don't worry with your suitcase

EOYs has shown me the kindness of teachers. the day before chemistry Mdm Hia sat at her living room table, answering questions on Whatsapp for the whole day. and daily, as the six of us sit at the corridor between the PE department and the hall worrying our butts off Mr Yeoh comes to give us a box of rubbish (a box of food), Ms Heng and her wonderful emails never fail to empower
God has been good.

after our papers today I talked to Ms Teo for a bit, then went to Bei's house with lovely friends to watch videos, laugh and sleep, bought cards, wrote cards. walked home in the rain. read a few interviews on the paris review, answered a few questions on askfm. listened to music. drank two glasses of juice.

there is time on my hands and a lot of things in my mind to live out. so much to read and so much to see! there is a clear space away in my head and heart right now - the kind of feeling you get after the end of a firework show. the kind of feeling you get when you are sufficiently out at sea. i don't know.
'i will remember where i have left you, but i will forget how to get there'

They say, write what you know. But I don't know anything beyond this concrete jungle I live in. These impersonal homes in rows and stacked up above one another... how do you teach people how to connect with other people when we live like this? Mazes of concrete, impersonal, cold and apathetic. It's amazing how you can feel so alone amidst all the people living and breathing within metres of you, separated only by glass and stone. Just a thought. 

and because stories are always magic. here's one from wtc : )

I was walking the eight minute scenic route home, putting up with car exhaust from the nearby road just to walk among trees and flowering bushes. Such frail beauty alongside no-nonsense modernisation; life’s strange juxtapositions. I marveled at the sunny afternoon, the trees gold and green in the glow.

I fumbled for my keys to open the letterbox, palms warm from the sun. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed on the common notice board a banal little notice about works in progress, innocuous amongst tuition ads. What struck me instantly was, within that bland rectangle of white, was the most unexpected thing: a little drawing of a cartoonish tyrannosaurus rex, chomping down on the corner.

I snorted out loud, marveling at the audacity of this sneaky little rascal. That highly officious-looking notice would be the last thing I’d even dare to touch, let alone doodle on. It was the most hilarious thing I’d seen all day. I’m pretty sure that says a lot about my sense of humor at that moment, sleep deprived and tired to tears of assignments. Without thinking, I fished a marker out of my bag and drew three little stick figures on the paper, running away from the dinosaur’s jaws. “Help us!” they squealed from a little speech bubble. I giggled to myself, feeling deliciously naughty. Take that, clean, sanitary, control-freak Singapore! Me and my fellow vandal, rogues in the night, bonded together on pen and paper! Feeling rather pleased with myself, I left.

I never really expected a reciprocation to my playful little stick men; I was pretty sure that they would have replaced the scrawled-over notice with a new one. However, four days later, I trooped down to the letterboxes to get the mail, and what d’you  know? A) The notice was still there, and B) my little stick men had, of all things, pirate hats. The dinosaur had inexplicably grown an eye-patch and a hook on one little crooked arm. A little speech bubble above its head said, “Aaarrr, run you scallywags!”

I stood there completely confounded. But that didn’t last too long; five minutes later, I’d had come back down from fetching a pen; the dinosaur now had three ninjas brandishing samurai swords at its head.

It was pretty much the best thing I’d ever drawn in my life.

We created worlds; kittens dancing amongst shooting stars and rainbow bridges, bug-eyed aliens fighting angry monkeys, a princess riding a dragon into a glorious cross-hatched sunset. Each addition grew more elaborate and detailed. This went on for weeks, me coming up with an excuse to fetch the mail, with a marker in my back pocket. It was a wonder that no one ever caught me at it; it was even more of a wonder that I’d never even bumped into my mystery doodle friend. We were already starting to fight for drawing space.

Then, three weeks after the stick men, I was swamped with school work. A whole week of late nights, strained eyes and 7-11 dinners drove that notice board completely out of my mind. That Friday, exhausted, I indulged myself with a taxi ride home. I sleepily trudged towards the general direction of lifts, hardly even noticing where my feet were taking me. Then I looked up.

He stopped, startled for a moment, marker in hand hovering expectantly. Though he had never even seen my face before, the minute we locked gazes, he knew. I could see the shift from incomprehension to a sudden understanding in the canvas of his face.

He smiled, fleetingly, and held out the marker.

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