Falling
It seems uncanny that falling occurs on three separate occasions in a single day, which compels me to write about it.
Yesterday, I witnessed two incidents of people tripping over and fell. The other was a conversation about someone who fell.
The first one occurred while I was jogging alone, around the perimeter of Kallang Stadium. A girl on a longboard (skating with a skirt is apparently a thing) was practicing on her tricks. She missed a step and in a desperate attempt to counterbalance, only succeeds to skid off the track before taking a nosedive to the ground.
The shining knight in me wanted to lunge forward, but I pretended not to notice to save her from the embarrassment.
She patted herself up, sheepishly scanning around for signs of scuffs. She sensed someone was around but didn’t dare to look up. She bore no scratches except for a bruised ego.
As we passed by one another, it felt that we both knew what it takes to learn. We take the fall to learn something new.
Something like how Imperial China used to practice. Succeed, or Death by a thousand cuts.
The other was an elderly man crossing the streets in modern-day Chinatown.
I was on my bike, tuning in to Jim Rohn’s podcast when I heard a soft “plop”, audible enough to catch my attention. When I turned, the poor fellow was already lying face down on the tarmac, alongside the grocery bags spilling out its contents. The rest of the passerby quickly flocked around the man to render aid.
I wondered how they both felt after the fall.
Falling isn’t something you see every day. “Losing face” is a big thing, especially in Asian culture. If you fall, you get humiliated. Kind of like the equivalent to being an American, but not knowing they are the best country in the universe.
As I typed this, I wondered when was the last time I fall, and whether I would set myself up to fail to learn something new.
That incident left me wondering what it must have felt. To fall in public and unable to pick myself up.
2.00pm
I was lounging outside the salon, waiting for my client, and consciously chose not to pick myself up. As usual, the air was surprisingly stale and the buzzing from the aircon radiators complement with the sauna experience.
I wished I had coins to get some drinks from the vending machine.
“Hey.”
“Oh, hi there Michael. So, are you here for a haircut with Chubbs?” I especially noticed the slight trill in my voice when my throat is dry.
“Yeah,” he replied. We both smiled and paused, hoping one of us to start the conversation.
It is an unspoken courtesy among introverts to let the other start first.
“Hey you know,” Michael broke the silence.
“That time we went to revisit the old folks at York Hill. The usual rounds we do during Christmas Eve.”
He mentioned about an elderly man who lived alone. No relatives. When they arrived, he was already lying down on the floor with dried vomit at the side.
“He simply said that he was tired and had no energy left to pick himself up”.
“Oh, that’s sad,” I gave out a feeble reply.
I was piecing it together with today’s chain of events. I felt truly ashamed at the half-hearted response.
Then again, the feeling of resignation must be really off the charts for the last person…
Evening thoughts
I sensed a slice of their lives seems to intertwine with mine. Perhaps, I had witnessed some sort of divine decree at work which sends me back to question the meaning of it all, like segmented clairvoyance into my future self.
And the reality of becoming these three individuals seems eerily familiar.
I see myself in their shoes where I might fall, to deal with a personal calamity which requires others to assist me and probably one day, to die a lonely death.
Terrifying as it sounds, I wish this is nothing more than my imaginative construct.
Thanks for reading!
