I have been so very good at smiling and doing nice things like saying ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and racing through days, moments, as if they were my last. I have become so good at this that I forget that Im tired and sometimes grumpy and that I was looking forward to the weekend over pancakes galore with myfavouritefamily (that birthed the favouritebaby) and the weekend reminded me that I love surprises: like sb + smk appearing in singapore.

It’s always nice to be in the company where you can be yourself, I suppose. Like E said, the older you get, you find less people you can totally be yourself with. Or maybe Im looking at the wrong places. It’s been refreshing to reconnect with some people and meet old/new friends along the way that somehow become like oldfriends. –Its funny as I reread this, I feel I shouldn’t be writing the word “refreshing” down. It sounds weird, even patronising – sounds like lemonade. It’s also weird because the sssh sound makes me think of water and that has nothing to do with what Im talking about. But in light of the fact that I can think of no better word – because writing dayin and dayout makes writing (even for leisure) tiring – the idea of refreshment shall do for now.

I also wonder how my fifteen-year-old cousin must be feeling. I think he can do with some refreshing words. See- there I go again sounding patronising. Still, it’s awkward thinking about my cousin being punched by a boy when his back was turned. It’s surreal. Now, he has an exposed vein in his gums and swollen lips cos’ the sillybraces he was wearing turned against him. It’s sadlyfunny when you think about it because you know all boys go through this. So goodforyou if you got yourself stitches in the hospital or served as a punching bag to another because you’ve finally been initiated into the holy realms of manhood. But when you find out your teenage cousin ain’t gonna fight back, you feel like you’ve gotta do it for him : ) . Like I shd go to school and punch the boy up for him or something. Yah lah, I know violence is bad and all that. But when you’re a boy, and you let someone beat the living daylights out of you without any resistance – that’s completely worrying. At least beat the shit out of them and give them something to bring home to mummy.

Which explains why there are days like these where I would like to be a gangster. On a completely random note, one of my childhood dreams was to be a butcher.

  The rest of the story was a blur of sorts. My parents were pissed and upset over my lack of ambition, and I was frustrated by their lack of support because butchers were commendable. My table partner in school wanted to be a butterfly. So there.

I am slowly discovering why I do what I do. And while there will alws be initial scarymoments and fear: will I/won’t I lose sight of big plansandpurposes, I am reminded in the daily firefighting AND freedomfighting:  there are no small things and there are no meaningless things. Jan! if you read this – press on!

 I am sooo tired.

…ahh the tensions // temptations of everydaylife  

So it’s been a week where I find myself wishing I was a different person. I should be more polished up and be absolutely charming allthetime. (Bcos as I discover-things get done faster that way. har har.) Still I can think of no one else Id rather be- Iv grown to like the messy hair and different way of doing things.  so despite not alws being the same as everybody else (I do worry abt being againstthegrind sometimes!), I do know : there’s only onemaninmylife that I should worry to please. so thankyou despite my completely unglam ways, you still grant me favour. : )

monday:

there’s a man (old, somewhat.) halfstanding halfsquatting right in the centre of the seaofpeople - people in suits and coats and pretty shoes who walk sideways, roundabout ways, in never-seeing ways. When I do turn to return, he looks up. Expectant.  I look at him and realise he’s wearing a blue shirt. A faded navycolour. Oversized. I don’t realise that his shirt hangs from his shoulders until I rush for my train. I wonder how long he has been standing there with his crutches, making pfttt pfttt noises. There’s musical air coming out from a gap in between his teeth. The sound/ faded tinkling of a poor man’s whistle. I reallytruly wonder what he might say to me if he was actually able tp speak.