Pi in the sky, and a broken heart.

from the cloud appreciation society site

Aren't they beautiful?

I hear crickets in my room. They're asking me to close my eyes, and be calm.

No Worries lemongrass tea

Working hours, but my mind is drifting and I fail to take this seriously. What did people use to do at work when there was no computer to give them access to an entire universe while being physically around their colleagues, around printers, files, the boss? Why, they wrote on paper, with pens! Or clacked away on typewriters! And pushed their cateye glasses up if the un-air-conditioned room was making them sweat.

A photo of death-eaters is on my desktop ready for tomorrow. (23 hours to Harry Potter!!!!!!!! -gnaws madly at handkerchief-)

I went to craigslist to see what it's about, and found-

If you like pinacoladas - m4w - 45 (Singapore)

In search of a lonely married woman longing for spice and adventure.

I am a Singapore male chinese, 45, married and lonely.

Completely discreet and no commitments expected. Just warmth and friendship as and when you are available.

Write to discuss what we can do together in or out of Singapore.

Write to me and escape.


and

Bus 100 - m4w - 28 (Singapore)

I want to talk to you but I don't have the courage yet. I always see you at bus stop 62139. We always ride the same Bus 100, we alight at the same bus stop. It's just that we go on opposite direction. You never failed to mesmirized my day. I hope we can talk.

Rhyming Ode To Swing

i wish i could

oh yes i would

swing everyday

i'd be so gay

in a polkadot skirt

that would happily flirt

with the bowtie of

my charming partner.

And stripey lollipop socks!

(matching clothes are bollocks)

They'd put on some swing

my heart and synapses ring

we would do eight-count:

one two

three and four

five six

seven and eight

sweetheart

catapult

suzie-q

crazy legs

the trouble starts at six

count, i look at our feet

it's like our hearts don't meet

my mary-janes are

half a beat behind

i hope he doesn't mind

i just started learning

my heart is burning

can't square-off right yet

my kick-pumps aren't set

and mama said you must wear a bra

when dancing with men.

i like the orange dim

looking at her and him

twenties charleston flaps

jockey hip-to-hip gaps

grammophone dreams

floral armchair beams

papa said dance-floor love is a deception

a rosy musk-perception

but 2010 doesn't quite matter

-is he the mad hatter?-

on a rainy ol' swing sunday

while waiting for the next song to start.

If ya ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends.

penny lane, Almost Famous

You know that other girls have never been my style

Suzie-Q

Catapult

Sweetheart

Crazy legs

Falling-off-a-log

Around-the-world

The Swim

And the bright, all-wonderful Charleston!

pineapple calluses

It was the last time I would see him in my life. Going to India meant that. He was my grandfather's elder brother, fourth in line to kong kong's fifth and last. Actually he was the only one remaining of those five, five whom I would like to investigate someday because I see them as some sort of legend in my head, the five brothers, one of whom I've heard was deathly handsome like my grandfather and whose motorcycle-and-mint looks live on in his eldest son, who tries too hard to be charming. The fourth brother would not be thought of as a legend though, the way people imagine legends, because he was soft, and quiet, and kind and simple. I saw him at least once a year, every year of my life, at Chinese New Year (we always had homemade cookies by his daughter-in-law, the kind that is a swirl with a pink dot on top, and yeo's chrysanthemum tea), in his small, neat hdb home that seemed a different world from his younger brother's green marble floors and red carpets. He had a big belly always nestled behind the uncle white cotton singlet. He had calm, sad little eyes, did not want much or need much. He was my father's favourite uncle, and my father once got them a big tv because they couldn't quite splurge on it, and it would make his uncle's days happier at home. My father never told anyone else about it. Sometimes he would come and visit (not at Chinese New Year), sitting around unassumedly, with his oldest nephew (another remarkable man of cigarettes and rough lines) who is incidentally my grandmother's age, and we would all have dinner together. At my grandfather's funeral, my father bought the famous yong tau foo from outside and he slurped up the mucusy gravy before my eyes. This was when the house was still old, and we sat at the sticky outdoor kitchen table, surrounded by fried vegetables in thick translucent gravy and surrounded by the empty smell of funeral incense. The last visit to him was something I'd suggested because I knew it would be the last time. He had some stomach problems or cancer, I don't know anymore, and had a few months left. One Sunday afternoon we trudged there after lunch. When I entered his room, he lay on the bed, emaciated, looking at the ceiling. His big belly was almost no more, his legs were skinny bones and his dark construction skin was yellowish. There was a tube from his nose. The bed was very neat, the sheets smooth, and cotton blankets that had little regular holes in them (my brother had a pink one from childhood that smelt very nice). The room was dark, only light from a window. It was old and dusty but orderly. I started tearing while everyone stood around not knowing what to do. He seemed a bit happy to see us. After they all said something they went out to the living room to sit awkwardly, while my grandmother and I remained. My grandmother asked if he'd eaten and spoke to him very normally. I wondered how she did that. I wondered how he felt lying there everyday, death coming, and if my grandfather came to talk to him. After a while my grandmother went out and I was left alone and he asked me to sit down so I did. I held his hand for my own sake and started crying and he said hoarsely, like he feared the end, 'ah liap, ask her to stop crying or I will cry too....' but my grandmother was outside and couldn't hear him.

Now I'm back it's odd that he is in an urn in the columbarium and his old flesh is no more. Like a mould that melted into space, disintegrating into tiny little sparkly parts, like a scene from a low-effects space movie. It's a weird thought to get around. I'm glad I wasn't around for his funeral; I would have cried embarrassingly too much and maybe more than his own grandchildren. Everyone dies out and Chinese New Year will never be the same again. Sugus and Van Houten are from the swollen heady past, and now the first thing on Chinese New Year morning are the bright yellow chrysanthemums at my grandfather's grave, twin-decorating the photo my grandmother doesn't like (because of the expression of the mouth) but which I think embodies him perfectly.

floating away on a cloud

"So...have you been dating any boys recently?"

"Nope."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"You must get a boyfriend!!!"

"Give me some advice lah."

"Hmmmm. First you must get a makeover, like put makeup, cover all your pimples...Then must be like, like, very funny, very smart."

"Okay."

"If you don't have long hair it's okay, because in the shows right, short hair also can. Also got boys like. Just that the most important thing is you must be like very funny, very fun."

"What shows?"
"Like those drama lah."

"But those stupid korean dramas are just silly shows."

"Yah I know, but you can also learn from them."

kong kong kong, kong kong kong kong, kong kong gong gong

If you say the above with hokkien intonation, it means-

"grandfather said, container hit grandfather, grandfather blur-blur/concussion/silly-silly"

It's 7pm- half an hour to end-of-work but my brain is frozen from replying trickling mucus-poop-trails of work emails in friendly tones, researching for shows and dealing with lists. My work pal, who shaved off his mohawk this morning due to an accidental slight of the hand, has gone off for Deepavali. But not before we huddled together when everyone else was out of the room, used the office's navy-blue-and-lime-green brother sticker machine that I've been addicted to and secretly using far too much of, and made french phrase stickers for the girl he is in love with right now. Then he went off to see her, happily. I need to strategically put the sticker machine not on my table or it will seem like I use it all the time, which I want to, hug it and make endless stickers- Coeur qui soupire n'a pas ce qu'il desire. The trees beckon us tomorrow and I simply can't wait. No trees that say wisha-wisha-wisha! but I think they say ho-ho-hum-hum-bloom-bloom-bloom.