The Flat
My uncle squeezed through the narrow gate and stepped out to the corridor for another cigarette. I must have lost count, but that must have been his fourth or fifth stick in the past hour.
There I was, sitting on the worn leather couch in a cramped old flat, my feet shuffling against the speckled marbled floor. Garish festive decorations from Chinese New Year hung on the walls and gates the whole year-round. A small but pristine television set appeared out of place below the dust-covered windows, alongside the rickety sewing machine tucked away neatly in the corner. The flat felt familiar, yet distant in an indescribable way. Every piece of furniture has remained unchanged for as long as I can remember, as if the flat was frozen in time. Or at least that is how the image is in my mind.
Whenever my family visits, my aunt whips up a sumptuous meal, piling plates of steaming dishes onto the small table that was more accustomed to hold the weight of a dinner for two. I could never forget the distinct aroma of fried onions hanging in the air, almost competing with the sharp odour of tobacco smoke that wafted in. I peered out through the dust-covered windows. I used to be mesmerized by the crackling of the cigarette when he took a long drag on it, slowly allowing the smoke to creep out of his nostrils.
The flat was serene most of the year round; my uncle and his wife had no children, or rarely any visitors even. The arrival of Chinese New Year always brought about a period of uncharacteristic liveliness and activity to the flat. The adults will spend the afternoon catching up on the past year while I watched movie after movie, with an ear half-listening into their conversations. Always, as the day came to an end, my uncle would always duck into this bedroom and emerge from it with a smartly wrapped gift in his hands; his eager eyes urging me to open it.
Growing up, I looked forward to visiting my uncle’s place every year, with a little thought in my head on what awaits me inside his bedroom, as if I was an explorer travelling in search of treasure. I never knew why I received presents on Chinese New Year, but that was never a concern for my young unfledged mind.
Retrospectively, it was never about that new Transformers robot, or that trendy leather wallet. It was about a lonely couple who wanted to, at least for one day a year, be parents to a child, something that they never had the opportunity to experience.
It has been eight years since he passed. With his wife renting the flat out for income, I doubt I will ever step through the gates of that flat again; the walls now contain another family’s stories and memories. To me, the flat represents the subtle yet ever-present nature of familial ties. As my memories of the flat and the people within it gradually fades alongside the passing of days, all I can do now is hold on tightly to the remnants.
