The Quiet Moments Before the First Order

The sky outside is still a deep, bruised purple. Inside the food centre at Toa Payoh Lorong 8, the air is cool and heavy with the scent of damp concrete and raw ginger. I sit at a round green table. My camera rests in my lap. I am the only person sitting in this row.

A few meters away, the fluorescent lights flick on at a traditional Teochew porridge stall. The uncle does not look out toward the empty tables. He focuses entirely on the stainless steel counter in front of him. He moves with a slow, deliberate grace that cannot be taught. He unpacks bundles of fresh scallions. He lines up small ceramic bowls in perfect, identical rows. The sound of his knife meeting the heavy wooden chopping board is rhythmic and hollow.

I bring the viewfinder to my eye. The 35mm lens frames him perfectly between a stack of bamboo steamers and the hanging yellow menu board. The light is difficult. It is a harsh, blue-green fluorescent glow that washes out the warmth of the wood. I lower my ISO. I slow my shutter speed down to a fiftieth of a second. I wait. I want to catch the exact moment the steam begins to rise from the large metal vat of rice.

We spend so much time chasing the peak moments of the day. We look for the long lines, the shouting vendors, and the loud chaos of the lunch rush. But this quiet hour is different. There is a profound weight in the act of preparing for others. The uncle wipes the edge of the counter with a damp cloth. He checks the blue flame under the broth. He is setting a stage for people he has not even met yet.

A single drop of condensation falls from the ceiling fan and hits the table next to my elbow. The sharp noise breaks the silence. The uncle looks up, notices me in the shadows, and gives a brief, silent nod. I nod back.

I do not press the shutter just yet. Sometimes the best way to respect a scene is simply to witness it. The camera remains resting in my lap. The water in the vat finally comes to a rolling boil. A thick cloud of white steam spills over the edge, catching the harsh overhead light and softening the sharp edges of the entire stall. The day begins long before the first coin changes hands. I raise the camera again, hold my breath, and take the picture.