Movements in moments

Our eyes met at an old food court in Singapore, in one of those malls frequented by Filipinos. It was a few second encounter; and yet I know for a fact that it was enough for us to understand each other. I saw in him a certain kind of strength - a steadiness that could easily be mistaken for resignation, from the way his mouth curled in defiance against any form of sympathy thrown in his way. Yet, I was not able to help it, I felt pity for him.

He must be around 60 years old, thin, wrinkled, surrounded by a grey aura, cleaning tables for a living. He maneuvered his way around like the place was his home, and we were his visitors. I presumed he was a Filipino from the way he threw me a knowing look, and I bet he saw through me. I just know. My restlessness, my general uncertainty, reflected in his eyes, and it seems to me he was trying to offer me advice.

I was very tired then - my feet aching from the kilometers I’d walked that day. I had no appetite, and was drinking Coke just for the sake of doing something while my friends eat. It was one of those moments of pure exhaustion when you care the littlest where you are and what you are supposed to be doing there. All guards down, that’s when he saw me. He even passed by our table several times after that, used bowls, plates and utensils in tow, glancing toward my direction every now and then, like he was watching me.

The truth is, I was watching him too, trying to learn from his years.