An Old Scrub Ash Vendor

A scrub ash vendor

In the early morning, an old man was seen from a distance. He faltered while pushing an old cart with the rest of his energy. In his twilight years, nobody could believe that he was able to walk in such distances. People who saw him would think that he should have stayed in his house, spending the rest of his time with his beloved family, but the real circumstance was always in contradiction. He kept walking for a living, hoping there were few coins that would let him to continue his lonely journey. An old cart that he always took with him was not something that had no function. It was his old cart on which he counted his life. He didn’t even know what his life would be without it. His life might have been shorter; he predicted. He never complained at all though the situation was getting tougher and tougher. It’s life, he murmured. Willingness was vital. There was a huge encouragement to keep walking as long as he could breathe. He was a scrub ash vendor, and every time he walked, he kept telling everyone that the scrub ash he sold was better than any other dishwashing liquid that most people used. It was pointless somehow. No one would believe that. It used to be very popular in middle and lower classes to wash the dishes and utensils. But life is dynamic; everything gets easier except for him. Many people started to leave the traditional thing, and he was aware of that, but being indifferent was his choice. He didn’t force everyone to buy his stuff, nor did he beg everyone to grant his life. If anyone asked why he didn’t ask his sons or daughters to take care of him, he would answer that they have had their own life. He just didn’t want to be a burden to them since they were not even better off. They had just enough with their own family. In his mind, he just wanted to follow his life. If there would come a time when he should stop his journey, everyone would know that he ends up as a winner, a winner that successfully conquered his own life. 

Solitude

Hen and babychicks

The sparrows’ chirping became clearly audible in the late afternoon. Its buzzing sound guided me to walk nowhere farther than the spot from which that sound was derived from.  I came upon my yard and sat on a weathered cane chair, a very old chair but still in a good shape. It was my father who had always been trying to repair it whenever it needs. Nevertheless, I still heard the sounds of creaking as I began to settle into a comfortable position. That old stuff was presumably not strong enough to hold my weight, but I enjoyed sitting on it. 

I turned my gaze back to the flock of tiny sparrows. They were flying around, hovering about three to four meters off the ground and joyfully perching on the electrical cable, on the roof, or just above the branches of my jackfruit trees.  Sometimes they landed for a moment  just to peck the rest of grain fed chicken. They are fun to watch, and they comfort me by giving a peace of mind. I love littleness as the most little things could have far greater effects on me, like those tiny sparrows which have enlivened my tedious life by simply bringing me into another realm where I could peacefully take a breath and forget about the hustle and bustle of the day. 

The sun began to sink lower in the sky. I didn’t intentionally want to witness that wondrous moment when it goes down, yet I should admit that it was the late afternoon sun which made everything more delicate. I felt the breeze started to blow on my face; caressing my long hair to make me feel more beautiful even though people might say the contradiction. It was also the wind that made my eyes closed to ease all the burdens that have collided in my mind. And the more I closed my eyes, the more I found myself fully fulfilled and content. But every now and then I started to wonder if I was in a perfect solitude or I was just a lonely creature who has always been trying to seek for the comfort. In fact, I have been daydreaming too much these days!