Racing down to see your faces

By Jessica Teo-Kang

Tracing the life of Singapore some fifty years ago on this street lined with rows of vintage shop houses is like falling into a river under the hot scorching sun. As I plunge into the waters, I feel the waters rushing over me, slapping me, pouncing on me, wrapping around me and then almost choking me. In the waters, I begin to see the blurry painted faces of these old buildings. They are decorated with intricately carved designs; they are tinted in different shades, weathered and cracked. Still trapped in the currents, I begin to wonder about the lives of the folks who once trod on these paths. Down the roads, I travel with them.

“Gu You, kaya, roti peng!” (toasted slices of bread spread with coconut-pandan jam and slices of butter)

“Ye Por Hou Bo! Kopi gu you!” (Good afternoon in hokkien and an order of coffee topped with butter)

Common banter. Common street food. Common people dressed in singlets.

My mind races with them. I listen to their talk; smell the aromatic fragrance of glorious street food and look at the folded lines on their sun-battered faces. The noise grows louder and louder.

Then the scene starts fading away …

It becomes distant. Further. Softer.

The vibrancy I see is now only a wisp of a memory. I emerge from the rushing waters. What is left are the cracked walls, cushion seats with peeled leather and stories untold.

I continue to wonder … what are your stories?