The old man opposite

There lives an old man, with his son and daughter in law and three grandchildren. Opposite my house. Diagonally. At the corner. The one with many bushes. The house, not the old man.

Without fail, three times a day, I watch him pass by my house. One hand holding a red umbrella, the other, a ciggy. Actually, six times, not three. Because he'd return using the same route. One thing very obvious though, he always go with a ciggy, and return with a red plastic bag containing tarpau-ed food.

He walks rather slowly, and with his receding white gray hair, I am assuming he's 80 or so. With the ciggy, I must say he's rather cool, but kinda sad looking. A little lonesome. Despite the many friendly neighbours, he remains solo most of the time. Unless the young grand daughter wants something from my neighbour's provision shop.

Just like him, the young grand-daughter is the silent type. She tugs him gently, and hand in hand, they walk over to get an ice cream cone or something. Once she gets what she wants, she skips off merrily, leaving the old man all by himself again. (Sui lui pau). I can see he dotted on this girl. He patiently waits while she plays at the swing or giggles with her friends. Never talking. Just waiting.

Sometimes we cross path. I smile at him. But he kinda stares back blankly at me. Very empty stares. I tell ya, if not for his only interaction with this grand-daughter, I'd suspect he is senile. But isn't that bitter sweet? That his eyes sparkles only for the girl. Otherwise, it's an empty vessel (with smoke).

I pity him for the lonely trips, accompanied only by the loyal red umbrella and Dunhill sticks. I feel sorry for the 3 sendiri kaotim meals. Then again, maybe he has found solace in that girl. Strangely and sadly comforting. Hmmm....An empty post full of oxymorons.