Page 58 - KCN 2020

I was bathed in the neon glow of the Jonker Street
DREAM
a l i t t l e
DREAM
o f m e
MR CHAN TEIK ONN
The girl in the white dress stood in the middle
of crowded Jonker Street. In her hands was a bouquet of
white hyacinths.
“A white hyacinth signifies a prayer,” I said.
“You sure know your flowers,” she said with a smile.
“You probably know more.”
“I should. I’m a florist after all,” the girl said. “I’m
Cynthia.”
“They must’ve named the flower after you,” I remarked.
I had never met her before, but it felt like I had spent a lifetime
with her. When she placed her hand on my shoulder, a sense
of familiarity rushed through me. It was a strange sensation.
“I know this is sudden, but would you come find
me?” she asked.
“But I’m here.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
I felt a tug on my ankle and soon realized that we
were connected by a thin red thread. I could not run away
from her even if I tried. Not that I’d want to.
“Look for me,” Cynthia repeated. The noise from
the crowd grew ever more deafening.
55 ***
I rose from my bed to the sound of my alarm
and went straight to my desk for my pen and paper. sign. The street was completely empty save for one person.
“Cynthia, you lied to me.”
They say you forget 90% of your dream
within an hour of waking up, so I decided to immor- She was looking the other way, holding a
talize her image on paper. And then I did what any
sane person would do. I hopped on a bus to Malacca. single white hyacinth fashioned from coloured straws.
“Flowers, aren’t plastic flowers considered
On my way there I called my friend, who hap-
pened to be the HR rep at my workplace, to take leave. flowers as well? Flowers bring happiness sto our lives, don’t
they? It’s just unfortunate that they don’t last forever. We try
“Okay. Why?” she asked. to make it last, but they don’t delight you as much,” she said.
I told her about my dream and got the ***
reaction I had expected.
I woke up to the familiar neon glow of the Jonker Street
“Are you insane?” she said. “You’re chasing after sign coming in from the window. I got up and got dressed.
someone who doesn’t even exist! If boss found out, you’d
be fired.” “You know the thing about gut feelings,” I told I shuffled among the crowd, not paying heed
her. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t to the colourful distractions around me. The answer
act on them.” to the mystery was right there, at the end of the street:
a stall decorated with plastic flowers. I approached the old
“You’re in denial,” she quipped. woman behind the stall and held up the sketch of Cynthia.
But I have to admit, her words did carry weight. “Are you Cynthia?” I asked her without hesitation.
As soon as I set foot in Malacca, I was overwhelmed She turned to me, confused.
with doubt. The dream had worn off, and I was left feel- “Are you crazy?”
ing stupid. But I told myself I had come a long way. The “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I said.
least I could do was prove Cynthia’s existence or lack “She was my granddaughter,” the old lady said.
thereof. The afternoon heat did not help my “Who are you?”
resolve, though. “Was?”
“She died from leukaemia 5 years ago. You
Jonker Street would not be open for at couldn’t have possibly known her.”
least four more hours, so I decided to ask around for It took me a while to recollect myself.
a florist in its vicinity. And then came the bad news. When I told her about my dream, about the
red thread binding us together, she began to weep. I
I was told that there was not a single florist then turned to the plastic flowers.
on Jonker Street. “If you manage to find a florist here, “Is that why you stopped selling flowers?”
I’ll eat a shoe,” the old receptionist at the Jonker Street “It will never be the same without her.”
Library proclaimed when I doubted his information. “Where is she?” I asked.
The old lady looked at me.
As dejected as I was, going home this late “I will meet her, no matter what.”
was no longer an option. So, I checked myself into
a hotel nearby. As I lay on the bed, I asked myself if I found myself in front of Cynthia’s grave at the
this trip was worth it. This would be a good vaca- Bukit Cina Cemetery the next morning. I placed a bouquet
tion, for what it’s worth. I must have been burnt out of white hyacinths on her headstone alongside my drawing
at work, anyway. That would explain the dream I had. of her. I stood there for a long time, thinking about her.
*** About the thin red thread between us, and about the future
that never was.
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