived a malay family whose daughter we became friends with. we only knew her as rojak. she was our afternoon playmate. her grandpa would take afternoon naps, while she sneaked out to the corridor to meet my sister and i. we'de play till rojak's grandpa woke up. we didn't have watches then. even if we wore one. we wouldn't be able to tell the time. but when rojak's grandpa goes:"Roooojaaaaakkkk!" we 'd know that play time was over. our little friend would scramble back to the flat. while my sister and i would skip two floors down. along the corridors, we'd pass by some apartments tiptoeing. only cause they gave off funny smells- either burning joss sticks or funny strange people smell - that didn;t sit well with our imaginations.

my second sister and i used to spend some mornings during the week with my grandma - i can't remember the details of what we did, but i have memories of hiding under rattan mats, in particular. peeping through the little slits between the soft bendable sticks. looking at my sister seated on the stool by the old fashioned marble top table ,doing her homework for kindergarten classes. grandma would be in the kitchen cooking lunch. it couldn't have been the same every day- but all i can remember ever having for lunch was fried fish with kikkoman soy sauce, pork chops and green leafy vegetables served with plain white jasmine rice. i can still taste the white jasmine rice in my mouth - pure, plain and slightly moist right until i stuff my face with the lightly sauced fish - crispy on the outside but softly textured inside- and the pork chops.. in thick brown onion sauce. the memory of the taste has been burnt in my memory. between mouthfuls of food, i'd place my face sideways down on the marble table, my cheeks warm from the food in my mouth would experience the most comforting, cool sensation offered by the marble top. i really loved that feeling.

the taxi passes by the old block - and soon also passes by a couple of blocks away - where my aunt lucy - mom's sister - used to live. my sister and i used to make our way from grandma's to auntie lucy's in the afternoons. our independent,unguided walk across the neighborhood, block to block, door to door, made us feel very grand and masters of the 10 minutes or 15 minutes we'd take to make the journey. i made many such travels with my sister over that period when i was about 4. once i had to carry my take away lunch from the coffeeshop. it was char siew rice. my sister insisted on carrying the packet of rice for me, mainly cos i think she didn;t want me to slow us down.. but i insisted on being a big girl. the rice was wrapped in one of those brown squarish paper that was laminated on one side. the standard pink rafia (sp?) string was tied around the rice packet, with a little ribbon left on the middlemost part of the packet. the hook of the rafia ribbon hung on my little fingers as my sister and i walked to auntie lucy's .my sister was in a hurry- eager to play doctor and nurse with the neightbour's daughter bridgett. her urgency was obvious. she was consistently 2 meters ahead of me all the way through the walk, at several moments, she would turn around with one hand on her hip,and the other gesturing, motioning forward movements, urging me to quicken my pace. i really was trying my best. but it was really difficult to walk fast when there were so many other taller people rushing in all directions around you. you get distracted by skirts flying in your face and shopping bags swinging at your eye level. the char siew rice packet too was slowing me down. i looked down at my fingers on several occasions only to see that the rafia string wrapped around my tiny fingers was leaving reddish blue swollen parts near my finger tips.

10 minutes late we made it to auntie lucy's. but my char siew rice didn;t.

apparently,the char siew rice uncle hadn;t tied the rafia string tight enough. and unbeknown to me i was leaving a trailof charsiew rice from my grandma'sblock to auntie lucy's flat. i cried initially over my lost lunch. but laughed at it all eventually when my auntie took away from my numbed, red fingers the rafia ribbon string that was tied to an empty,weightless brown packet.

as the taxi driver drove out of the neighborhood, i smiled at my old, childhood memories.

just as we made a final turn out, i saw a shop that sold aquarium fish. it was called "fish & cheap aquarium"

i smiled. and i laughed. this neighborhood is special.