I was watching a boy on the MRT last night. He was stone fox good looking, but he also looked like he was about to be sick.
What was he playing in his hands? It looked like a piece of green cardboard, but upon a longer look I saw that it was a soft tissue pack. He held it between his right thumb and index finger, stroking it, caressing it. He smiled a little and I thought to myself, what was so funny? What could he possibly be thinking about?
He took off his black-framed glasses and tucked it into the left pocket of his shirt. His work shirt was a beautiful soft grey. It hadn’t been creased nor had it been stained. How did it manage to remain so pristine throughout the day? It was 9.45pm on a Thursday. Perhaps he had been sitting in his office all day.
He touched the corners of his black laptop bag. He moved his left hand across all three corners of the bottom section. He appeared to be looking for a zip that didn’t exist. I thought about going over to him. But what would I say? Hey there, I’ve been looking at you.
With his right hand he scratched his nose. With his left hand he flicked his ear. With his right hand again he touched his face. I laughed a little inside because it reminded me of me. With his left hand again he brought a hand-crumpled tissue onto his nose.
He was young and extremely good looking. His body was square, and his jaw was angular. His skin was smooth and taut. He probably was no older than 24. He looked like a cross between Andrew Leong and Jinnyboy, his eyes alert, his nose sharp and his face defined.
He had a big mop of hair on his head. But I could also see the hairline on his forehead, and imagined what he would look like when he aged. He combed his head with his fingers. Then he rubbed his eyes, and looked straight ahead. He looked for about 10 seconds without blinking.
In that full three minutes I watched him, directly at him and through the window reflection at him. I thought he was love sick. Then he stuck out his tongue a little, and I knew he was going to be sick.
Wan Phing Lim 