what might once been a pristine shirt was now tattered and torn, barely covering his skeletal body. A coffee stain on the left breast pocket, blotches of yellow stains - signs that he was a clumsy easter - made the garment even more unsightly. The jeans he had on were faded, and hung loosely around his emaciated hips. His shoes, which soles had peeled away from the upper portions, pointed to the dimly-lit MRT ceiling. He sat hunched in a corner, in a huddled heap, no longer rocking, but as he sat, no one else seemed to notice him but me.
he started to crawl, just like a toddler would. After many futile efforts, he finally stood up, unsteadily. Holding onto the walls as he tottered, his shoes made flapping sounds as he made his way towards me. "I wanna go home," he said with great difficulty pronouncing the words, saliva dripping onto the tiled floor. I tried not to breathe ; his stench was overbearing. The source, probably the pile of unkempt, oily hair that sat on the top of his head.
He whined again, bringing me back to the present. I overcame my initial disgust of him and took him by the hand to the MRP personnel. After that wave of nauseating odour had subsided, a deluge of sympathy overwhelmed me. My heart reached out to him as i could feel the sense of hollow loneliness within him. Prior to my encounter with this very unusual man, i was griping over the most minute matters, now i suddenly felt fortunateto be who i am. I finally saw the importance of family and filial piety, and prayed, one day, i would never be like this queer, wizened man.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
haha. dunno why i wrote such a funny piece. not the HAHA type. as in weird. (:
