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I just wait. What a blessed morning this is. No migraine. No unhappiness. No residue from the night of strain. So it has to be good. Small things get in the way. I have been lying here thinking about thinking and if I should try stuff.

So the day starts yet again. I scroll away reading story to story. The rains go hungry outside my window. I hate the howls and cries. Like a child I curl and wished I had on ear plugs to cave out these eerie tuggings...

I vaguely recall my seventh year in life. But I really didn't like those mirrors by the sides of our huge bed. They were spooky. This one time I awoke to the cock crows. 5 a.m. in the wee hours on this damp morning. I thought I had wetted the bed. Elaine was all floppy over Elgin, fast asleep like a raggedy doll. Aunt was nowhere in sight. I jumped off the bed to get to the spittoon at the dimly lit corner of the bedroom. I was feeling really cold. I often have flashbacks of sorts of my childhood. Delightful and yet shady images, shuffling and shifting like cards, in search of something I had missed. I miss my carefree days. Not a surprise. Al these years I have lived on with my curious self.

The noisy chatter and happy banter greet me as I enter the food joint. I sit by a window to enjoy the colours of a beautiful and captivating morning. I veer and then out of the blue, this nostalgic feeling surges in me. I spot the trees, dancing and waving their arms as if to cuddle the wind. I am transportes back to those happy days at Kovan. Some days I am this eleven -year-old scaling a tree. The view I vividly recall, of Upper Serangoon Road. I loved it so much. Time spent alone meant watching others, watching how life spins like a slow but meaningful web. A tune sometimes plays as background music, my very own reel in the movie of my life. I want to run and hide. I wish I could when things get contrived n difficult at the workplace. I exist momentarily for my own purpose. I forbid others any room nor entry. I begin to connect the dots on this map, a tapestry of colourful events awaiting judgement. No, I do not apologise. I am free. I long to be. I need to remember for I must find my way back to where I first started to make sense of who I really want to be. Who I am I may not fully grasp but what I am has kind of heartened at the crust. I know there is more and yet to come. Faith. We need that. Perhaps one turn may see me switch sides, but pine not I know, of this twist of many fates. There is hope still, relate.

I just wait. That is what I do best. For this patience will soon reveal the essence of what is real. I sit up in my bed and am grateful that life is what it takes. Always give and you shall receive in many folds over, and that is gold.

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