Backstory Uncle Granpa
In the quietly growing neighbourhood of Sengkang West Fernvale, there lived a cheerful, slightly eccentric man known to everyone simply as Uncle Granpa. With his round spectacles, signature brown cap, and ever-twinkling eyes, he was a beloved fixture at the morning markets and nearby hawker centres.
Once a retired professor and lifelong adventurer, Uncle Granpa had wandered across the globe, collecting rare vintage items and timeless tales. He could often be found humming old Hokkien tunes while munching on crispy you tiao dipped in a steaming cup of kopi. Every morning, like clockwork, he’d settle onto the same wooden bench at the community park—newspaper in hand, kopi by his side, and a golden plate of you tiao on his lap.
That’s when the children would appear—Mei, Arjun, Hafiz, and all the others from nearby blocks. Drawn by the comforting scent of breakfast and the thrill of imagination, they’d gather around him like moths to a flame. And Uncle Granpa? He never turned them away. Instead, he greeted them with a warm smile and one simple question:
“So, what stories shall we imagine today?”
But here’s something only the children truly knew:
Uncle Granpa had a touch of magic.
On rainy days, he could whisper rainbows into the sky. Boring MRT rides? He transformed them into wild jungle safaris or underwater quests. On sweltering afternoons, he summoned cool breezes with a snap of his fingers. And his seemingly ordinary collectibles—trinkets from far-off lands—were rumored to hold forgotten magic, sealed away by time. Those lucky enough to trade with him often reported strange dreams, streaks of good fortune, and feelings of déjà vu.
His worn kopi cup? It never ran dry.
And always by his side was Fernie, his clever little Jambul bird, sporting tiny sunglasses and a mischievous attitude.
In the heart of Singapore’s fast-moving city life, Uncle Granpa was something rare—a quiet, gentle reminder to slow down, smile often, and never stop imagining.
