Came across this guy en route to a chinese restaurant, and it made me wish that i could be in Singapore right this moment. To be out where the streets and houses are adorned with red. That i could see people i wanted to see. And not be so far away while everyone goes on with their own things.. that i could stop trying to fathom what i mean to certain people.. and how much that worth is diminishing by the day..

And in my head Chantel Kreviazuk's Feels like Home begins to play, and i find myself in OCS, during admin time on one of the nights, when i first heard this song from Joshua's mp3 player, and how it sang to me. I find myself reminded of all those times when we just came back from outfield when we'd dump our wet n dirty FBO in the main corridor (to avoid dirtying our pristine bunks) and how sweet my room would smell. And i would immediately play this song. And then i find myself on Chinese New Year's Eve 05 when Bravo just got back from Brunei, poorer by a couple of kilos but richer by a new badge.. and when i reached home, my mum ran out of the house and we hugged for a long time in the porch.. with this song on repeat on my ipod.

That was my last memory of the song.. Every time it came on, i think of CNY and OCS. And now as i stood in an entertained crowd of angmohs, i looked at the lion a few metres in front of me and thought how far away and long ago it brought me. how much memories it summoned for which i have little relish yet adore.. How contradicting my thoughts are.. How much i want to be in Singapore right now.. How much i don't want to be.. Do i feel guilty that my brothers are bearing the brunt of overwhelming concern from family, extended or otherwise.. who must be starved of knowledge about how we have been surviving since March 06.. March.. the month i love yet hate..

He came in to where i ate, hungry for attention with which he was generously showered. He went to every table, doing little jiggles and dancing and flirting (with those batting eyelids). How hideously and coyly he collected the angbao with which people fed.

Then he approached my table, begging for red packets in a voice drowned by the din the drummers created. As he looked at me, batting his lashes, i shoved my camera into his mouth.

Aha! an angmoh!