(Reposted from my Facebook Notes)
On the way to the train station one day, I crossed a notoriously-busy intersection with loads of human traffic everyday.
It was there that I saw her; standing near the traffic light, sun-baked arms extended outwards, half-crooked, offering packets of Kleenex.
In Singapore, Kleenex peddlers come in all shapes and guises. Some brazenly thrust their wares in one's face; others bring elderly/handicapped companions in tow, hoping that sympathy would translate into purchase or two. Most are used to being turned down, and for various reasons empathy is in short order.
It is with a sense of shame that I recall feeling annoyed as I approached the crossing. 'She knows very well that lots of people would walk past her, hence the stakeout.'
Our eyes met, and I felt as if someone ha doused a pail of ice-cold water on me. Even for that fleeting half-second, I was shocked by what I saw.
How should I describe it... Her wizened and care-worn face, seemingly locked in a seller's relentless mask to keep pressing for a sale. Yet her expression also seemed convey a kind of dignity in desperation, as if she's saying, 'Look, I don't like doing this any more than you do, but I have to and I will survive.'
At that moment, the overwhelming thought in my mind was that this old lady had probably been standing around in the sun the whole day; that she wasn't just a tissue-paper peddler--she's also a real person, a little girl, a teenager, a young woman, possibly a mother and even a grandmother.
I didn't buy, and I was troubled.
