As I looked into the window of the building, I watched a group of five boys smiling and laughing, watching the television screen that showed a game of Counterstrike in progress.

One would have easily mistaken them easily as normal kids.

However, I was in the Assisi home, looking through the window of the children’s playroom.

Those boys had cancer.

Returning from my walk in the quaint garden the day care sported, I sat down beside my grandmother and her friends, watching a variety show about old folks singing karaoke and mainly sitting back to enjoy what enjoyment they could receive from the lady croaking on the screen.

The Assisi home was having a dinner and dance to celebrate the lighting of the Christmas lights. Neither of my sisters were able (or did not have the interest) to look after my grandma, so I offered to do so.

The Assisi home was a single-storied open-air building, with only sections of the building sectioned off with air-conditioning. The television at the front proved to be the item of most interest and entertainment value of the old folk.

I, however, took no interest of the crazy Chinese drama of scheming men and uncaring women and instead took to my laptop.

It seems that my state of writing torpor was starting to change for the better. I could write this blog post. I added a little more to the draft of the epic chapter in mind. It’s still hard to chew out much. Once I get this brain-freeze done and over with, I’m re-writing that epic chapter.

There are volunteers who come to visit the old folk, and they’re really nice people. One gave my grandmother a hi-five as she passed by, another had a nice long chat with my grandmother and her friend – and she was a tai-tai.

The area here is buzzing with activity, volunteers and helpers going past the sitting area with boxes, or food stuff (due to the evening activity) and the occasional volunteer, while the old folks relaxed in plush leather chairs to watch the telly.

After a while of chewing on my epic chapter, I decided to see what the children area was like.

I walked in – and was promptly told to leave by a volunteer in there. Well, not in a harsh manner but politely enough. She explained to me that the cancer children could react to certain germs and things people could bring in, so they try to live in as sterile an environment as possible.

So I peeked in from the window once more, this time observing what they had from afar. They had bulky desktops on the desk tops, and I found two Xbox consoles, with some games by the side which I could not identify.

These unfortunate people were living lives which they know that may not last long. The children live from day to day, but they don't really know or care about the illness that plague them. They still walk, talk, laugh and cheer each day. But, from a normal person's point of view, it's bittersweet to see all the luxuries and goodwill gifts laid out this Christmas, for them.

It may be their last, for all anyone knew.

Returning from the second trip out, I was in time to notice the elderly preparing to move out, a volunteer guiding my grandmother.

But I was not letting any volunteer look after my grandmother tonight. It was my duty to do so.

Thanking her and her bronze afro, I let my grandmother take hold of my arm and led her outside to the front lawn.