The Red Circles

A real story. From my case files. Names changed to protect privacy.

I saw the newspaper before I saw anything else.

It was the Straits Times classified section. Open on the dining table. The unit was empty, just a small round table and three chairs in an otherwise bare 2,500 sqft condominium. And spread across that table was the classifieds, with almost every advertisement circled in red.

I stood there and understood immediately what I was looking at.

Every red circle was an agent they had called. Every red circle was someone like me, who had rushed over with a camera and high hopes, and sat down at this same table.

There were a lot of red circles.

# # #

Let me back up.

It was 2010. I was six months into a real estate career and still waiting for it to feel like one.

I’m an introvert. Walking up to strangers, initiating conversations, projecting confidence I didn’t feel — none of it came naturally. I had gone to a career talk where a speaker assured the room that introverts could succeed in this industry. I held onto that. Some days more tightly than others.

Six months in, I had yet to receive a single call from a stranger asking for help.

Then the calls started coming. Slowly. Among the first few was one from an elderly man. He had a property on Balmoral Road in District 10, one of Singapore’s most prestigious addresses. He needed help renting it out.

I tried to contain my excitement. Said yes calmly. Hung up and immediately rushed to get my Panasonic camera. iPhone cameras weren’t that good then, yet.

# # #

The elderly couple, Mr & Mrs Chan, greeted me warmly at the door.

They invited me in, gestured toward the table, and asked me to take a seat.

That’s when I saw the newspaper.

I sat down. Looked at the red circles. Counted, then stopped counting.

Beside the open classifieds was a stack of earlier editions. Same exercise, different days. They had been doing this systematically. Going through the property listings, circling every agent, calling each one, inviting them over.

I allowed myself exactly three seconds to feel deflated.

Then I picked up my camera and got to work.

I was already there. The photos still needed to be taken. The unit still deserved to be presented properly. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a stubborn thought: even if there are a hundred agents marketing this place, someone has to be the one who closes it. Why not me?

After the shoot, I spent a few minutes with them. The couple were foreigners, based overseas. They only returned to Singapore when a lease ended, and they needed to find a new tenant. The circling and the calling were their system. Had been for years.

Before I could ask more, the doorbell rang. Another agent at the door.

I thanked them and left.

# # #

I didn’t close the deal.

Nobody called. Zero enquiries. A few weeks later, Mr Chan rang to say the unit had been rented out. He thanked me for coming. I wished them well.

And then I did something I’m not sure I could fully explain at the time.

I asked if I could keep in touch by email. He said yes. His address went into my database.

Every time I had something worth sharing, such as market updates, property news, or insights I thought might be useful to landlords, I sent it to everyone on the list, including him.

He never replied. Not once. For two years, I sent emails into silence and had no idea if he was reading them, ignoring them, or had long since forgotten who I was.

I kept sending them anyway.

# # #

In 2012, a reply appeared in my inbox.

I read it twice.

Two years of sending emails to a man I had met once, in a near-empty apartment, surrounded by red circles. Two years of not knowing if he was reading them, ignoring them, or had long forgotten who I was.

“something no other has done.“

I sat with that for a moment.

Mr Chan was in his late 70s then. A man of that generation, particular about how things were done, and he had noticed. Not the photos. Not the pitch. Just the quiet, consistent showing up over two years when there was nothing in it for me.

# # #

From 2012, I managed that Balmoral unit exclusively.

Year after year. Lease after lease. Mr Chan and I developed an easy, trusting working relationship across the distance. He was overseas. I was here. We made it work.

Last year, that chapter ended.

He is now in his 90s. His children have gradually taken over the running of his affairs, as children do. They had their own ideas about how they wanted to work. Different from their father’s. They preferred not to work on an exclusive basis.

I understood completely. There is nothing wrong with that.

But exclusivity is how I work with all my clients. It is a commitment I make and one I ask for in return. To make an exception would not be fair to everyone else who works with me on that basis.

So I stepped away.

More than a decade. A unit I first walked into as a rookie with a Panasonic point-and-shoot camera, heart racing, trying not to show it. And now it belongs to someone else’s story.

I’m grateful for every year of it.

And I hope he’s doing well.

# # #

I think about those two years of silence sometimes.

The emails that went unanswered. The not knowing. The continuing anyway because you decided at some point that doing things properly was its own reason, regardless of whether anyone noticed.

Someone noticed.

It just took two years to find out.

# # #

If you’re looking for an agent who will still be showing up for you two years from now, you’re welcome to reach out.