wear a suit, then walk barefoot

he is an architect, historian, builder and a storyteller. we met at the art fair, between acrylic and twisted metal. his gait is easy, his shirt one size too big. I listen as he tells me about the book he has birthed on colonial houses – white bungalows, like elephants, accented in black bold lines. he is now studying shophouses, collecting more histories of homes. i tell him about my impossible dream to live in one, and he tells me about the seafront in singapore before it was reclaimed. why does he reminds me of J? the billionaire hobo who runs hotels, performs surgeries and still finds time for the burning man every year. “look me up when you are in sydney, i will show you the breweries, brad and alot of his art,” he says. as we part, he tells me that i will never cure this restlessness in my being. but i must not be sad, i just have to live many different lives – wear a suit, afford everything, then walk barefoot, owning nothing.

muscle & bones

my physiotherapist has a kind voice and strong hands. in her office, the walls are painted a jaundice yellow, and filled with objects that look like toys. next to them are machines spewing wires and paw-like pads. i fear them the most. she tells me these ultrasound waves and electrical pulses will help my muscles and bones. but each time i am strapped up in these machines, i discover a new world of pain. apparently the pain is good for me. it is a sign that my body is rebuilding itself. next door is a clinic called oasis of hope, where people with cancer and other irrevocable diseases sit on cream sofas. how often do they think about death? do they feel their bodies dissolving with each minute, like candles burning their last?

manufactured modernity

the new train stations are giant underground caves of metal, marble and granite. they feel like airports. but instead of aeroplanes taking flight, we watch trains pull into test tube tunnels. it is always too bright and too clean in here. no one tries to own the space with graffiti. the bravest citizens only venture so far as to paste little stickers in awkward corners, stickers they have received in exchange for charity. hardly badass. B tries to tap his old ez-link card, but it doesn’t work anymore. i explain that this city is obsessed with evolution. he marvels at our manufactured modernity. a bell jar of shiny seeds planted by the men in white. he said time runs faster here. familiar spaces disappear too quickly. we are left wanting with faded photographs, consoled by a collective memory archived in digital worlds. we spent the weekend watching artists work off paper and onto walls, sitting beneath fairytale trees dripping gold. the arts festival opened with the park set ablaze, the most beautiful state it will ever be. a bonfire beneath skyscrapers.

like fish, traffic junctions or elevator doors

another night has bled into the morning. wide awake. when the music stops and light floods the cave, everyone is ugly again. you have a gift for me in your suitcase. they were born yesterday, in the chocolatier of another country. i flee from the seduction, but keep the gift. you think it is just one of my irrational fears, like fish, traffic junctions or elevator doors. perhaps i am weak this way? the other night i watched a walrus die. russian hunters woke it from its sleep, and drove their long spears from behind, straight into its heart. the animal curled like cooked shrimp. and i cried.

live for nights like these

it is here tired bodies lie, perhaps we will get up to dance again. but now we soak up bass beats percolating the sand beneath our bodies. tonight, the weather decided to be amazing, and there is no greater joy than to be here, and feel your lips on my shoulder. the water is within reach,  let’s swim.

farewell old shack. you are the best karmic second life of a shipping container. there’s something eternally magical about dancing barefoot to bbq smells by the sea, and mixtapes rising into the sky, electronic prayers of this city. advanced nations party without roofs!

night of sound and vision. soho in singapore

everyone in this room is in transit. she leaves for bangalore tomorrow and he has just arrived, still smelling like cabin air. he tells me it doesn’t feel like we’re in singapore. perhaps new york? i don’t know, i’ve never been there. but it doesn’t matter, everyone’s brought something for the food x drink pool, and we all drink out of paper cups. i am fascinated with strong beautiful girls with hard hard eyes. they are often found a long way from home.

view from the floor. tengal’s projector against the sky. bootleg clips x sound mash-ups. halfway through, i wished this house was mine.