The Price of Procrastination

My grand-uncle used to play tennis with me on a regular basis when I was in secondary school. Equipped with his retro racquet, Chek Kong (the term I used to address him as he was my grandfather’s younger brother), even at 76 years of age, was quick in his movement around the court and packed a powerful forehand. During a time which saw the proliferation of mobile phones, Chek Kong was only contactable through his pager. He was always patient with the cantankerous player that I was and I appreciated his tolerance and the fact that he was always willing to travel a considerable distance just to play with me. We would then enjoy bus rides back home which gave us opportunities to converse. Although most of our exchanges now escape my memory, his warm and simple demeanour made him a joy to be with. Just a couple of weeks back, I spoke to Mum about visiting him as I hadn’t seen him in a long time, the last time being when Dad passed away four years ago. In the hectic period of time since I returned to Singapore, I didn’t quite get the opportunity to pay Chek Kong a visit. In all honesty, my efforts to settle down and to cope with new commitments made me procrastinate. This morning, as I was about to step out of my hall room to attend my first class of the day, I received a text message from my sister informing me that Chek Kong had passed away. He was 87. Not for the first time, I was taught that sometimes, when we put off doing some things, we must recognise the possibility of never being able to do them again.