Last week my dad wanted to watch a movie with the family.
The last time we did that was like, 10 months ago?
And so it was set. Saturday night, at the closest cinema possible.
TGV KLCC it is then.
The only available movie (I mean, with 5 good seats) at the time was 2012.
Yeah, sure, the movie’s a bit old by then.
But hey, since the 4 of us haven’t watched it yet. Democracy wins.
And before you know it, I got tricked into standing in the atrociously long line to buy the tickets.
Not wanting to stand there all alone, I dragged my 10 year old brother along to share the misery.
And as we were entering the queue, the last person in the line ( the one ahead of us) was waving his hand to come on over closer.
Was it someone I know? Perhaps not.
His face didn’t ring any bells.
He said Hi.
We said Hi back to him.
Giving up on trying to recall the identity of this man,
I decided to initiate conversation.
"Have we met before?"
But then, he was more occupied with my little brother instead.
Smiling, saying hi, laughing and stroking my brother’s hair.
"Very handsome boy!" ,
Gesturing a thumbs up while saying that to him.
My little brother, was taught well on the ways of our culture,
To respect the elders. No matter what happens, just smile and entertain the old man.
At first glance, I thought he was a Malay man.
From his tanned skin and facial features.
But then, his eyes were too… squinted?
Scruffy grey hair, a worn out shirt and pair of shorts, slippers that have seen better days, and a bottle of mineral water.
For a second there, I might just actually think that this man is a bit *not there* judging by his appearance alone.
“Are you from Malaysia?”
“Oh, no, no… People… think I’m Malay, sometimes Chinese. Burma. From Burma.”
I was like, oh okay.
It looked as if he was struggling to find the right words to say.
Before every sentence, he’d literally close his eyes like Hiro Nakamura trying to bend time and space, and slowly muttered the words one at a time.
Must’ve been hard trying to cope with foreign languages, for his age.
I tried speaking in Malay. But it was just as hard to understand his speech. English it is then.
It was already an awkward situation, as we progress through the line. With everybody from all sides (front, back, left, right, centre)
Of whom got nothing else to do as well while queuing up, eavesdropping, staring and whispering among themselves.
And the old man was at it again, stroking my brother’s hair.
He looked so happy. Shaking his head left to right, smiling.
Now, I was just about to have enough of this paedophilic foreign man touching my 10 year old brother.
I think that was the reason why the surrounding people stared ever so much.
But then again, throughout my encounters with many of the colourful characters in the past, everybody has their own story.
It would have been very shallow of me just to write him off just like that;
As a “paedophile that should be arrested by the police and deported back to Burma”.
“Do you have a son?” I asked.
I think I struck a chord there when I asked him that.
I don’t know whether he’s trying to muster up the right words for a reply, or trying to recall back his own son from his memory.
His eyes were semi-watery.
Not to the point where you’d shed a tear, but, it was noticeable if you looked hard enough.
“Yes. Son. He was this big when I left Burma”.
*****
And there you go. Sometimes I think how our society has degraded so badly with the increase in crime, violence, and the like…
We've grown somewhat paranoid to the people outside.
The first thought of a stranger is that he is a bad person.
Guilty until proven innocent sort of way.
I'm not saying that I’m a saint,
I’m guilty of such prejudice and malice as well.
*****
As I try to engage in further conversation with this man, I’ve somewhat got to know his life story, being summed up in roughly about 7 minutes.
He came to Malaysia to work about 10 years ago,
As the financial situations in Burma was very bleak.
Leaving behind his beloved wife and son (about 10yrs old at the time).
He works as a car jockey now somewhere near AmBank in Jalan Raja Chulan.
He sends money back home to support his family, of whom he never saw ever since he left.
It was too costly to go back to Burma, and with current immigration policies and whatnot, it might be impossible to come back to Malaysia (compared to say, 10 years ago).
*****
I guess that explained why he was so interested in my little brother. I think that was his closest link to remembering the once 10-year-old son back then.
I can’t really say he’s a sad, old man.
Lonely, yes. It must’ve been really tough on him.
And thus, he enjoys the occasional movie once in a while.
And of course, the company of whoever it is that he can talk with for a good 5 minutes.
“Watch..movie..I can. I under..stand. But hard to..talk back.”
Ah, the movies. One of the simple pleasures that unite us all.
It’s the human nature to communicate amongst each other, regardless of our differing languages.
Our gestures and body language can be understood by all.
I’m very sure that he’s not the only one here.
I wonder how many of these stories are there right now in Malaysia…?
I bid you adieu, old man.
The least I can do is to re-tell your story and shed some light on the issue.
I hope you’ll get to see your family again soon enough.
