A Bowl of Soup

At six o’clock in the morning, the sun had not yet risen, so dewdrops sat on leaves, unaware of their fate. The world was already half awake with school children who faced an hour-long bus journey, mothers who packed them off, and fathers who had started to worry if the economy would take a turn for the worse. After a night of respite, though, they were all at least ready for the battle.

Others were less fortunate. For Lin Poh, who sat reading a magazine in the cafeteria of a Jurong Town electronic components factory, eyes tired from hours of glare and fingers aching from endless soldering, six o’clock marked the halfway point in her midnight-to-noon shift. Hard work, long hours, and sleeplessness had aged her beyond her thirty years. Lines of maturity had begun to spread across her oval face; the skin that was once smooth and rosy had taken on the qualities of parched land. The magazine was borrowed from the canteen manager, and it featured an article on the Grand Palace Restaurant and its renowned “Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.” A glossy, colorful photograph of a bowl of steaming soup was what caught her eye – the text read, “shark’s fin, shark’s lip, fish maw, abalone, sea cucumber, duck chops, pork tripe, mutton elbow, dried scallop, ginseng and mushrooms, seasoned and steamed separately, then double-boiled with superior cooking wine and a dozen pigeon eggs.”

Lin Poh closed her eyes. She could smell the soup and feel the steam gently caressing her face. Mmmn… if only she could afford it; but, at a staggering sixty dollars, all Lin Poh could afford was to laugh and to dream about it. Sixty dollars could feed her family for two weeks, and heaven knows how her family needed to be fed. Two years ago, her husband, Lye Soon, had a motorcycle accident, and things have looked bleak and impossible ever since. He was paralyzed from the waist-down and instantly turned from sole breadwinner to main medical expense. Even before the accident, Lye Soon’s job as a clerk did not allow for much in life, let alone the luxury of an insurance policy. The family savings, whatever little of it, was soon drawn down. Lin Poh, armed with only a primary school education, could not afford to be choosy about her job. The 12-hour shift had meant the life of an owl and little time with the family, but it paid the bills. Under the circumstances, there was not much else for which she could have asked. Lin Poh had the kids, Sim Bae and Sim Khoon, to think about. Her hope laid squarely on their shoulders, for she and her husband had long ago decided there would be no more prospects for a couple of poorly educated adults, and therefore, they should make every sacrifice necessary so that the kids could get a proper headstart in life. Every sacrifice.

Lin Poh opened her eyes. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, her head ached from the continuous six hours of work and even more from the prospect of the next six. It was like this seven days a week, 52 weeks a year. Later, at home, she would have to cook a decent meal out of a near empty fridge, clean the kids up, and make them do homework that she herself will not understand. She will then nap, prepare dinner, and when everyone is sound asleep, kiss their sweet, peaceful faces goodbye and return to the cold, chemical-stenched factory line. She was sick of this routine, sick of this job, sick of not having enough money and sick of not having fun in life. Her eyes came back to the glorious “Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.” “Nutritious, invigorating and keeps you young,” promised the article. Suddenly, that bowl of soup became an unreachable goal in her life, as if someone or something had ordained that Soh Lin Poh would never enjoy the luxury of good, nutritious, expensive food.

She felt the acid gnawing away at the walls of her stomach. Why should she accept that unfair decree? Had she not slogged hard enough in this life to justify a proper bowl of soup? Did she not have the right to a little pleasure? After all, it would be her 30th birthday in two weeks, and she did have some seventy dollars in savings stored in the biscuit tin. Her logical mind sprang into action. Lye Soon had made wonderful progress and now paints ceramic pots, sold through a local charity. It wasn’t much money, but it had at least sustained his smoking habit. If Lye Soon was entitled to burn his money away, wasn’t she entitled to some nutrition? Would it not be in everyone’s interest that she should finally eat something “nutritious” for herself, so that she could work harder for the family?