I am old, and therefore I have the right

The ginormous machine yawned sleepily, its lips pulled back to spit out a handful of bedraggled commuters in a jaw-challenging exercise. But, just as quickly as its bowels were cleansed out, a new bunch of passengers quickly jostled forward, like a school of fish.

I looked around, and spotted an empty seat just a distance away from where I was standing.

Eyelids dropping and laden with sleep, I desperately rushed forward, just as the doors opened.

When I was just inches away from the seat, from my peripheral vision, I could make out a person rushing forward for the same identical seat as me, but with the speed of a bullet train.

I hurriedly stopped in my tracks, as I whiffed a scent of hostility.

Looking up, I saw a wizened old man, who stared daggers as me. He didn't place his ass on the seat yet, instead, he stood in front of the seat, and held his hand up as though to say, 'This seat is MINE. I'm just an old man, what right do you have to snatch with me, young lady?'

My heart was filled with abhorrence at the sight of this old man, who behaved like a three-year old kid screaming to get his way. And, expected the whole world to bow at his feet, which by the way, was seeking refuge in a pair of chocolate-brown slippers.

He was clearly a man of an almost vanishing bygone era, the proud facade of a war ranger, and with the same stubborness as a mule.

Of course, I wasn't going to fight with an old man, was I? So, I sighed inwardly, and settled my behind snugly in another seat a stone's throw away.

When the ass of the old man was firmly ensconced in his seat, which he had fought tooth and nail for, he placed his large 1.5ml water bottle just next to him, guarding it with the same protectiveness of a mother over her biological son. As though the rest of the commuters were vultures, solemnly awaiting prey.

The old man took out his notebook, an old, raggled brown book that has seen a few upheavals in its time, perfectly synonymous with himself.

Evidently, he displayed traits similar to our ancestors. While the world has moved forward rapidly, he still bore the same attitude as our ancestors who first stepped foot on this little island that would later be known as Singapore.

As refuges, it was a me-me, self-centered world. Men fought against their own humankind in dominance over necessities such as food and water.

Even though society has progressed at an alrming rate, I can't say that this kind of mentality has been erased today.

Instead, it is quickly gaining foothold in a materialistic, commercial-driven nation.

Innocuous street-spitting, nose-digging and gang fights have been elevated to corporate back-stabbing, selfish-prone instincts, and, - what else - nose-digging and gang fights.

(Yes, yes, I know some people still spit on the street and openly in dustbins, but these people belong to the older generation.)

Simply put, the man was not just one bad egg in a basketful of decent eggs. However, he was more prone to flaunting it, compared to others who might have the courtesy and intellectual (and more prone to embarrassment) to keep it stashed away.

The old man seemed to establish the train as his own home. Either that, or he placed creature comforts over basic courtesy and respect for other commuters.

Because he then proceeded to shake one feet out of his slipper, and propped that offensive appendage up on the seat, in the similar fashion as a trishaw ridder, with shrug-his-shoulders careless mannerisms.

And, still, his scrawny fingers remained curled around the bottle, guarding it. Then, as though, that wasn't enough, he pushed it closer to him, like a mother would to a child if he was scared.

I tossed one last disparaging look at him before alighting the train.