The kite-man
It is the 26th of December, 2004, a dark day in the history of the Penang. This day marks the only incident in recent memory where a major natural disaster, namely a tsunami, has hit this island. At approximately 8:59 a.m., a massive earthquake off the tip of nothern Sumatra triggered waves of tsunami that swept out from the epicenter of the quake, hitting the West Coast states of Peninsular Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Madras, and the Maldives Islands, wreaking havoc on their unprepared shores. These tsunami have thus far claimed 38 lives on the island of Penang.
I am with my parents, driving along the Gurney Drive coastal road, hoping to satiate our grotesque curiosity, yielding to our lower desire for carnal enjoyment derived from viewing the suffering of others, knowing that we are safe, that we do not share their misfortune.
We are inching along the road, like countless other motorists, slowly taking in the devastation wrought by the merciless tsunami. I see a lone figure of calm amid the endlessly roving crowds that stream past. He is a middle-aged Chinese man of ruddy complexion. His kindly, weather-beaten face is framed by an untidy mop of curls. He is walking slowly back and forth, wordlessly waving what appears to be three tiny kites attached to his hand by 3 equally short strings. As I continue to observe him, I realize that he is no mere out-of-place hobbyist. This man is a kite salesman.
I salute this brazen entrepeneur. He embodies the masculine ideals of determination (in spite of the destruction, he refuses to let down peddling his little kites), boldness (he evidently couldn't care less what people thought of him, a strange little man selling kites in the aftermath of a tsunami), and pragmatic calmness (he knows ambling about viewing the damage and going ga-ga and oh-my! over the whole matter, like I am doing, won't do him any good, whereas continuing to sell his little kites, especially with so many potential customers around definitely makes good business sense)
He sits carelessly on the edge of ruin, seemingly oblivious to the confusion around him, his face fixed in a serene smile as he silently waves his kites in the air, wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy, buy one of his pretty kites.
I am strangely comforted by his dogged loyalty to his customers, whoever they may be. I know that with faithful men like him around, life will go on as usual come what may, tsunami, floods or quakes.
I watch as he continues to saunter up and down the walkway.
Presently, he stops and sits next to a table laid out with an assortment of kites, presumably more of his stock. He leans back, one leg casually resting on the edge of the wall, still smiling as he continues to silently wave his little kites, still wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy one of his pretty little kites.
Yes, with men like him, I know life will go on, come what may.
I am with my parents, driving along the Gurney Drive coastal road, hoping to satiate our grotesque curiosity, yielding to our lower desire for carnal enjoyment derived from viewing the suffering of others, knowing that we are safe, that we do not share their misfortune.
We are inching along the road, like countless other motorists, slowly taking in the devastation wrought by the merciless tsunami. I see a lone figure of calm amid the endlessly roving crowds that stream past. He is a middle-aged Chinese man of ruddy complexion. His kindly, weather-beaten face is framed by an untidy mop of curls. He is walking slowly back and forth, wordlessly waving what appears to be three tiny kites attached to his hand by 3 equally short strings. As I continue to observe him, I realize that he is no mere out-of-place hobbyist. This man is a kite salesman.
I salute this brazen entrepeneur. He embodies the masculine ideals of determination (in spite of the destruction, he refuses to let down peddling his little kites), boldness (he evidently couldn't care less what people thought of him, a strange little man selling kites in the aftermath of a tsunami), and pragmatic calmness (he knows ambling about viewing the damage and going ga-ga and oh-my! over the whole matter, like I am doing, won't do him any good, whereas continuing to sell his little kites, especially with so many potential customers around definitely makes good business sense)
He sits carelessly on the edge of ruin, seemingly oblivious to the confusion around him, his face fixed in a serene smile as he silently waves his kites in the air, wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy, buy one of his pretty kites.
I am strangely comforted by his dogged loyalty to his customers, whoever they may be. I know that with faithful men like him around, life will go on as usual come what may, tsunami, floods or quakes.
I watch as he continues to saunter up and down the walkway.
Presently, he stops and sits next to a table laid out with an assortment of kites, presumably more of his stock. He leans back, one leg casually resting on the edge of the wall, still smiling as he continues to silently wave his little kites, still wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy one of his pretty little kites.
Yes, with men like him, I know life will go on, come what may.
posted by Joel Chan at
6:24 AM
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