Breakfast

Breakfast.

Work. That was all that was existent in his head. He didn’t fret about his daughter who was taking her PSLE this year; he didn’t worry about his wife’s recent backache. They should settle their own problems and gain independence. Why bother him further with troubles when he was already dragging the bacon home? He ate, drank, and thought work. Family, it could wait. Promotions and bonuses don’t. So why cherish something that will wait instead of catching something, and then get the best of both worlds?

Tomorrow was his birthday, but he didn’t realise it, no, he was too caught up with his hectic work schedule. Him taking leave was equivalent to plucking stars out of trees - impossible. He even scheduled his work hours as 36 hours starting at midday today, meaning at the stroke of twelve, he would still be training in the firefighter department, spending his entire day keeping fit and saving people. She understood what his job meant to him, she really did. Their dating days was, though sparse, diabetic. She knew he was from a poor family background, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind descending her status and roughing out her once smooth, satin like hands. His parents were taken away from him at 12. Deep in debt, knowing their creditors were after them, they gave him an errand – to buy breakfast with whatever cash was left in their grey, Swiss cheese-like pockets.

In delight he held the cash in a vice-like grip, dividing it into three mentally, then thought about the menu in his head which he promised himself he had to eat before the age of 30. Nope, he couldn’t afford anything near that menu with that pathetic amount he had. Looks like it’s plain expired bread again, he thought dejectedly, staring at the miserly cash he held in his white-knuckled fist with baleful eyes. He took his time in choosing the stale bread. That was the worst thing he would have ever eaten, not because it’s hard, not because it’s mouldy, but because of what it took from him. As he jumped-tripped his way home, he noticed a commotion near his home. Not one for drama, he never once turned his eyes, or nose, to the dark thick smoke clouds that could suffocate. Not until he noticed that the drama was taking place in his home. He froze, mind still in denial of what his eyes painted in front of him. Each stroke of the concentrated cloud dazed him further. This is what happens when what you know, or hope, turns out the other way round, the opposing way, far from what you can expect. From two sorrowful eyes that depicted his boring life to two round moons that declared the lost of loved ones; from an enthusiastic appetite to a lost mind; from a cheerful boy to a boy who had no emotions ever again…

He bounced back from his etched memory, stuffed his dinner that now became so tasteless and ruled the tears back into its sockets. Crying was unacceptable for men, especially in an area where fit and seemingly undefeated men thrived. No, no sign of weakness. Not here, not now. The siren rang, he was the first to arrive in the conference room for the urgent briefing. He valued his job deeply with a huge passion – he largely blamed two parties for his parents’ death: the creditors and the late firemen. Their timing was unacceptable and efficiency, unforgivable.

‘We have just received intelligence information exchange from a reliable source,’ his captain warned in his booming and domineering tone. ‘They are targeting the city hall interchange.’ He paused to rethink his next statement, thumb supporting chin and index finger rubbing in between his nose, an obvious nervous body language. ‘However, we don’t exactly know how the minds of this JI work, and so we have to have reserves in … other areas, to ensure the safety of Singapore as a whole.’ He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the way the words came out. ‘Our team will be … guarding the green line, specifically the Tanah Merah station. We will only enter the area when need be. Otherwise, we’ll stay here and await instructions.’ The team burst out in petulance, indignant that they were not chosen for this risky and important mission. To them, it was an insult of highest order and to be disregarded was just not an answer. This was also what the captain was trying to avoid. Against a group of raging, well-built men, he could only reply: ‘That was the orders from the heads. I can’t do anything,’

As dawn broke, she hummed softly and, with extreme care, prepared a birthday breakfast for her husband. She knew he didn’t like interruptions in his work so the least she felt she could do was to make him an enjoyable breakfast to let him remember his birthday. She thought through it and decided that instead of requesting a meeting with him, she would just place it in his dormitory, allowing him to eat without pressure. She cut the egg in a heart shape form with the skill of a Japanese housewife, placed the steamed red beans and rice in the container and the egg on top of it, with corn mayo at its side and salad pieces to garnish. She delicately positioned her breaded golden chicken in place, then with a huge satisfaction covered the lid on it and wiped her beads of salty sweat away onto her apron. Her unkempt hair was now smeared with sweat. She rushed to wake her daughter up, had a quick cold bath, bunned her hair and shooed her daughter out of the house.

‘How are we going there Mum?’

‘The train, dear. Here we are, Tanah Merah Interchange.’