RTHKK Radio 3’s Annual Writing Competition (theme: the elderly problem in HK)

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  Today marked half a year since my son, Ronnie died. From the day he died of some acute infectious disease, I knew life would not be easy for me anymore. Now that I lost two of my beloved ones. I’m officially a solitary elder widow.

  On a normal day, I was staggering around the streets of Sham Shui Po, trying to search for some used cardboards for selling. Yet the sky was bright, the alley was hazy, which made me even more depressed.

  The alley smelt gross with the overnight leftovers. But what could I do? I needed to make a living. I mumbled that I had to hurry and catch the collection truck at 2 o’clock.

  I reached a local restaurant where my family used to dine in. All at once, the memories flooded inside my mind, the fragments of us enjoying a simple meal and the fragments of Ronnie ordering my favourite drink for me hit my heart. I almost burst into tears. Instead, I told myself to hold it back, there was still a long way ahead of me. I needed to be tough. I was lucky to have collected half of my goal from a single place, ‘a few more places to go!’ I murmured to myself.

  I carried the cardboards with a stroller. From time to time, I had to yell ‘excuse me’ to make way. Some people looked at me pitifully, some people despised me. Nevertheless, I did not expect a helping hand in a face-paced city. Everyone was busy with their own business after all. After crossing a few street lights, I made it to Cheung Sha Wan Road. I had known some of the retailers there for years and they usually kept some cardboards for me. They are empathetic and would help me stack those heavy cardboards on my stroller.

  The stroller was as heavy as my footsteps. I had used most of my energy and my stomach as emphy. I would pick up cans if I saw any on the streets, even though I knew I might just earn a few dollars from it. The sun was high up, hinting it was afternoon. I went to the usual spot where the collection truck parks. After a morning of hard work and sweat, I earned fifteen dollars. Holding the money with my wrinkled and chapped hands, I had never felt more satisfied. Without a doubt, I hurried to a bakery and bought a walnut bread. I ate it bit by bit so I could remember the flavour of it.

  I left some pieces of bread in my pocket. Some were left for dinner, some were for my four-legged friend – a street cat which I named Sesame. Unconsciously, we would meet at his territory during the same period of time. From a distance, I saw his weak body, hiding behind a rubbish bin. I walked forward and petted him gently. He rubbed his forehead on the back of my hand in return. He lost some some of his fur, and I guessed he was once beaten up. Under these circumstances, he remained strong. Sesame was just like a normal cat. If a cat can depend on its own, then I should also do the same. That is one of the reasons why I do not want to apply for government subsidies, although Ronnie told me to do so in his last breath. As long as I can make myself warm and full, I would not like to live on dole. There are more elderly or handicapped people there who need the allowance than I do!

  Realising it was already dawn, I got up and farewelled Sesame. Stars can’t shine without darkness. Remaining hopeful is important!