[If you haven’t read the first part of my story, go here first. ]
I sent my car for servicing this morning. Then I crossed the overhead bridge above Bukit Timah road, wondering if I was still blessed with the knowledge of when the 174 bus would arrive. It’s been over three years.
As I walked across the bridge, I had a feeling that bus was coming fairly soon, but not immediately. I could see two buses coming up, but neither of them were 174s. As I started to climb down the stairs, the 174 arrived and I hopped on.
I got off the same bus stop that I used to embark from, those special mornings when I would be prompted to “Run! Run!”.
As I walked briskly towards my house, I suddenly recalled the instructions not to go so fast… to walk like I normally did, because someone would need my help again, before I reached home.
In my field of vision, all I could see was a Merc doing a three-point turn at my gate … and a Falun Gong protestor sitting outside my neighbour’s house, facing the embassy. She was an old lady who was meditating. I have nothing against peaceful protests although the presence of one, two or up to three protestors on some days, with the presence of police cars at times, makes the neighbourhood a little uneasy.
I thought there was nothing to my recollection of the instructions (besides, it was a variation from the original words). So I walked on.
As I passed by the old lady, she raised her hand and waved at me. She said something in Mandarin that I couldn’t make out, due to the roar of the passing cars beside us. I thought she wanted to tell me about her religion, and I was thinking, ‘No thanks, I already have my own faith.’ So I shook my head and tried to walk on.
Then she pointed at her watch, and I realised she wanted me to tell her the time. She said her old watch wasn’t keeping time properly. I told her in Mandarin that it was 12.30pm. She thanked me. Then I reached home and immediately went to the computer to type this out.