Is it possible for a chance encounter to change your life? Yes, says our columnist who met a reader in a train.

I was already comfortably curled up with my magazine when a tall shadow fell over me.

“Excuse me.”

Rats. There goes my two seats for the price of one, I thought darkly as I removed my backpack to make way for my seatmate.

He slid in next to me, disapproval emanating from every pore. Not surprising, since I was occupying his window seat. To his credit, he didn’t ask me to switch. Thankful for small mercies, I returned to my magazine.

Now, I don’t make a habit of peeping at my neighbour, but by some twist of fate, I turned my head just as he started fiddling with a black handheld device. A familiar-looking webpage loaded up on his small screen.

Ipoh of yore.

This was the headline of my previous column! My mind whirled. Why was he reading it now? Should I say something? What were the odds of this happening . . . with Herculean effort, I tore my gaze away.

I had two options. One — pretend to be oblivious and die of curiosity. Two — out myself and reveal that this columnist made a habit of spying on unsuspecting train passengers. Neither of which was appealing.

Illustration by Hassan Bahri

Torn, I turned to my council of elders.

“Help!” I texted on my phone. “The passenger next to me is reading Ipoh of yore on his phone. Should I say something???”

“Say something,” urged my editor friend, among others.

As my internal debate raged, the unmistakable sound of laughter bubbled up from my seatmate’s throat. Relief flooded me. That must mean he liked the article, right? Emboldened, I decided to end this torturous hand-wringing and blurted out, “Is that an iPhone?”

Instantly, I wanted to kick myself. iPhones are not black, you idiot!

He must have thought so too, because his voice was audibly strained: “Uh, no actually it’s a . . . ”

My last threads of self-control snapped.

“Oh God, I’ve been debating whether I should open up and say something but I think I’m going to say it. A minute ago you were reading an article I wrote!”

Five seconds of soul-destroying silence ensued. Then his eyes widened.

“Oh! You’re … Alexandra Wong?”

“Uh huh.” My knees went weak.

“Wow. What are the odds? To think I almost never ended up on this train. I usually take the first class coach but today the tickets ran out. I wasn’t even looking forward to having someone else sit next to me.”

“Neither was I,” I confessed.

“I was thinking: Let’s hope she doesn’t snore!”

We laughed, the ice broken. “I’m glad to have met you, though I didn’t expect it to happen this way.”

The smile which curved his lips and crinkled his eyes banished all traces of severity from his face.

“So why are you going to Ipoh?” I slipped into reporter mode. “Are you a local boy?”

He shook his head.

“Nope. I’m from Sibu.”

I arched my eyebrows encouragingly. “So this trip is . . .”

“To fulfil a promise to someone.”

Putting what I thought was two and two together, I said with a sly look, “Ah, it must be a girl then.”

“In a way.” His eyes had a strange expression.

In the next few minutes, he shared a most extraordinary story. Years ago, he had met a girl at a weekend camp in Ipoh. The next few months were deliriously happy ones for the couple, until she discovered that she had contracted a terminal disease.

What ensued was a long, difficult battle that took a toll on both of them. Before she died, she asked him to make a promise to spend the upcoming new year with her. He took the promise further. Every year since her death, he had been making a pilgrimage to Ipoh. That was since 2006.

I listened quietly, my mind a maelstrom of thoughts. I could say, “I’m sorry to allude that you were coming here for some dirty weekend.” Or “How do you find the strength to do this year after year?” Or “She must have been a very special girl.” Or “I always thought such things only happened in movies.”

Except that every one of them sounded horribly trite.

In the end, I simply asked about the very reason that triggered this whole conversation: “How come you’re only reading the article now? It was published on Christmas day.”

“Oh, I archived it because I planned to try out the Rendezvous set lunch in town. Never thought I would be sitting next to the writer.”

The two hours had disappeared like the wind as we exchanged notes about food, work and everything in between.

As the Ipoh station approached, we fell into an awkward silence. We walked far apart when we stepped out of the coach, as if the last two hours had never taken place.

Then at the entrance, I stuck out my hand and said awkwardly, “David, I’m not sure if I’ll meet you again, but I hope you have a good year ahead.”

His next words took me completely by surprise. “Alex, keep on writing. Your stories remind me that every insignificant action has an impact on others, whether you realise it or not. “

As he walked out of my life, I felt like I had been hit by an oncoming train. What he did not know was how close I had come to giving up writing.

Last year had been one helluva year. While I was making headway professionally, sustaining personal expectations was increasingly challenging. Writing the “rainbows-and-sunshine” stories — my stock-in trade for Navel Gazer — became my biggest source of comfort. Which was why, when a reader wrote that my article, Down memory lane, was too trite for words, it hurt to the bone.

Meeting David brought me back to my first article for Navel Gazer. While I raved about the café’s lovely cakes, the heart of the story was the friendly cashier who displayed inspiring optimism despite a physical handicap.

My favourite columnist Ong Soh Chin said this once: “The worst thing in the world is the sound of dead air after a column.”

Likewise, for me, I started this column hoping to make a difference. It had never been about the food, the offbeat restaurants or the quirky places I discovered, but the kindred spirits I meet along the way who have changed my life irrevocably with their wisdom, kindness and experiences.

The train ride had brought me full circle.

It took me two seconds to decide. He was a perfect stranger, and we’d probably never meet again, but what the hell. I had always believed life was about taking chances anyway. I whipped out my phone. “Hey. Since you’re already in town and it’s New Year’s Eve, would you like to go to the Cheers of Ipoh?”

It was the least I could do. After all, he reminded me why I gave up money to write for a living, and more importantly, why it was worthwhile to continue doing so.

Alexandra Wong (bunnysprints.blogspot.com) is already looking forward to her next train ride.

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