my tiny faber community

i spent today eating up the hours slowly, painfully, like a bitter pill. let me tell you about my condo shuttle bus uncle- his typical day of work begins at 7.07am, and does not end til late in the evening at 7.45pm. for his sake i refuse to ask for an extension of shuttle bus hours. apart from a one hour break at 12.07pm, his life seems to me to be confined within his smooth and worn leathered seat, his half-winded window on his right, the huge black steering wheel in front and the jerking gear box on the left. his everyday attire is a button shirt- either white or pale blue, and dark gray office pants which he rolls up to his knees. he wears a cap every time, red and blue and emblazoned with Faber Crest Condomium on the front of it. beneath this cap, which is very much a second skin, he folds neatly a page of newspaper, puts it flat on his head and pulls the cap on. i wonder why he does that, perhaps to keep the cap clean from hair oil and sweat, but won't the black newspaper print leak onto his scalp? a form of mild dyeing for his white hairs? perhaps. whenever we reach home he would say "hui lai le" [we've reached home], and about half the passengers would thank him when we alight, the other half are apathetic. there used to be more of us saying 'xie xie uncle', and i think he would appreciate it, living such a dejavu life of endless repeats and cycles. xie xie, uncle.

it is very hot today, and stuffy, even though my brother disagrees. i woke up in the morning and went to the river side to run but before i even reached the 600m mark it started raining, slowly at first then picking up speed, but i just kept my pace and promised myself i'd reach the end of the short road before turning back- and i did! and after that i went to the gym and finished up the 4.6km run.

at the gym as i was running, a woman in a swimming pink big pyjama set was reading the papers and doing the cycle machine, rather half-heartedly. you know when you pedal, the machine registers your speed and calories burnt etc. and the red digits flash on right? but her slow swaying leg movements [i cannot call them cycling] caused the red numbers to do a disco pulse, -flash- red, black space, flash, black, flash, black. instead of a continuous and convincing red glare. then the security guard came in and asked her to put on shoes cos slippers are not allowed, and she pretended to read her newspaper [the weather report] and simply REFUSED to acknowledge the guard's presence, like he was plain invisible and insignificant. gave vague nods and the guard repeated and she gave more vague nods and continued her half-hearted pedalling, and the guard was frickin pissed and left the room for reinforcements. haha. after 5 minutes she was out, and the guard came in with another macho indian guard but guess what? my mother was in, passing me the housekeys and asking questions cause she needed to leave the house. the guards, bless them, needed to do some ghost-busting to spice up their otherwise monotonous day; so though my ma was nearer the door than to any exercise machine, the guards were very determined people and told her to change her shoes. i thought that was kinda funny, you need two big men to chase out two slippered feet.

and at the NTUC queue, i met a old senile man who cut the queue and didnt want to weigh his bunch of bananas but it would take too long describing him and i am already sick of my own voice- so, i shall look forward to tomorrow's bbq and pray for good weather without rain the smell of cod liver oil, like it was today.

(:

i would wear it, except i do not have the habit of wearing my sorrows on my sleeve, as if i were tying a red thread to my small finger, inflicting memories on myself, pricking painful wounds that do not fully heal, like pressing a thumb down on a raw scrape to egg on the bleeding. no, i refuse to hurt.