All he can do is kneel and pray... 2:05 am

With just a dismissive few words, Susan ended their lives. He just cannot believe it, how cold she was in the delivery; Susan did not flinch one bit. He didn't know to be angry or just plain shattered; Susan just didn't care anymore. Not to mention them, Susan didn't care about him anymore. All he was was an existence that hung on the wall; if it were straight or crooked, horizontal or vertical, Susan seemed oblivious to the state of his existence. She just knew he was there, nothing more. From being Susan's pride, he now just became an existence; he became merely a number to call only for help.

He wants to scream, but the 4-walls of morality and decency discourages him and the ignorance of the rest of the world drowns out his cries. All he can do is kneel and pray, hoping that someone way up there would hear his sobs.

He fights back the tears, fights back the loneliness, fights back the cynicism laced with anger. He wants to fight for the future; a future of love and hope.

Amen.

Uncle T

Just one day 5:53 pm

'If you had one day, just one, to know a stranger, what will you do?

Have a darn good conversation over darn-good coffee and jazz. And pray we'll meet again.'

A cold tropical night 12:40 am

The tiny little angel in her arms, the young mother strolls in the night singing to the little one. A comforting sight on this cool evening. Somehow, its abit too cold for a tropical night; too cold.


Uncle T

Saturdays & words 8:58 pm

For the second time this week, I am having a Haagen-Dazs affogato alone. Today, with a slightly heavier heart on a Saturday, but that's nothing too surprising with Uncle T.

I love Saturdays, especially the afternoons. Its that sweet spot of the week that I wish lasts forever. You know the excitement of the weekend that occurs around Thursday afternoons? Saturday mornings is the realisation of this excitement. It is the beginning of the endless possibilities the weekend can offer. All this on Saturdays.

Saturday's sunlight seems less harsh, seems gentler; present, but gentle. Saturday's jazz more about hopeful infatuations that resigned unrequitted love; Saturday's breeze more understanding than the cruel winds that wreck havoc in the region; Saturday's words more dreamy than pensively contemplative; Saturday's steeets filled with loosened collars than sullen faces. Saturday is that sweet spot of the week I wished lasted forever.

I sit here typing on a tiny screen all my big ponderings and what-ifs. The day I decided to entertain that English what-if has added to the philosophical bubbles in my head. I sit here listening to the piped in oldies I used to sing when I was young. Week in week out, I sang oldies on karaoke. I was so contented singing. Not caring about anything else but the cheesy music videos and lit words on the screen. The lyrics, till today, speak of the script of my daydreams. But today, I simply get teased about that kind of music, that kind of lyrics. Sometimes not just teased, judged. I wish I were in a Parisian cafe people-watching. That way, I don't get judged but rather be the judge.

I don't expect anyone to understand these ramblings; there is no need to understand a person like he/she was meant to be understood like a maths formulae. Or so I think.

The oldies keep playing as the rush of Apec volunteers whizz by. Soon, it will be once again my turn to be called into action. This whole week of Apec have been easier to bear only because of words. This week, words have been my panacea, my heterotopia.

I just wish to share Saturdays and words with someone that feels right with, you know? I guess I'll wait. Won't you wait with me?