Mango series 5B

I have zero experience of working. Thanks to Property Police department, they suggest to bring me around to some HDB buildings that they are going to supervise.

"Mango, do you see that blue building there?" asks Dawson.
I nod my head.

Dawson is a Filipino. He came to Singapore ten years ago to get a better life, leaving his parents behind in Manila. He is now in his forties.

He and another man called Ah Sam sit in the front seat, while I enjoy my luxurious space at the back seat. The building, painted in sky blue colour, erects majestically before us, blocking morning sun rays that are showering Singapore intensely in this period of year.

We get off the car, then enter the building. We take the lift to the tenth floor and Dawson's expression turns from sweet to sour. He has noticed something I do not notice.

"You see, Mango. The person who does this will get something from me."

In front of me are clothes hanging on a nylon string tied to a water pipe on one end and to the staircase railing on another end. It looks like they have just finished washing the clothes and have no place to air them. Drops of water drip from the clothes and create pools on the cemented floor.

Dawson knocks on the door. An old woman opens it. She cannot speak English, nor Chinese, nor Malay. Dawson has tried to converse in all the three languages.The woman mumbles some words in dialect, and then bangs the door on our faces. Dawson shrugs. Looking at me, he says, "You see. Sometimes life can be so unexpected."