In the shoes of a Postman

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Was delivering newsletters a few weeks ago with my younger brother. Our aunts wanted advertisement for their childcare centers. What better minions to employ than your kith and kin?

It was humid, unbearably so. Found myself covered in a sheen of perspiration after a while.

As I wandered around the estate, I wondered.

There were stacks of shoe boxes outside one terrace. Retail therapy? Did the lady find joy - no matter how slight or fleeting - in buying footwear? Each pair of slippers, each pair of heels held stories of happiness and pain. If only they could speak.

There were sprawling bungalows, woefully empty on a Friday night. Did the owners chase after material wealth with wild abandonment, neglecting to cherish what they already have?

We sneaked into a condo. The compound was a dream come true - grids of letter boxes waiting to be filled. The earlier I'm done, the earlier I can relax. Unfortunately, the security guards chased us out after we were caught on the cctv. Petty criminals, the two of us. An embarrassing event, but at least we cleared around 50 adverts before the fiasco, lols.

I saw houses of such opulence that I almost forgot to breathe. I saw a lonely housewife fingering a phone as she sat in front of a large TV with her maid. I saw a grandpa with a toddler and overheard their impromptu Japanese lessons.

I saw, I heard, I felt.

Whatever is it that I'm seeking, this is part of it.

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