I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight.

I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight.


Impatient headlights and jazz.
Headlights started to cut and dot the growing darkness of the Saturday night; my first Saturday of my working life. I, too, turned on my headlights as the jazz soothed the impatient weekend cars worming in and out of traffic. I lean back into the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other against the door, propping up my chin.

The jazz helped; it always helps make wrong situations alright. It just calms my nerves even as a reckless and plain idiotic driver cuts my lane dangerously without signalling. Its as if some of these drivers knowingly make a dangerous manoeuvre and close their eyes to pray to their god(s). Either that, or they are simply dumb to not realise there actually are consequences to such potentially fatal side-steps. The jazz always helps; each time my nerves palpitate, jazz walks over quietly and squeezes my hand, smiles and says “everything will be alright darling”.


“Happiness…coming soon”
Alone, I drive from Bukit Timah to Lasalle Arts School. I was going to watch a play “Happiness…coming soon”. I quite enjoy the drive in these private moments with jazz, alone in her tender caresses. During such drives, I never feel lonely when I am alone. Yet, the reality of the solitude hits when I get out of the car as I headed for the theatre doors. That reality hits, and hard.

Good theatre is temporal enjoyment, but great theatre inspires. By that definition, it was a great 55 minute play. Then again, nearly everything inspires something in me. Whether it is inspired to fruition is a different matter altogether. But for those 55 minutes, I did not feel the loneliness of the empty seats on my left and right. Credit to the cast and crew, I felt part of the play. Yet once the houselights came on, I could nearly feel the glare of the empty chairs next to me.


“In my solitude…”
After one cup of dao huay drink (soya bean drink), I head to a faraway place, Portsdown Road. Tucked amidst the ancient trees and the ghosts of British military presence, this was my sanctuary; almost. Here, the solitude feels romantic. Even the weak street lamps have an enigmatic aura. Here, solitude is powerful. I sip my black coffee.

But I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight. The tart smiles at me seductively from the display window, but it is not to be, not tonight at least. What is in a good chocolate tart when you are alone and cannot share it? What is in a good tart when there is no one there to laugh at you as your fork makes a crumbly mess of the crust? What good is it if there is only one pair of lips to praise the tart to another pair of ears? What romance is in a burning tea-light candle when there is no face for its glow to embrace?

Tonight, I cannot order my chocolate tart. Because tonight, I am alone. I am waiting for my jazz girl.



Uncle T