My heart kept silent

*knock knock*


"Auntie, 送饭!" Slowly but steadily, she inched her way to the door where I was waiting to give her this evening dinner packed in a comparmentised plastic box with curry chicken in one corner and vegetables on the other. Rice was served with 2 pieces of golden breaded scallop.

"你今天还好吗？" , i asked.

"aiyah, 还不是一样，活到九十一岁了，不知道为什么还没死，好辛苦。。。"

I didn't know what to reply when she said that. All I did was to give a little pat on her hand and tell her not to feel doleful. I vaguely remembered that I was struggling to contain my emotions. Grown men don't cry, I was told.

Till now, I can not forget what the old granny said. Is it scary to grow old alone? No friends. No family. No one to talk to while you wait for death to take you in your old, damp and dark apartment while feeling useless as your body deteriorates. I wonder if they keep a calendar to cross away the days, one number at a time, to mark the passing of another day of suffering? Can life be reduced to a number cancelling exercise?

How many more of these people are out there, deteriorating under obscurity, forgotten by the mainstreamers? Just how many?