Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Rolling into Town


Euro FunPark is now in Hougang. Amidst the swirling neon lights and swooshing metal, there's a chance for me to feel something again.

I wore a dress to work today, much to the derision of most people. I probably shouldn't have done it on Valentine's Day. It is hard to argue with logical causal connections. I appreciate compliments, although I am terrible at receiving them. But somehow I don't know if it is a compliment to receive compliments only when you wear a skirt. For sure, feminity is very appreciated, and that pisses me off slightly for some strange and probably illogical reason.

No longer feel that urge to drink. I still have drinks, but my bottle of gin at home has not been touched in weeks, and that's a better indication of my alcoholic habits.

I like that the carnival is here, because I want to get on a ride and feel my stomach turn itself upside down, and my hair flying into my face, and my feet dangling in the air and my eyes darting to see everything from that height in that spilt second before the machine moves again.

I usually feel too much, but these days its been the opposite. Everything's slightly muted and grey. I used to drink to mute things, but now I want to find a way to turn up the volumn because the silence can get unnerving.

So my mom is upset, that I haven't been home much. And even when I am, I don't talk anymore. But how do I explain that I have nothing to say? And really, I just want the silence at home. I know I have completely contradicted myself. She asks if its work, or some boyfriend problem. She doesn't look convinced when I tell them its neither.

I had a conversation with Lars on the phone, and it was strange because I didn't remember him sounding the way he did. I wish it wasn't over the phone, I wished we were heading out for decent coffee at Somerset. I've been thinking a lot about Bangladesh, but then again I don't think I ever stop thinking about that place.

Yesterday I was trying to remember the way I did my laundry there. The system that I had, and that unreliable clothesline anchored to the mango tree on the rooftop that saw so many of my clothes blown by the wind onto the sandy floor. And all the places I would go have char at, and the late night rickshaw rides on the near empty streets, and the oily pizza place next door that made the world's worst fries.

And maybe I think about it so much because it is one of the rare things that make my grey, muted thoughts go ablaze with colour. I miss everything and I repost this photo in complete infringement of Lars' copyright.