We celebrate women who make their own way today, with a little one or two in tow—it’s Single Working Women’s Day today.
Being a working man or woman is never easy…being a single parent can exacerbate the pressure.
So we honour the women (and men) who make it through life with grit–and cute, small packages.
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Janine Low’s walk-up apartment was quiet—the quiet of the unknown. The park and street in front of it were lifeless sketches on a canvas: they waited for human additions.
But it at least prevented the procrastination monster from growling—the silent surroundings brought the overworked HR executive a few hours on the online clock while her six-year-old son, Nicholas, recharged his used-up rambunctiousness with sleep.
Single motherhood in metropolitan Singapore was no walk in the park. The loud groans of the HR inbox competed with Nicholas’ endless skateboarding streaks. She typed while the flat whispered.
And relationships were a gladiator cage for the single mother. Her ex’s constant texts “to talk” about their son were constant battles of the Lows.
Work was worse. Fellow HR executive Maddy couldn’t resist the limelight—the credit-stealing aficionado often told the management about work that had been done before she could.
Then, there was the apartment just above. Vacant. A supposed den of zen – yet something kept her up like Nicholas’ metronome on edge.
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Ever the responsible adult single mother, Janine tried to “logic” everything to Nicholas. Chat GPT became her unofficial guru– everything from why flats made noises at night to what happens when children talk to invisible friends.
Busy as she was, she tried to sound out the neighbour upstairs– no one ever did.
At her wit’s end, she approached the building manager.
Another vague reply.
“Oh, her ah.. that apartment…empty since COVID struck. She left…..chiong ah (hurried).
Nicholas didn’t make things much better.
Janine arched over his young shoulder over breakfast one morning. He was occupied by what most 6-year-olds were–stick drawings.
Except that his was–
Of a lady.
Too real.
Janine recognised her at once– she’d never described her to Nicholas.
The lady from the vacant apartment.
The boy merely smiled and looked up.
“She doesn’t like it when you peep.”
Again, childhood fantasy was her comfort rationale.
Until she began to hear noises at night.
Humming.
Ethereal singing.
Footsteps shuffling.
Things started to move.
She left her bedroom slippers turned to the bed- they pointed to the bedroom door in the morning.
It had been locked to prevent Nicholas from skateboard spiralling.
He sketched again the next morning– this time with a caption below the drawing.
“She’s watching.”
Work was a stress bomb that tore her hair out further. Maddy continued her climb up the corporate ladder– kicking the rungs beneath. Her credibility slipped–sleep eluded.
A trusted colleague, Lisa, pulled her aside in the bathroom.
“Hey, is everything all right? You’re looking pale. It’s not just stress is it?”
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Things that would go wrong did.
Printers jammed.
Another proposal vanished.
She thought of the humming she’d heard.
It sounded faintly like–
A lullaby.
From her childhood.
Nicholas brought her another drawing that night.
Her jaw dropped.
One of–
Herself.
With the lady upstairs holding her shoulder.
But the single mother didn’t let that faze her. Something was bleeding through.
And she needed to stem it.
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Janine was exhausted–not by stress, but by the unknown pressing down on her and Nicholas.
She couldn’t just ignore what was happening.
She needed someone’s ears–Lisa’s, the building manager’s–even her ex-mother-in-law’s–but wasn’t sure which would hear–
Without setting off alarm bells that wouldn’t stop ringing.
She plucked up whatever courage she still had and crept upstairs.
Through the dank and darkened corridors of an untouched floor.
The door to the empty apartment was as expected–dust-covered, with paint chipped in too many places. An old shrine stood near it–the tenant hadn’t cleared the altar before she passed–
In the home.
With trembling fingers, she tapped it gently.
No one answered.
She was about to turn away when a whisper pierced the still air.
“Janine…”
A soft click.
Something moved.
A note. Slipped under the doormat.
“Beware….of IT?”
Before she couldn’t figure out what IT meant, the note dissolved–
Into nothing.
She kept typing the word “it” in the document she was working on at work the next day–she couldn’t help herself.
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Then, strange happenings.
In her favour.
Every time Maddy tried to claim her credit, the CC chain would vanish.
Each time she vented about cancelled leave, the system would auto-approve hers.
It seemed like a trade-off with the unknown–one that made her cringe.
But something sparked.
IT was PRIDE. A compelling force.
That stopped the need–
to ask.
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She returned to the apartment that night–
The door was ajar.]
The home felt warm. Strangely welcoming.
On an old table was a sketch of Nicholas–smiling.
Next to him was herself. Calm. A proud mother.
Back at work, she found that Maddy had done the unthinkable–tendered her resignation.
She deleted the word “it” from her working document.
And it retyped.
“I heard, ah.”
The sign off.
“Your neighbour, Ho Kwee (friendly ghost). “
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