Day at the Flower Dome

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I rushed into the staff room with a box of orange files and a fistful of papers. There was a need to prepare them - files and forms - for checking by some colleagues. It was the last day of the first week of June holidays and I simply wanted to rest.

In the neighbouring cubicle, there was a little girl playing with Lego blocks. My colleague's daughter.

'Hello, girl girl. Do you still remember my name?' I smiled, hopefully in a non-creepy way.

She mumbled something. 'Sian Yoo.' For that, she deserved and got a bottle of Vitagen drink.

'Girl, you must be polite and say thank you loudly,' my colleague pointed to me. 'Do you call him Kor Kor or Uncle?'

The child looked at me, paused and said, 'Kor kor.'

It was a sweet glorious moment.

After a while, my colleague wanted to bring her to the washroom. She came back up and whispered, 'Uncle, I'm going off to visit the forest today.'

Look at her. She's not cute at all. How could she call me an UNCLE?!
We were going to the Gardens by the Bay, to meet up with a group of elderly and show them the myriad of flowers. It was strange, every interaction with such elderly seniors, their vulnerabilities and ours, all exposed.

I wondered if I would be stuffed into an old folks' home next time, deprived of possessions, a living thing waiting for death.

My colleague and I were paired with a 76 year old lady. She kept reminding us that we were fortunate to receive an education and to be paid decently for the work we do. At the end, she reminded a nurse to buy 4D for her.

Some of these old ladies told another colleague - very forthrightly, perhaps too forthrightly - that she should lose weight. 


There were many flowers in the dome, all resplendent and cheerful. Their colours were a promise; their youth, a harbinger of rot. 


There were many orchids as well. Some look so different from others that one could scarcely believe that they were grouped into the same sub-genus.


All in all, this was an interesting trip - the intersection between the faded, the fading, the blooming and the just-blooming.

Where we are, the multi-generational fabric is fraying. Threads unravel, everything falls apart.

Through this trip, we remember the whys of our existence.

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