Saturday Friend.

Her hair was disheveled, gray-white and flopped about all over her face as her neck twitched from side to side in a tic. She walked with an awkward limp, and understandably so, as she slung 3 plastic bags filled with items over both shoulders. Orange pants, soiled with dirt, and a floral shirt which was stained with sweat.

It was a Saturday afternoon, my first weekend off from work in a long while, and I had just walked out of the art museum by myself when I saw that shadow. I knew that side profile. I had seen and sat down with that frail silhouette before. Twice.

It’s been three years.

Three years ago, I had seen this odd woman on the streets before, on two separate occasions, walking around town with a bad squint, an odd demeanour and asking people to buy food for her.

Today, after 3 long years, I saw her again.

I wanted to just watch her pass by. She was walking so quickly ahead that I could not catch up. Then, she stopped at a traffic light and God gave me the chance to say hello.

I didn’t. Not immediately, anyway. Standing next to her, I could smell her. She smelled like… Grandpa Zhou, only worse because she also smelled of urine. We were in the middle of town, an uppity district, and people all around us were well-dressed.

Suddenly, in the midst of the uppity crowd, I felt self-conscious and embarrassed of the stares I would get by talking to her. I finally plucked up the courage.

“Hello,” I said. “Are you having dinner soon? Can I buy you a meal?”

Her face lit up immediately. “Okay, yes, sure. Can you buy me food from the foodcourt?”

Three years ago, I remember she had requested for food from a foodcourt from me, even though a cheaper option was available.

“You think I don’t know outside hawker centre food cheaper ah? I know la of course, but you know, one time I ate like that, and I got so sick I want to die ah! So I don’t dare anymore lor.”

“Do you remember I bought food for you before? What is your name?” I asked gently.

“Harrr??!”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” I asked louder. Her hearing was impaired.

“Yvonne. Oh yar, you look familiar!”

Not Joy. Joy, that was the name she told me three years ago. And I only remember so because I wrote about it here. It was obviously neither.

We went to the basement of City Hall and I bought her a Subway meal.

“Would you like a sandwich?”

“Yes. Ham and cheese. Cucumber and tomato. I don’t want sauce. I don’t want anything else in my sandwich. And coke. Coke please. I like Coke.”

We sat down. We got a few stares. “Why you not eating?”

“I have food cooked at home,” I replied.

“Your mudder cook for you ah?”

“Yes,” I said. “ I have food at home.”

“So lucky la you. You know, last time my mudder also always cook for me one. I so happy last time.”

“What job you do ah?”

“I work in a hospital.”

“How much you earn ah?”

“About two thousand dollars.”

“Waaaah, you must so happy. Got job, got money. Can spend whatever and whenever you want. Not like me like that. You know, I don’t want to be like this. I want to have a job you know. But I like this, so sick you know. I am so sick of this. So sick of this life man.”

I listened to her talk. I listened as she stuffed the food into her mouth, sitting in an awkward position because she refused to un-sling the huge plastic bags from her shoulder. People from the opposite table were staring at her, at us.

“How much food do you eat a day? Do you have enough?”

“No la, no job where got enough?! Everyday eat 1 meal only, eat at night lor. I no more money already, I worry.”

A 6-inch cold cut trio sandwich, one tall coke, one peanut butter cookie and another double chocolate cookie later, I asked her if she was full.

“No leh. I’m not full. Little bit only.”

“Can I buy you more food?”

“Can ah? Okay. I want to go upstairs foodcourt down there. Eat hor fun (chinese flat noodles).”

We sat down. She told me about her sister, her family and a little about her life.

Looking back on the posts I had written three years ago, I realize she was telling
me the same things. She talked loudly, her head throwing her hair back constantly in a tic, as her squint made her unable to focus and hence cock her head from side to side constantly.

More eyes fell on us. This time, I grew hungry and I ate with her, too.

She wiped an entire bowl of noodles out.

“God loves you,” I said. “He told me to buy this food for you and eat with you.”

“God loves me? Yar right. You don’t know, I everyday suffering! Suffering! People tell me God love me, like what? You think I happy ah? I not happy okay.”

I didn’t know what else to say, except to ask if she enjoyed the food.

“Yes, food very nice.” She smiled.

“God asked me to buy this meal for you.”

She smiled again.

“Can we buy some groceries for you later? Some bread or biscuits maybe?” I said.

“No!! I very scared of bread! Everyday eat until so scared! Cheap mah, so eat everyday!”

Those had been the words of Grandpa Zhou. I realized, the poor are terrified of bread.

“Thank you for buying me this.”

I remembered, that the last time we met, she never thanked me. I knew it was not so much out of ingratitude as it was out of shame.

“I hope to see you again,” I said. She asked to leave. We parted.

She didn’t want groceries. She didn’t want my money. She didn’t want anything more but to leave.

As we ate together and as I travelled home, I thought about how beautiful it was that I was by myself, on a Saturday afternoon, walking out of the art museum alone, that I could stop to dine with her. I thought about how it was because I was alone and wandering around town by myself that I even noticed her in the first place. I wasn’t rushing off to meet anyone or do anything. No date, no family outing because my parents had their own plans, no work to rush.

Silently, I thanked God that I was by myself. That I was alone, wandering. I thanked God that in spite of all my achievements and being relatively high-profile in school all my life, I have always had difficulty fitting into the popular gang, maybe because I have always been quite introverted and I don’t enjoy watching mainstream movies or eating junk food or drinking beer or playing pool or shopping or engaging in the latest gossip. I used to resent myself and God in some way for it, but now I know God makes us each differently, and it is my “misfitted-ness” and daydreaminess that all the more makes me want to reach out to and sit with those abandoned and hurting and lonely too. So the very things I used to resent, are also the very things which make me unique and give me the ability to do what I do.

So thank you God, for making me this way.

Perhaps there’s something about yourself you hate. And perhaps there were times you wished you reached out to somebody, a friend or a stranger. Remember, we don’t have to be perfect, or particularly brave to sit with the lonely. They are only more than happy to have our company because they never expect it. They don’t expect us to be perfect, either. Sometimes, it is our quirks and insecurities which help us relate better to their quirks and insecurities.

It is easy to give money, and less easy to give time.

So the next time you feel lonely or bored or like a social misfit, or rejected or unwanted or unloved, especially on a weekend or holiday when everyone’s out having fun, just remember that someone out there needs you. Go reach out to that person.

You don’t have to be their hero. But you can be their friend.