It is befitting that I went back to the place that started it all. At the very table where I found writing, (or is it writing that found me? It doesn't really matter now) it is here that my first sentence began, in this very old bricks and mortar shophouse, Ah Beng's. Memories are aplenty here. Drunken binge started early, ended late into starry night.
"You'll never get old," the old man once said. "Let me be the only old man here. It is necessary for any place to have at least one elderly, and let me be the only one."
"I think I could be you, some day." Three years ago, I was so sure that I'd die here, in this very town. "It's nice to be the only elderly in the town, I guess."
"My son, trust me, your place is not here. You'll move on. And this place will become your memory. Good or bad, it's you to decide. Let see what's gonna happen. And if you happen to leave here, make sure you'll come here and let me know that you're going."
"I'd never leave. This is perfect."
"Nothing is perfect. Not even this town. It used to be perfect, or near perfect, but they are coming. The money started coming in and you know what's gonna happen. Come that day, I might not be able to sell liquor here anymore, we never know, Angus."
"I wanna be old here. I wanna die here."
"You're not gonna die. Trust me, this town will keep you alive."
Indeed, this town has kept me alive. They say memory is only good when you don't have to worry about your broken past. I think this town sums it all perfectly, this is what I'd love to call a memory.
