Just Got Lucky

When I first came in the Red Dot four years ago, I heard about this quaint mall along the posh Orchard Road where Filipinos gravitate, called Lucky Plaza. They actually called it a Jologs mall. The low rise mall will remind you of small town neighborhood malls back in the country. I never had a chance to go inside and check it out.

Until lately.

Sissy told me that Lucky Plaza is bustling with Filipinos on any busy weekday, but most especially during weekends. This is where many OFWs go for forex, remittance to home country (at a lower charge), buy authentic Pinoy groceries (Boy Bawang, Pancit Canton, Likas Papaya, etc) at Singaporean prices. At the food court you will find a stall serving Pinoy dishes. One serving rice and your choice of two dishes will cost SGD5.

One rainy Sunday afternoon, onwards to my second week at Sing, I was struck with flu and was literally sick and tired. I didn't have food at the service apartment then and was near starvation so I decided to brave the rainy weather and headed to Lucky Plaza to get a late lunch of rice and Pinoy food. I was also quite deppressed then that each step felt so heavy. The rainy weather did not help either and added to the gloom of it all. It was that kind of a week, really.

I knew I was close to Lucky Plaza when I saw throngs of fellow Filipinos at the rainy pavement. Chatting. Waiting. Laughing. Inside the mall, it was elbows to elbows with Pinoys. The remittance centers were the busiest lot.

I went to the basement food court and found the Pinoy stall and ordered my lunch. The tables were full so I had to squeeze in amongs the Pinays eating and chatting in one table for four. They smiled at me and let me take the vacant spot. I can hear their conversation as we were seated so close. I think they work as domestic caregivers, based on their exchange of stories. I listened to their stories as I ate my lunch. Before I left, I went to the Pinoy store and bought some noodles and canned tuna.

When you are in a country that is not your own, alone and sick as I was that day and longing for the comfort of your family, the company of fellow kababayans is as close as you can get to give you a sense of belongingness. Even if it was just a quaint mall sorely misplaced in the middle of the posh Orchard Road.

And who really knows? Probably during those weekend afternoons, the communion of Pinoys might have been sharing the same thoughts I had. We are all not very different at all. We were all just strangers in a country that is not our own. Working. Missing our loved ones. I will go through it for three months, but most of them probably had it for years and years. And there we were. Bounded by our solace.