Arriving at Novena, I always had to walk across the underpass to reach the place. As usual, it was fairly noisy, with the countless reverberations bouncing around the 2 walls, the ceiling and ground, which were hardly 3 metres from each other, similar to how we would flank our hands beside our mouths when we shout. A lone basker sat, strumming and singing an oldie that no one seemed to know.
And then at the escalator landing, a middle-aged lady with a crumpler peddling her goods—simple blue pens. “Pen?” she asked as she offered a brand new pen with wrapper attached. I merely walked past, ignoring her existence. Turning back, I noticed many more pens lay on a ledge. Approximately 10, though I didn’t bother to count.
I reached the tuition centre, and forgot about the whole thing. Nothing unusual, nothing notable after all…
2 hours later, I came back from tuition class, walking across the underpass, again.
The same lady offered a brand new pen with wrapper attached. “Pen?” she asked hopefully. This time, I held out my hand in rejection and walked on.
The basker’s taken a break, looking at his scores. This time there wasn’t a crowd, only a few individuals walking, minding their own business. I turned my head, and noticed once more, that the number of pens which lay on a ledge remained approximately 10.
Perhaps she’d sold more than 10 and had replaced the previous batch. Maybe not.
But something urged me to carry on walking. Of course, I still wanted to return and just buy a single brand new blue pen, just to put a smile on her spent countenance.
But I didn’t. I never bought not-entirely-useful trinkets from peddlers such as these. This time was no exception. This time round, I was a bit regretful, yet I was more hardened. On one hand, buying could mean “helping the needy”, on the other hand, it could be encouraging opportunists eager to earn quick bucks.
I just walked on.
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