Exercise 2 Story 2 Chicken Rice

Chicken Rice

A chicken rice man loses what he holds dearest to him, but finally finds happiness in the later years of his life.

  Mr. Goh was a kindly man, quiet, hardworking, and modest to  a fault. He owned a quaint, little chicken rice stall at the end of Seng Street, serving food with a passion that garnered him universal praise from his customers.

  “Goh, you should start selling your stuff over at Tiong Hawker Centre, their chicken rice there is terrible!”

  “Hah, I’m sure its not that bad. Mine isn’t that good either.”
  “Oh you’re always so modest.  Your chicken rice is the best here in Singapore! Don’t even try to argue with me.”

  Goh blushed. He certainly had a following that loved his food, and he appreciated their patronage to no end.  He gazed at the chicken he was slicing, then over at the steaming rice in the back. Simple. Perfect. He sighed, his face betraying what he truly felt.

    It was all missing something.  He meant what he had said earlier. His chicken rice was no longer as delicious as his customers made it out to be.

  His fellow hawkers were troubled, wondering at his apparent depression. Some even claimed that Goh was being over-emotional, and that he should snap out of whatever dump he was in.  He merely smiled at their concern, assuring them that all was well.

  In truth, Goh was sad beyond relief. He felt an emptiness he had never felt before , and he loathed it. He loathed the person that had left the gaping hole there, as much as he missed her and her presence.  A little girl, no more then ten, bubbly, cheerful and a joy to the heart. She had visited his stall for the past few years to buy his rice, and would bring such cheer and happiness to his simple heart that he felt it would overflow with joy. She would sit on the little stool everyday in front of his stall for hours, and they would talk about the most mundane of things, from the clouds to the animals she liked. They would joke about the fat teacher from her class, muse about what she was going to do in the future when she grew up and laugh about anything, from the flowers to the moon. She would complain and cry to him when she felt sad, and he would listen. And the day would pass in an instance.  She became like a daughter to an otherwise childless man.

  Then she was gone. Her family moved overseas. She had left a little bell on the stool the night before, a little trinket he had gave to her in younger years. The sudden and simple cruelty of it all was almost too hard for him to bear, and he had wept in private. He would never see here again. He was alone.

Now many years later, Goh closes his beloved stall. Business has moved elsewhere. Old and grizzled, the kindly chicken rice man stares at the rusted covers, at the dusty store name and the

little wooden chair.  In his hand he gripped a little bell, which he placed back on the stool. Sadness in his eyes, he turned around to leave.

  Jingling. The bell! Even now it refuses to let him go, even now it haunts him! He swivelled his head back towards the stall and stared.

  And there she stood. The little girl from so long ago. Not so little now, she had grown to be a beautiful woman. Even then he instantly recognised her, for she smiled and the tears in her eyes were like those when she had complained about how the boy in class had bullied her. Emotions welled up inside him.

  “Are..are you real?”
  “Yes,” She sniffed. “I’ve missed you.”

  It was in that shocked state that Goh embraced her.  She had come back from abroad, and had not forgotten him over the years, so much more like a father then a friend.

  “Would you like to come work for me?”

  “What?”

  “Our family needs a personal chef, and my dad misses your chicken rice.” She smiled and she wiped her eyes.

Goh’s heart filled with a familiar joy again.

  “Yes.” He burst into tears.