A Smartphone (April )

Today, as I sit inside Kak Gayah's stall at the beachfront, the sound of the waves provides a comforting backdrop to my thoughts.

The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked nasi lemak, mingling with the salty breeze off the sea, creating a uniquely soothing atmosphere that only this place can offer.

As the clock nears 9 AM, the beachfront begins to stir with early morning activity. The soft golden glow of the sun bathes the shore, casting long shadows on the sand. Families start to trickle in, setting up under the shade of broad umbrellas, while joggers leave fleeting footprints along the water's edge.

Vendors wheel their carts into position, the clatter and clang of their setup mixing with the rhythmic crash of the waves. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries from nearby stalls begins to permeate the air, attracting more visitors to the revitalizing seaside ambiance.

The laughter of children playing near the water merges with the calls of seabirds overhead, crafting a lively tapestry of sounds and sights. This bustling scene heralds the beginning of a vibrant day at the beach, inviting all to partake in its joyous energy.

Kak Gayah, ever the attentive host, bustles around with a smile that seems to light up the small space. Her stall, a modest but vibrant hub of activity, attracts a regular crowd of locals and a few tourists who, guided by the savory scents, find their way here.

I've chosen my usual quiet corner, a little retreat where I can observe without being too involved. As people come and go, greeting Kak Gayah with familiar banter, I'm reminded of the simple joys of community—a stark contrast to the isolation I often feel.

Sipping slowly on a cup of robust, steaming coffee, I watch as families share meals, friends laugh over shared memories, and strangers exchange stories. Each interaction weaves a rich tapestry of daily life that feels both profound and mundane.

This small world within the stall feels a universe away from my own quiet existence. Yet, here, amidst the chatter and clatter, I find a sort of peace—an understanding that life's complexities are shared by all, each of us navigating our joys and challenges.

Kak Gayah approaches with her usual cheerful greeting, "Em Jay, you're quieter than usual today. Everything alright?" Her intuitive nature never fails to impress me.

I offer a reassuring smile. "Just enjoying the scene, Kak. Your stall is as much a place for nourishing the soul as it is for filling the stomach."

She laughs, the sound as hearty as her cooking. "Well, make sure you do both while you're here," she says, placing a plate of her famous nasi lemak in front of me. The fragrance alone is enough to evoke memories of past meals enjoyed under this very roof, each bite a reminder of times both bitter and sweet.

As I eat, I reflect on the interactions of the morning—the unexpected encounter with Clara and the lingering feelings it stirred. It's odd, how a brief meeting can shake the foundations of a carefully guarded solitude, prompting questions about paths taken and those not chosen.

Finishing my meal, I lean back, feeling a rare sense of contentment. Maybe it's the food, or perhaps the company, but something about today feels different, like a gentle nudge towards reconnection, not just with the people around me, but also with parts of myself long neglected.

Today, at Kak Gayah's stall, surrounded by the ebb and flow of life, I am reminded that no man is truly an island. Even in solitude, the world pulls at your edges, calls you back to its fold. And maybe, just maybe, it's time to start answering that call.

Then a familiar face, the security officer Rajan, walks in. Knowing for sure he will invade my quiet space, I pretend not to realize his presence. But Rajan, ever sociable and unaware of my silent plea for solitude, promptly pulls up a chair beside me.

"Em Jay! Just the man I wanted to see," Rajan beams, his voice carrying over the murmur of other diners. He launches into a conversation about the upcoming Songkran festival, eagerly sharing details of the planned festivities and the special security measures he's coordinating.

"Going to be a big one this year, Em Jay. You planning to join in? They're setting up stalls all along the beachfront, and there will be games for the kids, food, music—everything!" His enthusiasm is infectious, albeit a bit overwhelming given my mood.

Despite my initial reluctance, I find myself drawn into the details of the festival, nodding along as Rajan paints a vivid picture of the upcoming celebrations. It's a reminder of the community's vibrancy, something I've kept at a distance, yet something that undeniably enriches the fabric of our shared lives here.

"Sounds like it'll be a grand time, Rajan. Maybe I'll stroll by," I concede, offering him a smile. It seems, despite my efforts to maintain a quiet distance, the world has other plans, continuously inviting me to be a part of it, one conversation at a time.

"Life is always offering us beautiful things; we just need to look for them," Kak Gayah chides in as she passes our table, tapping my shoulder. Her comment, delivered with a knowing smile, creates a small scene, drawing the attention of others in the stall to focus on me. I smile warily, feeling the weight of those eyes, yet also touched by her simple wisdom.

Kak Gayah's words linger in the air, a gentle reminder that often escapes us in the bustle of daily life. It's a nudge to appreciate the small joys and connections we encounter, even when we might prefer the comfort of solitude. Her statement, coupled with the vibrant energy Rajan brings about the Songkran festival, makes me reconsider my often self-imposed isolation.

As the chatter around me continues, with Rajan elaborating on the festival's details and Kak Gayah bustling around her stall, I find myself gradually opening up to the moment. The community's warmth permeates through my reserve, reminding me that while solitude can be replenishing, so too can the shared joy of community gatherings.

"Maybe it is time to look around more," I muse silently, acknowledging the truth in Kak Gayah's words. The realization that life's beauty often lies in engagement with those around us starts to seep in, challenging my usual reticence. As I nod appreciatively at both Kak Gayah and Rajan, I feel a slight shift within—a softening of my edges, a cautious readiness to embrace the vibrant life unfolding around me.

"Yesterday, our building management decided to own a booth during the festival," Rajan added, his voice filled with a sense of pride. "They intend to give away some charity to people, you know, help out where we can."

The idea of the building management actively participating in the festival and contributing to the community adds another layer of communal spirit to the upcoming event. It's not just about celebrating; it's also about giving back, about supporting those who need it most.

"That's a wonderful initiative," I respond, genuinely impressed by the effort to integrate charity into the festivities. The thought of our building community not just partaking in the fun but also making a meaningful impact gives me a renewed sense of belonging and an appreciation for the efforts of those organizing the event.

As I ponder this new information, I find myself considering the possibility of getting involved, perhaps even volunteering at the booth. It could be a good way to connect more deeply with my neighbors and to contribute to the community in a meaningful way.

"Maybe I'll drop by the booth and see if there's any way I can lend a hand," I say, surprising even myself with the offer. Rajan's eyes light up at the suggestion.

"That'd be great, Em Jay! They could definitely use the help, and it'd be a nice chance for you to mix in a bit more with everyone."

After finishing his morning staple, Rajan left me, his recess time over. I remained seated among the small crowd in the stall. Kak Gayah's daughter approached with a warm smile, "Papa Jay, you want another fill?" offering me a fresh Kopi O, the stall's home-blended black coffee.

"You are pampering this old man too much," her mother teased from behind the counter.

"Definitely, girl," I replied. "Girl" is the nickname I gave her years ago, long before she got married to a policeman.

Sipping the "addictive" caffeine, I found myself reminiscing about last year's Songkran festival right here on this vibrant beachfront. The area had burst into life, filled with the sounds of traditional Thai music and the delighted shrieks of participants dousing each other in a communal celebration of renewal.

Water splashed in every direction as children and adults alike wielded water guns, buckets, and hoses. Each splash symbolized the washing away of the previous year's misfortunes. Along the sidewalks, stalls offered an array of spicy Thai street food and sweet treats, creating a feast for all senses.

As part of traditional Thai culture, it's customary to welcome the new year by splashing water on each other as a cleansing ritual to wash away sins and bad luck, with the belief that this will bring good fortune and blessings for the year ahead.

Beyond the water fights, locals also visit temples to perform a bathing ritual for Buddha statues. Scented water is poured over the statues to symbolically wash away bad deeds from the past year.

Reflecting on these traditions and festivities, I realize how deeply integrated they are in the fabric of our community, bridging cultural divides and fostering a shared sense of joy and renewal. Each year, these celebrations not only brighten the beachfront but also strengthen the bonds among us, reminding everyone of the vibrant, interconnected community we're part of.

As I continue to sip my coffee, my mind wanders back to a Songkran festival years ago, a memory vividly etched in my heart. It was a time when life seemed simpler, more joyous.

My ex-wife and I were here with our eldest son, Daniel, who was just seven at the time. The festival was in full swing, much like today, filled with laughter and the communal joy of the water fights.

That year, Daniel was thrilled with his new water gun, a bright red one that he had picked out himself. He ran around, gleefully spraying water everywhere, his laughter mingling with the sounds of the festival.

But amidst the chaos and celebration, an accident happened. His cherished water gun was trampled under the feet of the crowd. I still remember the sound it made, a sharp crack that seemed louder than the festivities around us.

Daniel's joyful expressions turned to tears in an instant. He stood there amidst the revelry, his small face crumpling as he looked down at his broken toy. It was a poignant contrast to the festivities around us.

My ex-wife and I rushed to his side, trying to console him, promising a new water gun, bigger and better. Yet, at that moment, no promise could ease the sting of his disappointment.

The memory of holding Daniel in my arms as he sobbed, his small body shaking with each cry, is as clear today as it was then. We eventually managed to distract him with some ice cream and more festival fun, but the incident had dimmed his enthusiasm slightly for the rest of the day.

Recalling this, I feel a twinge of nostalgia and a pang of sorrow for those times gone by, for the moments of family unity that are now just echoes of the past. Those memories, though tinged with sadness now, are precious. They remind me of the deep connections we once shared, the family ties that, despite everything, still tug at my heart.

As the sun approaches midday, I know it's time for me to head home. "Girl!" I call out a bit louder than usual. She glances over and nods, understanding immediately. She comes over with a packed nasi lemak and a fried drumstick, one I had ordered a while ago. I pass her the notes and prepare to take my leave.

"Old man... why not bring that new neighbor of yours and introduce her to me on Songkran?" Kak Gayah yells after me. Her question catches me completely off guard. How unexpected! How in the world did she know about Clara? Time and again, I find myself caught off guard. It seems everything connected to this lady named Clara is always a surprise.

I don't know how to answer Kak Gayah's sudden proposal. In a reflex, I simply wave my hand, avoiding any further glances, and start walking away. The idea of introducing Clara to Kak Gayah hadn't crossed my mind, and the suggestion adds another layer of complexity to the already intriguing presence of Clara in my life.

As I walk away, I ponder the interconnectedness of this small community, where news travels fast and everyone seems to know each other's business. The path home feels a bit heavier with this new consideration weighing on my mind.

Stepping into the building elevator lobby, I noticed the community hall to my left with its door wide open. Inside, a few residents were gathered around a table, and among them was Mr. Raju, one of the building management officers. As always, I kept my distance. The less I knew, the less I might get involved. Life felt simpler that way—less complicated.

As I approached the few elevators, one of the doors sprang open. Among the few that exited, Clara appeared. There was no hiding or escaping now. She walked straight towards me, without hesitation or reservation, seemingly unconcerned about the people around us.

"Haaa... Em Jay. I've been looking for you. Knocked on your door. No response. Can't expect Chomel to answer, can I?" she partly shouted at me, her face beaming with a grin.

Taken aback by her directness and the attention from the others, I felt a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Clara, what a surprise," I replied, trying to sound composed. "I went out to the beach early in the morning."

She laughed, a sound that seemed to lighten the entire lobby. "No worries. I was hoping you could help me with something. My smartphone went completely black this morning. I think I need a new one. Would you come with me to look for a replacement?"

The eyes of the other residents were on us, curiosity evident in their expressions. Normally, I would have politely declined, preferring my solitude. But something about Clara's energy and the spontaneity of the moment made me reconsider.

Yet, the thought of accompanying her on a tech-related errand filled me with reluctance. I hadn't used my own smartphone in months, relying instead on my computer for the occasional email check.

"Clara, I'm not sure I'd be much help," I said cautiously. "I don't even use a smartphone myself."

"Really? How do you manage?" she asked, clearly intrigued.

"Well, my children know my private email, and that's how we keep in touch," I explained, hoping she would understand and drop the subject.

But Clara was undeterred. "All the more reason for you to come with me. Maybe you'll see something that will change your mind. And besides, I could really use the company."

Her persistence was endearing, and despite my reservations, I found myself nodding. "Alright, Clara. Let me just drop these groceries upstairs, and I'll be right down."

"Great! I'll wait for you here," she said with an enthusiastic nod.

As I rode the elevator up to my apartment, I felt a strange excitement. Clara's presence was like a fresh breeze sweeping through my routine. After dropping off the groceries and giving Chomel a quick pet, I headed back down, anticipation building with each step.

When I returned to the lobby, Clara was chatting with Mr. Raju and the others. Seeing me, she waved me over. Mr. Raju had a wide grin on his face, as if silently saying, "Wow, old man, you are progressing very well."

"Hi there, handsome," I teased Mr. Raju, a well-dressed gentleman in his 40s.

His grin turned into a smile, then he broke into laughter. "As of now, I resign as the handsome one. I shall pass the baton to you—the one and only available bachelor in town," Mr. Raju retorted, paying me back for my teasing.

Clara chuckled at our exchange. "Alright, Mr. Bachelor, are you ready to help me find a new smartphone?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

I nodded, still smiling. "Lead the way."

Clara led me to her maroon SUV and, to my surprise, opened the door for me. I stood there, momentarily taken aback and feeling a flush of awkwardness and embarrassment wash over me. "Hop in. Can you guide me to the nearest gadget shop?" she asked, settling into the driver's seat.

As I climbed into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Am I too old to care for myself, or is she telling me something? Or perhaps she is inviting me into her domain?

My mind raced with these thoughts, each one adding to my discomfort. It had been a long time since someone had shown me such a simple, yet intimate gesture, and I wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.

I tried to brush off the feelings as I fastened my seatbelt. "The TESCO mall would be the best choice," I suggested. "Ample parking space and a gadget shop should be abundant."

Clara nodded, her hands gripping the steering wheel casually. She was wearing a light, flowy blouse with delicate floral prints and a pair of comfortable jeans, her silver-streaked hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked effortlessly chic and relaxed.

"Great choice, Em Jay. Let's head there," she said, starting the car.

As we drove, the conversation flowed easily. Clara shared stories about her time in Kuala Lumpur, her move to Penang, and her eagerness to explore more of the local culture. I listened, appreciating her openness and enthusiasm. It was a pleasant drive, with Clara navigating the streets with ease.

We arrived at the TESCO mall, and Clara found a parking spot near the entrance. We made our way inside, heading towards the section with electronic stores. Clara browsed the latest models while I stood back, feeling somewhat out of place among the sleek, modern devices.

As an IT consultant, technology surrounding modern devices was not alien to me. I still kept my mind up to date by googling them. The only thing was, my daily life as an old man without any real connection didn't seem to deserve such modern gadgets.

Clara noticed my hesitation and walked over with a smile. "Look at this one, Em Jay. It has a great camera and it's really user-friendly."

I chuckled. "Clara, I wouldn't even know where to start with these things," I said, though I knew quite a bit about them.

"Well, maybe it's time you learned. Technology isn't as intimidating as it seems, and it could help you stay connected," she said, her tone encouraging.

Not wanting to show off my background as an IT Consultant or objecting to her suggestion, I simply said, "Maybe one of these days."

After much deliberation, Clara made her choice and we headed back to the SUV. She thanked me profusely for coming along.

Inside her SUV, Clara took out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen from the middle drawer. She jotted something on it, tore the paper, and handed it to me. It was a phone number with her name.

"That's my personal number on this gadget. Remember to text me with yours when we get home," Clara said, kind of instructing me without glancing while steering the SUV out of TESCO.

How should I reply? Should I deliberately promise her? Should I object with an excuse? What would be the logical one? The piece of paper with a mobile number on it kept my eyes from blinking. The world seemed to stop revolving. Time stopped too.

Suddenly, my whole body was abruptly pushed forward. The SUV halted. Clara took a quick glance at me. Our eyes met. Those hazel eyes of hers hypnotized my senses. My heart beat became erratic. A gust of wind spiraled inside.

Clara took her eyes back on the street. "Are you alright, old man? Sorry for the sudden halt," she said. Her voice was calm, soft, kind of a sweet nag.

I leaned back. "No worries. 100% perfect," I replied simply. The piece of paper with her mobile number still in my hand. The answer still yet to be confirmed.

The 15-minute drive back wasn't the same as the initial one. Both of us suddenly kept silent. I couldn't predict what was on her mind and didn't have the courage to ask. I pretended to enjoy the scenery along the way, distancing my eyes from her. I put a simple smile on my face with a little nod as if I were truly enjoying the scenes.

Reaching the main entrance, the guardhouse, the friendliest security officer stood firm, exactly like those in the movies—a corporal in full respect for the superior.

Clara slowed down the SUV and stopped. She lowered the window. The officer ran to her side, bowed down until his head was level with the window. His face had the widest smile you could imagine. His eyes shone jubilantly, not at Clara, but at me, as if telling me, "Here you are, old man. You have nowhere to hide anymore." I said nothing because I didn't know what to say. Everything happened too fast for my old brain to process.

"Hey, madam Clara. The goods that you ordered yesterday shall arrive tomorrow, somewhere in the afternoon," Rajan now spoke to the SUV driver.

"Yeah… actually I wanted to ask you this morning about it. But my mobile went blank. Now I got a new one. So you can WhatsApp me the details later," Clara replied and started to move again. "Thanks, Rajan," she yelled as she drove off.

She parked the SUV. I climbed down. She approached me, her face calm, innocent, decent. "Thank you so much, Em Jay, for accompanying me. I really appreciate it." Clara confessed. She was standing really close to me. I moved back a few steps, not intentionally but unconsciously.

"You are welcome, Clara. It didn't trouble me at all. In fact, I enjoyed it too. It's been quite some time since I've stepped into TESCO. Thanks to you too." Although there were lots of things in my mind, my heart still kept pounding. Yet, I tried to bring myself as naturally as possible.

"Would you like to go for a cup of cold drink at the beach? I need it to quench this thirst." Clara again, with that sweet kind of nag, put me in a corner. Somewhere inside me was yelling, "Yes, yes, yes." But somewhere too, "No, not in that public arena."

Politely, I turned down the offer. "Sorry, Clara. I need to go up. I haven't fed Chomel since morning." I didn't know whether that answer was acceptable or just a simple excuse to her. That's the best I could come up with.

"Okay, you head home first. And don't forget to text me your number," she said as she started walking to the beach.

Back in my apartment, I sat down to write in my blog, capturing the day's events and my reflections on them. Today, the world had pulled at my edges, calling me back to its fold, and for once, I was ready to answer that call.

As I stared at the blank page, a sudden knock at my door startled me. Who could it be at this hour? Rising slowly, I made my way to the door, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension. Opening it, I was met with a sight that took me completely by surprise.

"Hello, Dad," said a familiar voice. Standing there was my second son, Isaac, with a hesitant smile on his face. His voice sounded hoarse, as if strained by emotion or recent illness. In his hand was a small luggage, hinting at an extended stay.

"Surprise," Isaac added, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

I stood frozen, the world around me blurring as the reality of the moment hit. My son was here, at my door, after all these years. Alone.

What could have brought him here now? And what did this unexpected visit mean for our strained relationship?