For a long time now I have contemplated over the sound of my voice. I wished it had more of a character. I wished it would be shocking to the ear when you first heard it. I wished it was lower and passed words more surreptitiously. That’s when you note the things you want in other people.

The other day three Asian women came across the automatic entrance while I was paying my grandmother a visit at her senior home. I noted that all three wore slightly heeled winter boots and respectable overcoats. None of them particularly caught my eye, except I heard their voices.

Ever met somebody whose voice you would not have put their face to? Or sometimes it just takes awhile before the two oddities came together, and now you simply can’t get it off your mind?

One of the three young Asian lady there had simply the most evoking voice.

And here I must pause to reconsider my want to even try and put down into words what a voice sounds like. Sometimes indeed I do think I flatter myself too much to be so ambitious, but even so.

It wasn’t particularly musical, nor husky or anything immediately appealing to the senses. Moreover, it was a few pitches lower than her two female companions, and of most surprises did not fit well with the image of her fresh Eastern face. It was the voice of a woman much more grown, no, almost grandeur, if I were to put things to imagination. Like a richly fulfilled 1940’s woman at a party.

Apart from my wild imaginations, there’s no actual notable factor in which I should have taken heed to her voice except in my vague memories now, I cannot seem to forget how strangely ensnared I was. I could hardly take my eyes off her side profile, and no matter that she continued to chatter before entering the elevator, the voice seemed so entirely foreign to her features. Even her laugh hardly raised to the height of her smile. It makes you feel as if she was laughing fully without notifying her face, and in the same way if you were her companion to only smile no further than half-wittedly.

I felt I would have liked to observe further. I wondered to myself whether she spoke her mother tongue in the same tone as well.

Maybe this is what a lot of people want to hear when they ask writers where they go for their spark of inspiration. It is most absurdly in the unexplained gawking of same sexed passer-by’s while you are visiting your grandmother.