An Ineffectual Photo Memory




That dirty bit, Sir, is what makes me.




Like everyone else, we joined the queue. Snakes and worms, we bellied through.

Then I came home and performed witchcraft.

Memory is the silver lining, mercury, mercurial.


God forsaken is beautiful too


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.
Elie Wiesel


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.


Working Towards The Light

“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 we 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.



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