Today is the third day of March, and it's late in the afternoon. I've just returned home from running a few errands around town. Now, I'm sitting on my balcony, settling into the comfort of my aging rocking chair.
Chomel, as usual, is lingering at my legs, her presence a constant comfort. Beside me, on a small coffee table, rests not my usual morning fare of bread and coffee. Instead, there sits a small cake—a simple but heartfelt celebration of my own quiet birthday.
The cake is modest, adorned with pink and yellow icing. "HBD" is written across it in cheerful, swirling letters, alongside the number "66" marked in blue. On top, a single candle remains unlit, its wick waiting in anticipation. Beside the cake, there's a can of lite beer, a nod to a modest celebration that suits the stillness of the day.
This setting, so different from the birthdays of years past, reflects the serene solitude that now marks my special days. There's a bittersweetness to it, the simplicity of the celebration juxtaposed with memories of noisy, joyous birthdays filled with family and friends.
Yet, as I sit here with Chomel by my side, I find a certain peace in this quiet acknowledgment of another year passed—a moment of reflection and appreciation for the journey thus far.
As has become tradition on this date, I take a moment to reflect on the past year—evaluating my biggest achievements alongside my most challenging moments. Sitting here with the calm of the afternoon enveloping me, I feel a sense of gratitude as I consider the top of my achievement list: my health.
For the entire year, I've managed to steer clear of hospital beds, leaving them available for those in more pressing need. There's a certain pride that comes with this, knowing that I've maintained my health well enough to avoid serious illness.
No frequent visits to the doctor, no daily reliance on various medications, and, thankfully, no injuries. It's a significant win considering the complexities that often accompany the years as they accumulate.
Of course, the passage of time hasn't come without its minor battles. Tiredness creeps up on me more readily than it once did, and my sleeping patterns can best be described as erratic—some nights are seamless while others are punctuated by restless hours.
Long walks, which used to be filled with energetic strides, now sometimes end with heavy breathing, reminding me of the inevitable changes that age ushers in.
My hearing, though not perfect, still functions within 70 to 80% of its capacity. I'm grateful for this, as it means I can engage in conversations without needing to ask others to raise their voices unduly, nor do I require any devices to aid me. My eyesight, on the other hand, could do with some assistance—perhaps a new pair of glasses is on the horizon, a small concession to the years.
Reflecting on these aspects of my health, I am genuinely proud of myself. It's easy to overlook the daily victories that come with maintaining one's health, but today, as I look back, I recognize and celebrate the effort it takes to keep the body and mind in harmony. Here's to another year of doing just that.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes and whisper a silent, heartfelt appreciation for the year's accomplishments. Despite the shortcomings and challenges, I have been granted one of the most precious gifts at this stage of life—good health.
Yes, there are mountains of regrets and guilt. These are inevitable companions on life's journey. But over the past year, I have come to accept them. I've learned to live with their weight in a way that allows me to move forward.
Opening my eyes, I decide to let the candle be—it doesn't need to burn for me to acknowledge the day's significance. I take a bite of the cake, letting its sweetness dissolve slowly on my tongue.
The simplicity of the flavors brings a small comfort. I open the can of lite beer, its hiss breaking the quiet of the afternoon. Taking a sip, I let the cool liquid mingle with the remnants of the cake, easing its way down with a satisfying swallow.
This isn't a sacred ritual, nor is it meant to be. It's simply my way of honoring the solitude that marks this birthday. It's a means of indulging myself on what is supposed to be a special occasion.
There's no grand celebration, no gathering of friends or family—just me, my thoughts, and this small acknowledgment of another year lived.
As I sit here, the gentle lapping of the waves provides a soothing backdrop. I realize this quiet moment of solitude isn't just about marking another year; it's about embracing the life I have, with all its imperfections and joys.
This is how I celebrate now, finding contentment in the peace of my own company. There's a certain beauty in that realization.
I offer the cake to the only guest or companion I have with me—Chomel. As if she truly understands and sympathizes with her master's loneliness, she effortlessly avoids the cake, yet chooses to gently lick my finger instead. Her simple act touches my heart deeply, making this small gesture feel like a tremendous birthday present.
I lift her onto my lap, gently massaging her back as she purrs contentedly. "Thank you, dear," I whisper to her. "Life is meant to be enjoyed. The past, although haunting, is just that—the past."
Sitting here with Chomel, feeling the warmth of her small body and the steady rhythm of her purring, I'm reminded of the uncomplicated comforts that life still holds. In this moment, with the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a soft golden light across the balcony,
I feel a profound sense of peace. It's these quiet, simple moments that stitch the days together, offering solace and a reminder that, despite everything, there is still much to be thankful for.
Our quiet comfort was suddenly disrupted by the sound of the door alarm, startling both Chomel and me. My heart raced as I wondered who it could be. For more than a year, my doorbell had only rung three times.
Once, it was Rajan, delivering a parcel that had been left at the guardhouse several months ago. Another time, a building management technician had come to fix my clogged sink. The third instance was when a delivery man brought over a small DIY book cabinet I had ordered. Since then, I hadn't ordered anything, nor had I lodged any complaints that might require a technician's attention.
The bell rang again, pulling me further from my reverie and adding a layer of urgency to my thoughts. Who could it possibly be? A mix of curiosity and a slight unease took hold as I gently set
Chomel down from my lap. She seemed to sense my apprehension, her tail twitching slightly as she followed me with her eyes.
I stood up, making my way towards the door with a cautious pace. The possibilities of who it could be raced through my mind, each more unlikely than the last. Could it be a neighbor needing assistance? Or perhaps an unexpected visit from an old friend?
The rarity of such an event made each step feel heavier as I approached the door.
I reached out and took a deep breath before pulling the door open, ready to face whoever—or whatever—was waiting on the other side.
"Guess who?" A lady with silver hair stood at the threshold, her face breaking into a warm smile that was both disarming and attractive.
It was Clara, the new neighbor. Her appearance was effortlessly natural, enhanced by simple makeup and accented with a pinkish headband. She wore an apron featuring Disney's Mickey Mouse over a white, round-collared cotton shirt, paired with the same blue jeans she had on earlier this morning, if I wasn't mistaken.
In her hand, she held a plate carrying what appeared to be a cake, from which a tempting aroma wafted. Chomel, ever curious and less reserved than usual, didn't jump into the corridor but lingered around Clara, her eyes wide and intrigued.
Clara passed me the plate with a gentle motion and then quickly scooped up Chomel, who seemed more than happy to receive her attention. "I thought you might enjoy a little homemade treat," Clara said, her voice as warm as her smile, clearly enjoying the interaction with Chomel as much as the gesture of bringing over the cake.
"Ohh... what a surprise... it really is a surprise," I stammered, slightly flustered but trying to hide it with a chuckle. "Sorry for keeping you waiting just now. I thought the doorbell wasn't working; it's been ages since anyone rang it," I added, offering an explanation for my slow response.
Clara, ever the enigma, didn't directly respond to my comments. Instead, she shifted her focus entirely, as if the earlier conversation had floated away on the breeze.
"What is your name, girl?" she cooed, her attention wholly captured by Chomel.
"So cute... so adorable," she murmured, showering Chomel with affection, much like she had done at the beach, seemingly ignoring me once again.
Chomel, reveling in the attention, responded by rubbing her head against anything she could touch, clearly enjoying the affection.
"It's Chomel... her name is Chomel," I answered on Chomel's behalf, my words slightly stuttered as I adjusted to the sudden shift in Clara's attention.
"What a nice name you've got here. Mind to join me at home, Chomel?" Clara's words, playful yet pointed, made me feel a tad uneasy.
Was she teasing me for not inviting her in? Her tone was light, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was an undercurrent of jest, perhaps a gentle nudge for my earlier oversight.
Suddenly, Chomel jumped out of Clara's arms and darted inside, leaving her awkward master and the attractive lady at the door. It was as if she was granting us a moment of privacy. Clara seemed to take the hint that the visit would be brief.
Life is full of unprecedented events, and whatever needs to happen will do so eventually. From the elevator lobby on my floor, Alvin and David appeared—they are Mr. Tan's teenage sons.
Alvin is the elder. On their way to their unit next to mine, they halted themselves exactly in front of Clara.
"Hi Uncle Jay. How are you?" Alvin greeted me, his voice carrying the almost standard greetings that I've heard from him for years now.
David chimed in too, "Hi Uncle Jay."
Both of them, without waiting for my reply, headed to their door and pushed the doorbell. Moments later, Mrs. Tan's face appeared. Noticing me and Clara, she stepped outside while the kids went in.
Seeing Mrs. Tan with a smile and curious eyes, I greeted her warmly.
"Hi, Mrs. Tan. How do you do? Have you met Clara? She's the new occupant of the end unit."
She nodded, turning slightly to include Clara in the conversation, who had lingered a moment longer perhaps in anticipation of an introduction.
"Yes, I noticed that the unit was occupied, but I haven't had the chance to greet her," Mrs. Tan replied genuinely, smiling as she extended her hand towards Clara.
They shook hands, both expressing sincerity through their smiling faces. "Pardon me for not welcoming you earlier," Mrs. Tan exclaimed as they parted their handshake.
"Oh, it's okay. I should be the one introducing myself to the neighborhood," Clara chided with a grin.
"Would you two excuse me just a second and don't leave yet... Emy, is it?" Clara quickly rushed back to her unit, leaving me and Mrs. Tan wondering what it was all about.
While waiting for Clara, Mrs. Tan mentioned that her husband was in Kuala Lumpur on a business trip and would be home in a few days. I nodded, listening attentively. Then, Clara reappeared from her unit, carrying something with her. As she approached, she handed a plate to Mrs. Tan—it was the same cake.
Mrs. Tan's smile widened as she accepted the cake. "That's very kind of you, Clara. It's nice to meet you. I hope you find the community welcoming," she said, extending a warm hand again.
"Thank you, Mrs. Tan. Everyone has been very welcoming indeed. It's a lovely place to live," Clara responded with a gracious nod and a friendly smile.
The interaction was brief but warm, a simple exchange that seemed to weave Clara further into the fabric of our building's community. As Mrs. Tan and Clara exchanged a few more pleasantries, I felt a subtle sense of community spirit rekindling, something that had felt muted in my own solitary routines.
It was moments like these that reminded me of the interconnectedness of our lives, even in such a large complex.
Mrs. Tan or Emy left us when Alvin called her to answer a call.
"Well, Em Jay, enjoy the cake. Do feel free to tell me next time if it wasn't to your liking," she said with a warm smile. "See you around. There's still something in the oven," she added, indicating that she needed to return to her apartment.
She then turned and walked back to her unit, leaving me standing in the doorway, holding the plate of cake. Her departure was as graceful as her arrival, and I was left feeling a mix of appreciation for the unexpected birthday treat and a slight pang of loneliness as she disappeared from view.
I closed the door and looked at the cake on the plate, reflecting on the brief yet meaningful interaction. It was a small, kind gesture that marked my birthday with a bit more warmth than I had expected. As I placed the cake on the table, I thought about how nice it was to have a neighbor like Clara, even if our interactions were fleeting and sometimes awkward.
As the sun began to set and the sea breezes intensified, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder, mingling with the scent of impending rain. It hinted at a storm brewing on the horizon, compelling me to prepare for the evening's weather.
I made my way to the balcony to collect the scattered items that might be vulnerable to the wind. Using my toe, I nudged the sliding door closed behind me, a practical move to shield both myself and Chomel from the incoming gusts. With my arms full, I hurried back inside, not in the mood to meticulously put everything away just yet. Instead, I quickly deposited the items on the kitchen counter.
Feeling a mix of restlessness and the urge to relax, I flopped down onto the settee, intentionally jostling Chomel from her peaceful nap in the process. Unperturbed, she merely adjusted her position slightly, tightening her curl to continue napping.
Her ability to so easily slip back into tranquility amidst my own unsettled state brought a slight smile to my face, reminding me of the simple resilience and comfort our pets often exhibit.
With the serene and somewhat melancholic scene outside, my mind raced again, thoughts swirling as the day's events replayed in my head. The unexpected visit from Clara, her kind gesture, and the brief yet impactful interaction we had—it all made me reflect on the connections I've maintained and those I've let slip away.
The quiet of the evening, punctuated only by the natural sounds of the seaside and the occasional distant rumble of thunder, seemed to amplify my thoughts. It was moments like these, in the tranquility of an ending day, that I often found myself deep in contemplation.
The solitude was both a balm and a catalyst for introspection, pushing me to ponder the 'what ifs' and 'could have beens' of my life.
As the darkness of the night began to envelop the landscape, my gaze drifted from the darkening skies to the small, flickering lights of the town in the distance. Each light, a beacon in someone's home, felt like a reminder of the life that buzzed beyond my quiet balcony.
I wondered about the stories unfolding behind those lights, about the myriad ways people connected and shared their lives.
Meanwhile, Chomel's steady breathing, a constant and comforting rhythm, reminded me of the simple, unconditional connections that still graced my life. Perhaps, I mused, it wasn't too late to forge new bonds, to rekindle old ones, or to simply appreciate the peace that came with acceptance of the present.
The contemplative mood deepened as I mulled over the events of the day. Clara's visit, specifically the timing of it with a cake on my birthday, nagged at me. Was it just a serendipitous coincidence, or had she known it was my birthday?
And if she did know, how had she found out? My mind toyed with the possibility of Rajan being the informant; he was well-connected within the building and keen on the comings and goings of everyone.
Yet, another question loomed large: If Clara was aware it was my birthday, why hadn't she mentioned it directly? No birthday wishes were exchanged, just the quiet delivery of a cake that seemed to speak louder than words.
Did my failure to invite her in offend her? But then, a more rational part of my mind reasoned, she should understand the cultural context here. In this part of the world, it's still seen as improper, a taboo even, for an unmarried couple to remain behind closed doors in a private apartment. Surely, she must be aware of these norms.
Amy's sudden appearance and seeing me with Clara indeed shook the protective shell of solitude I had meticulously maintained over the years. For as long as anyone could remember, I had cultivated the persona of a reserved old man.
No one had ever seen me close with any woman—neither strolling on the beach, nor at functions in the building's community hall, nor at any local café, and certainly not at Kak Gayah's stall.
Now, here stood a woman at my doorway, handing me a plate of cake. If Rajan knew about this, he'd likely revel in the gossip.
The reason for my reserved nature wasn't born from selfishness. It was a conscious decision to avoid delving into any relationships. At my age, I saw no sense in navigating the complexities that came with intimate connections.
The ghost of a failed marriage haunted me enough, lingering in the background of my thoughts, a constant reminder of what once was and what could never be again.
This unexpected interaction with Clara, observed by Amy, represented a crack in the facade I had built around myself. It was a benign incident, yet it symbolized a potential shift in how others might view me—a shift I wasn't sure I was ready to embrace.
The simplicity of my solitary life had become not only a comfort but a way to shield myself from the uncertainties and potential heartaches of relationships. Now, with a simple act of neighborly kindness, the boundaries I had set were gently being tested.
This thought loop left me feeling uneasy. Perhaps I was overthinking the situation, reading too much into a simple act of neighborly kindness. Yet, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to her visit, an undercurrent of unspoken communication that I was missing.
As the sky darkened and the first few drops of rain began to tap gently against the balcony, the sounds of the world outside seemed to echo the confusion in my heart. Maybe I was meant to initiate more open conversations, to bridge whatever gaps lay between us with clearer words and intentions.