One of the sillier mistakes I made was to travel around Singapore wearing sandals. I walked a lot and by the time I reached home, that poor thing is severely damaged. Only after a few months did I decide to bring those sandals to a cobbler.

There’s one chap who sets up a small shack somewhere near a carwash in my housing area. He speaks with a slight indonesian accent in his voice, so I guess he came from somewhere far away.

I never knew his name, but I can recognize him from half a mile away. That’s because everytime a pair of shoes in the house needs repairing, I’d be the one who would bring them to him. And whenever I do come by to get something fixed he’s either alone, or accompanied by his wife. He looks like someone in his late 30s.

We didn’t exchange much words, but there’s a certain warmth everytime I do approach him. It’s quite funny, because it feels as though I’m visiting a vet. I would pass him a shoe with soles that are coming off, with an almost expressionless face.

He would then take the shoe, gently inspecting its curves, with that facial expression you see when vets check up on your beloved cat. He would scrunch his nose a bit, and he would say, “Jahitlah, ya? Kalu gam nanti koyak lagi. Lagi stengah jam buleh mari balik.”

So today, I was quite free and I decided to send Boy to the carwash to get it vacuumed. After letting the dudes foam up Boy, I walked over to the cobbler. He saw me and smiled gently. I returned the gesture and sat down on one of the stools and showed him my sandals.

He inspected it with a passion which rivals that of Gundam kit modellers. He scrunched his nose, turned to me and said - yep, you guessed it - “Jahitlah, ya? Kalu gam nanti koyak lagi. Lagi stengah jam buleh mari balik.”

With that he gave me a pair of spare sandals. Boy was still in queue, so I decided to take a stroll along the shoplots. I glanced at him, dilligently working on my sandals. I didn’t know why, but when I came to, I was walking back to him with two cans of Yeo’s Chrysanthemum Tea.

As I got nearer, I saw an aunty pulling over with a solemn look on her face, and proceeded to the cobbler. She took out a pair of high heels from a 7-E plastic bag and showed him the broken heel. With that same passion he checked those high heels. He scrunched his nose, and said something to the aunty. Looking a bit relieved, she went back into her car and drove off. I’m sure she’ll be back after half an hour.

He saw me coming, and smiled before softly saying “Blum shiap lagi, dik.” I just smiled and handed him a drink. He declined at first, but I insisted “Hari tengah panas ni, bang.” He took it and placed it just beside his seat. I pulled a stool and drank up as I watched him making cuts in the soles of my sandals.

There was no need for words.

My eyes were fixed on the fluidity and confidence of his hands as it moved and twiddled and knocked and pierced and glued pieces of rubber together. I was so absorbed at admiring his skill that the voice of the carwash dude calling me out almost drowned out.

I asked to let Boy stay parked there while my sandals are being repaired, and quickly went back to the cobbler. This time, an Ah Pek on a bike pulled over, coming to pick up a pair of school shoes, probably ones that he left half an hour ago. Both men exchanged quick smiles before the Ah Pek left and I could still see him making stitches on my sandals.

I went back on my stool, and my eyes were instantly drawn back to his hands. I didn’t realise how time went by, and then he passed me my sandals to see if I was happy with it. It was good. Taut and strong stitches, yet still very comfortable to wear. His canned drink is still unopened. It must have warmed up by now. I handed him his pay, and we exchanged quick smiles. I turned around to get Boy, and from the corner of my eye, I could see him already dilligently working on the high heels.

A quick look at my watch and I realised it hasn’t even been 20 minutes.

There was no need for words.