Kopi with Bertha: When your knees start creaking

by Bertha Henson

The thing about growing up in a new housing estate is that you mature along with it. So people who used to walk upright, are suddenly spotted hunched over a cane and later, being pushed around in a wheelchair.

I grew up with tiny instant trees in Bedok which are now green-topped towers with roots that break through concrete pavements. The koi pond that used to be in the neighbourhood has been covered over and is now a fitness ground for seniors. The void deck where children used to play “illegal’’ football has been converted to a senior citizens’ activity centre.

I have grown old(er) along with the estate. A lift that stops on every floor is a godsend to long-staying residents and staircases are no longer used for vertical races by teens. Every now and then, little improvements are made to help the elderly move around, like pavements which slope down to the road. But there seems to be a clash of ideologies as well here: you have metal barriers to prevent bicycles from invading pathways meant for pedestrians – but, also impede wheelchair access.

Living in an old estate means jostling with wheelchairs in the market centre and driving very slowly because they take time to cross the road. No amount of honking is going to get them across faster because they simply cannot. A few times, I have worried about those who were trying to cross a traffic junction before the lights turn against them. But the thing about living in the HDB heartland is that most people understand the frailty of old people.

The senior citizen’s activity centre is a hive of activity on weekdays. Residents in cars drop off their elderly kin while a van would disgorge the wheelchair-bound every morning, picking them up in the evening. I always look through the windows when I pass the centre to see what the elderly were up to. Wearing name-tags round their necks, they are engaged in beadwork, or playing cards or doing exercises according to the instructions of a uniformed staff member.

My six-year old nephew once asked my mother why she wasn’t in the centre. In his eyes, old people should be with old people. My mother replied that she wasn’t that old, although there are much younger people there. Once, peeking through the darkened windows of the centre on a Sunday, my nephew spotted butterflies stuck to pipes and little pictures on the wall. Puzzled, he asked if this was a kindergarten for old people.

Sometimes, I have been puzzled too. Like how the senior citizens don party hats at festivals and start clapping to the sound of music as directed by staff members. Or how they have to do strange actions that are apparently ways to exercise their limbs. It is no wonder my mother does not want to be at the centre. She would never wear a party hat or blow whistles just because someone said so. But I suppose she would join them in a game of bingo. I have seen how the old people’s faces light up when their number has been called.

Then again, I also see some old people at the centre who look about them aimlessly or who stare at some indefinable point in the room. They are with people, but they are alone.

You know, my knees seem to be giving way these days. I need calcium.

In this column, consulting editor Bertha Henson muses about life and living – and makan – through the scenes she witnesses in her neighbourhood.

 

 

Featured Image by Natassya Diana.

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The post Kopi with Bertha: When your knees start creaking appeared first on The Middle Ground.

- Bertha Henson