Letter 431: River Valley

Hello again, Singapore! ^____^

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Letter 430: Babies of the 80s

My flight is confirmed, my hotel, booked. Last night's Midori and Cointreau still linger at the back of my throat, leaving a slightly bittersweet aftertaste. It was a high on infinity that transcended many levels of joy. But I must leave now, for when the Bellevue chills, so does my heart.

Happy birthday my dearest Miss C :)

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Letter 429: Fairy Dust

It wasn't even a question. It was a statement: You're not happy, he said.

3 words; 13 letters. That was all it took to make me realise the gravity of the situation.

Tell me-- do green fairies heal?

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Letter 428: Pictures of the Floating World

In his typical friendly way, Nakata tried to strike up conversations. He'd say hello and introduce himself, but most of the cats turned a deaf ear, pretending they couldn't hear him, or looked right through him. The cats here were particularly adept at giving someone the cold shoulder. They must have had some pretty awful experiences with humans, Nakata decided. He was in no position to demand anything from them, and didn't blame them for their stand-offishness. He knew that in the world of cats he would always be an outsider.

- Haruki Murakami: Kafka on the Shore, Chapter 14, p.156-

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Letter 427: Shoe-Knows?

Do you know? It's that time of the year again. A season dictated by sleepless nights over agonising decision making. There is a shoe-closet full of uncertainties, but oh, if only they were as certain as the shoes arranged so orderly in their place according to colour, heel, and functionality-- it would then be pointless to lose sleep and agonise over which pair of shoes to pick.

~*~

At one point I had been too comfortable with heels-- the higher the better-- disregarding the fact that I may at times stagger treacherously in the dangerously vertiginous yet elegant-looking stilettos, which serve to broadcast my appeal in all but one minute before breaking my back and quite possibly spraining my ankle the next. Now I could certainly yearn for the comfort of something more practical-- like ballet flats-- in which I could twirl and do little dances-- even on ragged surfaces.

~*~

But I now realise that no matter what, I would certainly be most at ease walking barefoot. At least then I know I am walking on sunshine; treading on cloud nine.

Graduation day, 7 months earlier-- though it almost seems like a lifetime ago.

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Letter 426: Cranberries

Lately, whenever I hit the sack for the remaining 6 hours of the day, I doze off so quickly that my GCS falls to a score of 3 instantaneously within seconds of having my eyes closed. I don't dream any more. Actually, come to think of it, I haven't had any dreams in a very long time.

夢: Dream(s).

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Letter 425: The Opposite of Fate

OPEN

I once thought I had chosen the right door. This was because I saw a stream of light illuminating the cobbled alley to which I thought was my route of exit. Not once was I even remotely aware that at the far dark corner which would greet me at the end of the alley stood a brick wall. So confident was I of this egress that I strode along the alley not bothering to carry a torch, only to run into the wall and repeatedly smash my nose against it because I was so convinced that somewhere on that brick wall where light doesn't reflect off, there has got to be another door that would lead to my absolution. Alas! I was in the dark, and it was only when I felt the warm, sticky blood trickling down my nose did I finally accept the fact that I might have chosen the wrong opening.

Singapore, June 2008.

CLOSED

There are no doors here, only the soft, gentle breeze that brings a mild foreshadowing that the winds are changing. You are at the same place. The river still flows. Yet you feel different. You see things from a different perspective now. You used to think that the river exudes a lucid stillness; now, you see the tormented undercurrents swirling below the surface. Somewhere beyond the shore, strains of Bob Dylan bobs across the river and finds its way to your ears. He is singing about some changing times. How eerily prophetic. You shudder, not knowing whether it's the cool touch of the zephyr, or the fact that you're about to let go all that you ever thought was perfect. The wind continues to tug at your hair, but it is shorter now, and it is refusing to be tousled.

Singapore, June 2009.

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