The walk from Seng Poh Road to Pearl's Hill is short on the map and long in sensation — past the market shuttered for cleaning, past the bike shop that always has one wheel spinning in the window, past the slope where aunties pause to catch breath and gossip lightly about nothing in particular.
Today the path delivered egrets — three of them standing in the drainage channel with the stillness of officials reviewing paperwork. A cyclist swerved politely. An old man fed them bread against posted rules, then looked around with the mild defiance of someone who has decided kindness outranks signage.
I do not walk fast on this route. Speed feels rude to the egrets and to the aunties. Halfway up I met Mrs Lim from the fourth floor — we exchanged the standard corridor greetings elongated into a two-minute conversation about her grandson's PSLE prep. Her worry is ordinary. Her love is obvious. The story passed between us without paperwork.
Pearl's Hill opened above like a green lid. The city spread south — blocks, roads, a harbour slice — and I felt the smallness that is not humiliation but relief. Not everything needs my opinion. Some afternoons only need legs moving and egrets ignoring bread.
