Two Perspectives

by Emily Koh

Now, the present

I live in the block of flats at Kreta Ayer, and I can’t wait to get out of here. My friends who stay at The Pinnacle@Duxton laugh at me for staying in a place where nothing ever happens. Here, there are only old people, old buildings and slowness. Things moving towards their eventual, inevitable end. The yellow canvas sheets at the void deck are set up so often they have become part of the background. The yellow robes, red candles and yellow chrysanthemums fill my sight like blindness. Bright like the sun—and depressing. Every day I wait for this place to go en bloc—then I can use the money to invest in my future. My children’s future.

Then, the past

My son buy this unit on the 49th floor, and so now I stay here, looking out through the metal window grille and looking down below—but I cannot see anything. Everything so small. My eyesight not so good. The only things I can see are the things other people cannot see—they are hidden in my mind, somewhere just beyond the road, where I used to stay. Buildings that are not here anymore. Swimming pool that is not here anymore. School that is not here anymore. The park where we used to pak tor is not here anymore. My favourite tree… Even my friends that I used to go to market with—all not here anymore. I am stuck in this small room so high on top. Maybe my son put me here because it’s closer to heaven, because very soon I will be going there.