Ask your animals.
Ask your animals.
Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning.
So our upstairs neighbor has knocked on our door again two nights ago. We were knocking and moving furniture. It was twenty past midnight. This was the second time he’s come down to berate us.
“I know you all have your own lifestyle, but what about us, other people? We have to get up in the morning and go to work.”
It is sad that our neighbors think we don’t have to work. Or that we don’t work too seriously. I think we cannot keep smiling for no reason. People think we lead alternative lifestyles.
I always told HY why let someone know you are when you are
I always believe in pacing. But when it comes to moving things and hammering in the night I have a feeling I am in perpetual overdrive.
There is too much to be said I can’t put into words here, also because of the death of a father I never had, this is a wretched week.
But night has set me free; we are going to pay our respects at the Parliament House to-night.
It is four minutes past one.
It is night, and I am full of words.
“No, he’s not dead yet.”
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?”
“When he dies there will be a few days of heavy rain.”
HY asked me this morning if I recalled what I said a few days before. Of course I don’t.
But I do remember the sky of the above day.
Since rumor of his passing on spread apprehensively before Lee Kuan Yew’s death, we too listened and made preparations in our hearts.
My heart knows for a reason. That late afternoon as were going out on our bikes the air was warm and compact, little vibrations tended to it. The weather was literally one of non disclosure and the air, lips tight, one of supposition, depending on which way you were inclined to believe in the pass two weeks. But even as we got messages I didn’t feel. The air didn’t say.
Yesterday the rain came unlikely. But it came, and it continues to.
Bye bye March, may Mr Lee and Mrs Lee renew their romance in April skies.
So my crazy uncle is building an extension for his youngest son Daniel. In fact, if you follow the address found on some sites you will go straight to their house. And see my crazy uncle.
Daniel is not yet nine years old, but he is a good combination of knowing and unknowing, perfect for our crime. He has grown obsessed with a small, round puzzle set I have, which while meant for 5 year-olds has gotten him stumped the first time. So the second time when he came around he had to ‘do it’, and he did, with a palpitating heart.
But the third time, the same puzzle stumped him, again, even when he wanted to complete it in record time. I perhaps aggravated him by tapping on my wrist.
Back to crazies. His father, also the man we contracted to renovate this house, is building a room at whatever space’s left at the front of their house so young Daniel can have a room on his own. This room is hedged like a comet has plunged onto the second floor. It is all glass.
We have been asking him on his views of sunscreen and privacy and he thinks we are crazies. Like Crazies Aunties.
We bought the miniature puzzles at a toy store in Forum, where you can find things an adult has designed for children, remembering s/he too was once, in the middle of nowhere… Thank You Mr. Postman!!!
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