CITYSCAPE

CITYSCAPE

The day had finished its beat and withdrawn to its shell behind the skyscrapers for a well-deserved rest leaving the streets quiet and almost empty. Passing through the dim lights of the shops were only a few pedestrians who were either the late commuters or the poor down in the dumps next to the cuckoo’s nest.

...

Casually strolling through the streets of the city with the rhythmic run of her metal trolley, she was stopping in each refuse collection point to pick all potentially useful wastes and dumping them into separate bags together with the other common recyclable.

The out of the ordinary appearance she depicted was the reflection of a refined consideration which most minds would fail to apprehend. It was a distant probability for her to launch a curiosity expedition into where she might have reaped all these good whims but she was undoubtedly feeling a great deal of pleasure and comfort from every single object she recycled back to nature. This insightful persona feeling the pain of the damage caused to the ecology and its habitants was undertaking a meaningful duty by calculating how many lives she could save by every bit of paper she recycled.

...

Substantially worn by tiredness, she stopped her paces in front of the old ‘Chaichai-teng’, a demi-restaurant, for a cup of hot drink and spongy bite of whatever leftover.

She jadedly stepped in and grabbed a plastic stool for herself from its topped layers and seated herself against the mirror taped wall at a melamine coated folding table with the conventional setting which had been there before she came and would be there even after she was gone. A stainless-steel sugar pot, the basic spice and sauce bottles and with the almost illegible menu aside, the menu the laminated edges of which were sealed off by the touch of how many fingers everyday she did not know.

-You seem to have overdriven again. I am afraid you will fall down somewhere with no power left. What if you gave a break in such cold days at least?
-The peace of easy goers is always on edge, they say.
-You are working day and night, when do you take a rest?
-Well, now you give me a cup of hot yuen yeung (milk tea mixed with coffee) with plenty of milk in and turn the volume of that radio up. That will do good.
-All right, would you want some buns aside?
-Still edible?
-I guess so.

...

Gladly holding in her hands the thick white porcelain cup with tainted red lines on the edge, she felt stimulated by the transmission of some comfortable warm air into her body through her rough fingers wrapped with band-aids. In a pleasant relaxation, she glanced at the good looking buns and articulated her content in an affable voice:

-They look gorgeous, your mother made them?
-Yes. She now bakes only at home and I bring here with me every day. These buns are very popular in the menu in deed.

She picks one and enjoys a big enough nibble followed by a snap sip of her beverage.

-It tastes good. I can feel her hand in it. How is she recently?
-She is fine, trying to keep up and frantically busy with the festival preps.
-Almost done?
-I hope so. She started a month ago. You know she never gives up her habits.
-Why should she give up? She is just doing what she thinks she needs to do, I think. The same odd jobs almost every old woman does in times like this.
-But I think she overdoes!
-No, don’t ever say that. It isn’t right to judge harmless deeds of others according to your personal choices especially if they enjoy doing them.
-But the doctor told her not to move too much.
-Oh great, just let her decay sitting down?
-I feel sad for her.
-I know but asking a bee used to be woman to do nothing is merely booking an early deal with the grave digger. She still needs some deeds to flavour the taste of rest.
-Yes, she is still occupied with daily chores. Besides, she has got some kittens now growing up in her hands.
-Oh babies, they all grow up with so much of time and sacrifice behind. Look at you; even you grew up to be such a big man. I still remember the days you were crawling around these tables.
-Now running around. This heritage shop is everything we have.
-Yes indeed. This shop is a folk reality representing the sweat of the sacrificing and humble working class alike your father who had built this city. It was a festival for the poor families when he opened this shop. He became a backstreet legend when he started to feed the poor half price the market; therefore I believe some people still come to this shop for its name!
-That is true. My mom knows them better though. Some still appear to ask where my father is. Alas, he is too far away now.
-But his memory is still up here. And this street and its insiders are the only remains of the lost history amongst the poor old buildings knocked down around. They undressed the whole city, like everything we have. Everything we have has been ripped by the well-dressed fakers. Look around, the city has nearly turned into a mortuary with lots of air-cons in.
-Those well-dressed ones are playing tricks around recently.
-You, never believe a single word of those companies promising millions. Bear until the end. There are all tears, otherwise, I know.
-Of course, of course I will never. This memory here will survive at any expense.
-Well done, kid. I am always with you!

It was an unfortunate mishap when her arm hit the cup when she was attempting to grope the papers in the next table. She had forgotten the remaining bit of her drink when her attention was gripped in the talk. The spillage had tinted the whole table.

-Sorry, I messed up all around.
-Never mind, you did not get burnt right?
-No, I didn’t. It was not that hot.
-Do you want one more cup?
-I had rather go back to work.
-Come on, it won’t take so long till I fetch a freshly brewed one.
-Okay, do it at your best speed then. Meanwhile I will have a look at the papers.
-Nothing much different, I guess, the same news!
-I know they are all stuffed with the same sticky rice recently! They forgot everything around. Just the fun games with many rings clicked together. Go go go, Numero 1! That is to say. Just a bulky pack of emptiness.

...

Briskly viewing the pages, she noticed the saddening news of a suicide. A thirty five years old woman from the north reportedly committed suicide in her house at night when her children and mother-in-law were already asleep. It was assumed that she had been moved by the deepening misery after she long suspected her husband, a migrant worker in another province, had been betraying her.

-People leave their hometowns for a better life. Families dispersed, lots of things lost, lots of things gone for earning some extra amount of money, the money millions of times of which are now being extravagated to make a dream come true! The foreign dream which never belongs to them! It is all a bloody game on human suffering. Now all the rivers nearby are running with tears of people victimized by the joy toys.
-What can I say sister; you have an amazing insight.
-Contrary to my appearance?
-No, no.
-You mean I don’t?
-Yes you do. I mean your inside, outside too.
-Never mind, I know I am not pretty anymore!
-Of course you are. Don’t be so pathetic!
-Anyway, don’t get stuck with the pun. I have to leave. There is still a lot to do.
-Don’t stay outside too long. The reports say it will get colder later tonight.
-All right, I will watch out. Thanks.

...

After the break tagged with hot tea coffee and delicious buns but cracked with anger towards the power-crazed tyranny, she set off her journey back into the streets with her trolley, the streets her steps learnt to walk through instinctively.

She changed her way when she saw the drunkards in the corner but the v(í)agrants still did not grudge their hassles:

-Oh the queen of the nights, would not you honour us? See the bins here are all full.

‘I can see, all you have run over.’ She murmured and moved away.

She walked the city with her mind layered with unfinished thoughts. She recklessly pushed her trolley ignoring N11 double-decker winding by. She looked around and envisaged a huge dark hand growing up to the sky which was actually one of the tall monsters cutting the throat of the city. She just felt strange and amazed by the insistent poverty she knew around despite the huge sums spared for those glassy glossy show-offs. Compliantly knowing there was not much she could do but at least something to do, she pulled back her mood at tiptoe and pushed herself to speed up so that she could spare some amount of time back home for the preparations to the forthcoming festival.