Rantglass - because that's how things are.


The shining.

The shining.

I have been home for about a month now. There are a lot of things that we tend to take for granted. People come, vanish, and reappear the next day – but we pay them no heed. “I don’t know them that well,” you say. “Is there a need for me to do so, anyway?”

Twice I have find myself in conversation with the man who drops by the housing area to give us the water bills. I would gladly let him into the house compound for him to check the water meter, and a few seconds later we would be hearing a gentle whirring coming from the gadget that has become an essential part of his job, as it slowly prints out the water bill. He is a polite man of Indian descent, with streaks of grey hair and a warm smile that complements his jolly greeting of “Good morning!”. I was surprised to learn that his two children are also students at my university (often enough I was given curious looks whenever I mention the name of my university – I suppose it was not really that well known, anyway).

Then there is the unmistakable vrooom courtesy of the postman, who dutifully performs his rounds no matter rain or shine on his motorcycle. But when buckets of water come splashing down from the heavens, who can blame him for having to speed away to take cover at the nearby petrol kiosk? There were times, however, he would patiently wait for me to take our letters when I was in the garden, so that I need not dig them out from the mail box (which always had lizards hiding in it, bah). There has never been a day I see him without his trusty pair of sunglasses – and it has given me an impression that perhaps, he was a racer during his heydays.

When it comes to the guy who checks the electricity meter… I mistook him for some Malay punk rocker dude, thanks to his red cap and what I thought was a pair of baggy pants, so I did not bother to let him in on his recent visit.

“Didn’t the guy ring the doorbell to give us the electricity bill today?” asked my mother upon her return from her weekly grocery shopping hours later. She was waving the electricity bill that she had retrieved from the postbox.

“The doorbell did not ring – oh wait, it did. But.. there was some Malay dude; I thought he was messing around…” in my mind I still have a vision of a punk rocker who had rang the doorbell for goodness knows what.

“That was him lah,” confirmed my mother.

Man. Still, these people make the world go round, and propel the nation forward. One breaks down, and there will undoubtedly be a bit of chaos (“Where are my letters?! The post office is a half hour away!”). Their contributions may appear trivial in our everyday lives, but it still matter. But you know, not many of us would grow up wanting to deliver letters, or be the guy who has to go house to house printing out utility bills (who knows what a crazy bunch of folks or ferocious dogs one might encounter).

Some of us have a choice; some do not.

How about you?

(Interesting: a local company has put up a job vacancy on Jobstreet for the position of – guess what – a blogger.)

Details of this entry.Monday, May 09, 2005, filed under Blogger Archives.
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