|Pic from Facebook|
So last night there was a fire in our block. I had just taken a shower and was curious about the noises I heard in the distance. People were shouting and running. At first, I thought it was the guys playing sepak takraw across from where I live. Then I smelt something like burnt plastic. I opened the front door and there was smoke billowing from the awning below.
The whole block was evacuated. The fire was isolated to that one apartment on the ground floor. After about 30 minutes, everyone was allowed to go back home.
As the fire was raging, I stood among the people who are my neighbours and I wondered about them. Did the fire make them stop to think about their mortality? Did the fire change their attitude about the material things in life? I wondered because I thought about these things.
I wondered about the people who love me and who would mourn me when I died. I wondered about the only things that mattered when I had to leave the house: my husband and my handphone! I took nothing else. Both of us together and safely out of the house was all that I needed. The handphone because I needed to inform my family that I was safe, if necessary.
I saw some people with suitcases. What did they have inside those bags? I can only wonder.
It takes a fire to make me realise that I don't need much to be happy.