There Is No Title For This Post

The countdown has almost reached its conclusion: the bags are packed, the letters sealed; the hugs have been given, the farewells said; pictures have been taken, the last tears shed. There is an inexplicable concoction of emotions running through my veins - a fusion of imminent sadness at leaving this place I call home, along with a throbbing excitement as I anticipate the unpredictable future. Even though that's what I hate the most - unpredictability. I like straight lines, clear-cut rules, exact numbers, controlled thoughts, perfect scores. I leave no room for allowances. But what now? Carrying forward this punctilious nature with me, I risk facing my new life with uncompromising inflexibility, which is precisely what I've been trying to break away from. Yet do I know any other way? This exercise in circularity is what keeps me going. This rigid and rigorous method of self-government. Where there is no space for reward. Where everything is calculated and planned. I'm not a bloody calculator. So why can't I stop calculating? The basic fundamental beauty of being human is the ability to change and evolve and grow. Plasticity. But this child remains static in her failure. Well, I suppose I always did want to be a machine. Unstoppable; indefatigable. But sometimes, sometimes I can hear something calling out to me. I think it's my body. I think it's trying to be heard. But I have no time to stop and listen. And so I snuff out the voices, silence the calls, muffle the whispers. Until there is nothing left except complete nothingness. And this is where I float. There is no rest, save in the reliability of my fixedness. But the fixedness itself causes unrest because I cannot break free. I cannot explain this paradox to you. One must live it and breathe it to understand it.

To My Neighbours

the tiny sliver

of patchworked

midnight

hugged closely the

contours of dawn

in the few moments

between today and tomorrow;

yesterday and today.

when light filters in

so weakly like

a dying lamp

and the sky is

a blurry grey;

when shadows melt

into each other

coalescing into a

shapeless figure of the

here-and-now,

i am unafraid,

and so you will hear

those familiar pattering

footsteps pass all

your closed doors.

11 days

Did my second last solitary long run this morning. It was so nice. The street lights lit up for me, one by one, majestically - lighting the pre-dawn darkness. My feet traversed familiar roads, turned well known corners. I knew as I passed each drooping tree that this was my way of saying goodbye; by sharing this morning with them, by being part of Nature itself. And I know that in the future, no matter where my legs take me, only this place can I truly call Home. For it is home indeed. Irreplaceable. Distinct from all other places. I am capturing snapshots, fleeting glimpses of these people and places I love: the intermittent swaying of the palm tree outside my neighbour's house on a windy day. My fat cat lying stretched out on the pavement. The naked statue in the huge Japanese house. The distant specks of fishermen's boats along the curve of Gurney Drive. Someone's laugh, caught midway. A pat on the back. A friend tucking my hair behind my ear. Twinkling eyes. A gorgeous smile. Bike number 3! All these small things. I am bound, not by obligation, but by memory.

Bloody Insects

I hate insects. Bloody insects. Dah la everytime I run the stupid wriggly caterpillars hanging from the trees on their stupid transparent string made from saliva or whatever keep landing on me and making me jump in fright and scream in horror and upset the rhythm/pace/breathing. And then if I decide to use my mouth and nose to breathe for more oxygen, blady small black flying things always fly into my damn mouth. I don't want to eat you lah stupid even though you are high in protein and contain 11 vitamins. Then just now I was taking a nice nap on my nice bed and suddenly was woken up by intense pain on my damn leg and to my bewilderment my hand was on my leg and I felt something squirming and I looked and there was a blady fat millipede or centipede the stupid red one with millions of legs on my poor leg which I have only two of and it was freaking biting me. ON MY OWN BED! THE BLADY NERVE OF IT! And I was so nice and didn't even kill it! I took it out nicely on a piece of paper and then I flung it far and wide into the garden with my strong muscular arms. I hope it died from the blady fall. Stupid blady milli-centipede. Then I went and sprayed my room with insect repellent until I almost suffocated.

Bai