Happy Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year and Federal Territory Day, all rolled in one!
It's been a difficult few weeks, with Ju Liang's leukemia relapse and Uncle Phua's passing. Didn't have time to blog about those two items.
Been Internet-less for the past week in office, as the tenants moving out took the router with them. Posting from Starbucks. Sigh. How elegantly chic. And yet hopelessly sad.
Aside note: You know how it once was uncool to be single for Valentine's Day? Then for some time we had year after year of 'Celebration of Singles' day, and suddenly it became the in thing to be date-less for V-Day. You know, stuff like "Who needs to be in a relationship to be happy?", "At least we don't need to pay a bomb for roses that're gonna die.", "Hey okay... GIRLS NITE OUT! I will survive...I WILL SURVIVE...!"
Hm. I could be wrong. But I have a teeny feeling that those statements, once so anti-mainstream, have ironically become clichéd themselves. At the risk of ruffling more feathers than I can chew, it's only cool if you're single BUT deliciously boyfriend/girlfriend material. The rest? Just stay neutral, people. Don't pretend it's fashionable and go all anti-relationship.
So what's cool, you ask me? As V-Day has the tendency of becoming the most unromantic day of the year to go for a date, take that special or let's-pretend-to-be-special someone for a Ramli Burger! No crowds, no bleeding wallets, no strings attached! Remember to bring your own drinks.
Ghostopia (Chapter 2)
Darren stared back sharply at Mortie. Unsmiling. Unamazed. But most definitely not uninterested.
"We were waiting just for a final candidate as yourself."
"I'll show you the rest later. We have Kat, the fastest pair of hands you've ever seen. Lester, slow of mind but unimaginably strong. And myself, the brains of the team."
He paused to check if Darren was still listening.
"You must be wondering what talent you possess to warrant a place. You were a gambler in your past life, no?"
"And a pretty spectacular one, I reckon. Nothing of sleight of hand, anticipation, foresight and that mumbo-jumbo. Only unadulterated blind luck."
"That's why I need you, Darren." Mortie smiled. "I can't leave anything to chance. What say you?"
"Perhaps, a little. But that is beside the point, really. Now are you in, or not?"
He gazed at the ceiling. "This is a joke."
"Again, perhaps. But are you willing to take that chance for Emily?"
"You've been taking chances all your life."
"Don't you bring Emily into this."
"Why should I? You'll do that for yourself."
Mortie sat beside him. "Son. Do you know what hurts most about dying?"
"Not the things you never got to do for your loved ones. That's regret. We all carry regret, even when we were alive. What hurts most is what your loved ones never got to do for you. When someone dies, you lose just that someone. But when you die, you lose everyone."
"She was your fiancée. You may not care about losing her. But maybe she cares deeply about los-"
Darren grabbed Mortie's throat, unflinching. "Enough,"
Mortie flailed about, trying to free himself. "All right. All right."
He shifted uncomfortably, casting long shadows across the flitting evening rays. Somewhere from the next room, a queer fragrance wafted towards where they were.
"Newcomers!" Mortie darted up.
He muttered something inaudible as he hurried to the other end.
Mortie whirled around abruptly, almost smirking. He knew he would change his mind.
"Take me to meet the rest."
"Soon as I'm done with these newcomers." He continued with a merry spring in his step, whistling Leaving On A Jet Plane.