new eyes

So thanks to the talks I have been having with friends, I have accumulated a fair amount of information on the workings of the underworld. And nowadays when I roam the streets I find myself taking a closer look at people, just observing.

Today at City Hall MRT station, being the recluse that I am, I meandered to the far part of the station to wait for the train, where no other lonely souls were. There I stood, minding my own business, when suddenly two guys came and stood in front of me, flanking the yellow box with the arrow. The way they stood was peculiar. They both leant against the glass panels, both faced each other, and stood exactly behind the yellow line. They had tattoos on their arms, of the same pattern, some huge sun like symbol that was partially hidden under their T-shirt sleeves.

One had floppy center parting hair, and was wearing a football jersey, jeans and slippers. His nails were black. He was particularly noticeable because he appeared to be trying not to be noticeable. He kept looking down his toes, shuffled around, was fidgety, and had eyes of a dead goldfish. Squinty, bloodshot and listless. Let's call him DeadGoldfish.

His friend had the same tattoo, on another arm, and looked like an overaged teenager, those of the typical TV Bad Guy variety. Grey T shirt crumpled jeans and sneakers, messed up hair, like he just ran his fingers through them with wax. Had slits for eyes and lips. Let's call him EyesWhiteShut.

They both sat together in silence for the entire train journey. DeadGoldfish was generally looking shady and shifty, eyes drifting around, looking like he was ready to run. He closed his eyes occasionally but he seemed to need great willpower to keep them shut. Soon after, two boys sat next to him and he gave up trying to sleep. The difference in eyes between DeadGoldfish and the boys was huge. He looked like what I imagine a person knowing he's going to die the next day would look like.

EyesWhiteShut kept his eyes closed the entire journey. Occassionally, his closed eyes would open to reveal just the white of his eyes. His left index finger kept tracing random circles in the air. Even when Dead Goldfish got off, he didn't move. Dead Goldfish didn't tell him he was leaving either. It was almost as if they didn't know each other.

DeadGoldfish getting off. That's the interesting part. When he heard 'Buona Vista', he sprung from his seat. Literally. I never knew dead goldfish could have so much latent energy. He sprung up and shuffled quickly to the door. Then he massaged his neck, as if he sprained it with all the exertion. Then he put his hands on the top of the door frame, and bent over to stretch his back, and followed up with whole lot of other stretching exercises. The overall impression was that he was inhabiting a body other than his own, and he needed time to get use to it, to get use to the feel of movement. Uneasy. And then in that seemingly very long time it took for the train to reach the station, he took out a inhaler, the kind some people use for a blocked nose, and inhaled very deeply. Then he stepped out, body crouched over like he had a stomach ache, and shuffled away into the crowd.

Of course. All this doesn't mean anything. He might just be someone sick, and dying to get back home. But it was the look in the eyes. The hollowness, staleness, flatness, blankness. Like his person had been emptied out. That was slightly unnerving.

- You can see it in the eyes, we know who is using, or not. -