The lonely house at the intersection of Fort Road and Tanjong Rhu Road always caught my eye when I drove past it. The squarish looking house stands in the middle of an equally square piece of land.

The house’s faded paint and cracked windows give it a desolate appearance, as if forgotten by time. Its unique architecture gives it charms, despite its dilapidated state. It is as if the house holds a secret history within its walls, waiting to be discovered.

The overgrown weeds surrounding the property only added to its desolate appearance, as if nature had claimed it as its own. The broken windows add to the depressing look.

Why would such a lovely quaint house, which must have been owned by a prosperous man, fallen into such disrepair? At its peak, it must have been a very happening place. The design shows it to be built in the 1950s or even earlier. It must have played host to lots of house parties. Cha cha, mambo and rock and roll music would have been the regular Saturday night fare then.

The walls would have echoed with boisterous laughter and the sound of clinking glasses, as the guests danced away. Perhaps it was the passage of time or a change in fortune that led to its current state. But the memories of its vibrant past still lingered in the air. It engulfed the porch in overgrown weeds and tangled vines, telling stories of forgotten laughter.

There was only one well-maintained part of the house. This was the area surrounding the garage. The type that was actually an outhouse by itself. The car can be driven straight up into the garage, and then the door pulled down by a long piece of metal with a hook. And its well-swept perimeter of the garage. Someone had put efforts into preserving the garage and its surroundings. It contrasted starkly with the dilapidated state of the rest of the property.

Come to think of it, sometimes he had seen a middle-aged Indian man lingering around the sometimes open gate. What was his connection with the house? The occasional sighting of him added an air of mystery to the whole self-generated puzzle.

Then, last week, someone erected a signboard at the gate. It announced some details of the work that was going to be done on the house. But what caught my eye was

DEVELOPER: Peter Ho

“Peter” and “Ho” were rather common names in Singapore. But surely this could not be the same Peter Ho, a colleague who had just left the company after working there for 5 years. He was one of the most passionate architects in the firm. His niche was transforming spaces, and it would not be surprising if he left the company to venture into property development. Re-designing and re-developing the place might just be the things that Peter would indulge in.

After parking the car down the road, I walked back to snap a picture of the signboard with an old model Samsung.

I dispatched the shot via whatsApp with a simple message: “YOU the man?” accompanied by a smiling emoji.

By the time the car reached the next traffic light, there was a reply: YES! Followed by emoji bursting into laughter with tears rolling down. His response betrayed his excitement. He will certainly thrive in this new challenge, if his days as an employee were any sign.

During their catch up drinks session at their previous favourite hangout, Peter shared that his mother committed suicide. His father’s persistent infidelity and obsessive gambling habits made her really miserable for a long time.

Grandpa was a very rich man and had allocated 8, Fort Road to Peter as his inheritance. There was one condition: that they could only transfer the title deeds to him two years after his own father’s passing away.

The old man, in his wisdom, felt that the period was long enough for Peter to plan his own life. A substantial amount of cash was also available separately.

The rules imposed by Grandpa will ensure that Peter cannot succumb to any of his father’s emotional pressure, which will be sure to happen.

His father lived a very unhappy final fifteen years of his life. Peter felt bad sometimes, but he had to keep his promises to Grandpa.