Mr Wong embraces his fate.
“I don’t curse God my luck. Who knows what I did in my past life? Maybe I was good. Maybe I was bad. You don’t know why you have this life.”
His wife works along side him at their fish stall in the Smith Street wet market. Now in his sixties, he has a ten-year-old son.
“We were married for 30 years before my son came along. But I did not curse God. I did not curse other people. If God wanted, I would have a child. And one day I did.”
His family have been selling fish for three generations but it ends here. “My son won’t sell fish.”
His fish recommendation? “Snake head. Very healthy.”
The business of de-boning the fish looks rather gruesome. The fish are twitching as the knife runs the length of their spine.
“Don’t worry. They don’t feel a thing. First you knock them on the head. Then they go to sleep. It’s a nice sleep. Just like when you go to hospital. Same thing. Sleep. Then when you wake up it’s all over.”
For the fish this is literally true.
Reclining at the end of the morning rush, his mind wanders back to younger days. He misses the time when their stall was along the roadside.
“We had sun. We had rain. Like that no need for beach!”