I just wanted to say hi. That I am still here. I am trying to write, but not finding the words.
Silence is a rare commodity in crazy Singapore. Ever so often, my eyes trick me into seeing oases in the shimmering shadows; my ears fool me with hushed whispers of the trees.
we only have two hands each –
there’s only so much we can hold.
so you can have two hands again –
to find something new to grow.
For those of you wondering what’s this all about – no it’s not a new project I have.
Stories will all be kept confidential (unless you specifically say you would like for me to share it), and I would just like to know the people around me more.
Because even though I may not be able to help you, I can at least listen to you.
That’s all there is to it. The email is email@example.com – and meanwhile I’m working on a story, long due. I hope to be able to share it with you soon.
I’m sure we’ve all felt like that at some point of our lives – Stupid. And the face of senior somebody will float into view, and go “I told you so”.
I’ve always been falling. Off things. Into things. With things. Out of things.
My gallery of bruises and scars – visible and invisible, old and new – profile my countless forays in the art of falling.
So when I was clambering onto the camel (Rita I’m told), tumbling off was also in equal opportunity.
I had one foot on, left arm clinging onto the harness, trying to loop my other leg over in the most graceful way possible. And Rita was grunting very insistently the whole time.