my commonwealth essay- blue
1st draft
A wave of foreign workers emerged from the gigantic gates of the shipyard, oblivious to the dusty container trucks and the setting sun. many of them were in their cliques, chatting with each other as if there was no tomorrow, for it was the end of a day of hard ,laborious work.
Some of them settle on the grass patches by the roadside, among the endless stretch of bicycles and motorcycles, reaching into their worn out backpacks for their source of comfort, a tasty,but not-so-warm packet of
roti-prata and fried
bee hoon. As those blue collared workers went on with their daily routine, you could almost feel the joy that they were experiencing. out of all the mindless chatter, you could suddenly hear a distinct noise, a spluttering , choking sound. then exhaust filled the air, but obviously that would not be much of a concern to the ecstatic Bangladeshi workers as they continued with their business.
Out of nowhere, throngs of pickups and school buses suddenly arrived , all at the same time. eagerly,they made their way up the vehicles, straining its suspension as the body of metal inched closer to the ground every second, threatening to come into contact with the tyres.
out of the hustle and bustle stood a tall brown man, distinct from his dark coloured Bangladeshi colleagues, on his broad shoulders hung a worn brown bag,looking as if it was hand made out of a gunnysack, his weather beaten face looked of lethargy and a sense of lost, among the joyous atmosphere. he looked left ,then right,then left again. Then he stepped on the burning tarmac road and quickend his steps, crossing to the other side of the road to take the public bus.
"ahshad! wait for me!"
"what you want now...... i got no more for you already, its very expensive you know."
"come on
lah , last one"
reluctantly, he handed a stick of ciaggerrette over to his friend then bid goodbye to that irritating friend of his and continued on his way.......
he sat quietly at the bus stop waiting to hear the rumble of the bus service 324, which was the only bus service available in that
ulu place.
soon, it came in to sight and ashad calmly stepped over to the bus bay and flagged the bus, it came into the bus bay as if it was never going to stop. then, the driver braked hard and the bus came to a abrupt halt, almost right in front of ashad. the brakes hissed as loudly as they could, almost to tell the driver the amount of sufferring they had been through under his control. the creaky old doors then slammed open,allowing him to board the bus. tapping his EZ-link card, he silently noted the amount that was shown on the reader, "$3.40 new ride" it said.
he quickly found himself a decent seat among the array of torn cushion covers and seats, he swung his bag over onto his lap, putting his forearm on the window sill, looking out thoughtfully.
then, he took out a well kept but very old book out of his gunnysack-like bag and started reading it.... it was bound together by only a strand of string threaded through the holes that have been punched on the book. it looks like a manaual of some sort, maybe even a religious book.
It wasn't long before he finally came to sembawang MRT station, where he was to take the train back to his dormitriy in ang mo kio. he stepped into the MRT station, yet again trapping his EZ-link card o the reader at the gates, this time cursing under his breath about the rising costs of travel. he took the escalator up to the MRT platform where he waited patiently for the familiar rythmic thud of the train when it maks it way into the platform. the wait seemed like eternity, he was trying to ignore the scornful stares he got from the public. he bent his head low, as though the floor appealed to him so much that he kept looking at it, trying to shun away from the public. the train arrived sooner than he thought and the doors slid open silently, almost crrepily
