Blue Seas

'The number you are trying to call is currently not reachable. Please try again later.' "Welp!" I thought, as I took the escalator steps two at a time, phone pressed between my left ear and shoulder, right hand clutching my wallet and EZ Link card and left hand balancing my briefcase and a couple of files from work. "Lilly, please pick up your phone!" As if on cue, my phone rang out shrilly. I backed up against the wall to let the rush hour crowd from the MRT pass me by and transferred the contents of my right hand to my left and answered my phone. "Your'e late," I heard my sister snap on the other end. "I know, I'm sorry!' I pleaded between breaths, "I've almost reached, just...need...to...cross the street," I said resuming my pace with the rest of the crowd, "Ow, these heels are killing me. Is Sandy there yet?" "Of course he is," Lilly snorted, 'We drove here together from work." ...

The caretaker shuffled his feet uneasily, looking at the floor. I sighed and tucked a loose curl behind my left ear. I looked unhappily around the hall. It was dark and dusty as if no one had opened the windows in a very long time. Sunlight hadn't streamed in through the ornate grill pattern. The winds had not whistled through the boarded window slits. "This used to be my house," I said more to myself more than anyone in particular. "Perhaps, memsahib. But this house belongs to them now," he said uncertainly, pointing to the wall behind. I turn around around to the wall. It is lined with framed pictures of laughing children. Young girls and boys, playing and smiling and posing for the camera. In another world, at another time, I would have screamed and thrown a rock at the wall. I would have smashed each and every last framed photograph. I would have shattered the glass and ripped out each and every picture and gouged out the eyes of every last smilin...

I cannot touch him. My hands recoil and I fold them and keep them to myself. Much as I want to, I am afraid. He has fallen asleep, still in his dinner clothes. A silk shirt, a vest. An expensive suit. Still wearing his tie. The coat he's thrown at the foot of the bed. The shoes kicked to one side, near the door. The socks lying around, strewn on the carpet. I sit at the head of the bed, listening to him breathe. He is lying face down. I want to tuck a pillow under his head and cover him with a blanket, but I haven't the heart to disturb him. Besides I really don't want to touch him. He looks so fragile. It had taken days and days of coaxing to get him to agree to go out. We had gone for dinner. He hadn't said a word, barely eaten. Then come back and flopped down on the bed and passed out from sheer exhaustion. There was little I could do or say that would make him feel better. I could never love him like he deserved to be loved.  Love . What a silly notion, h...

I walk into the room and throw my stuff unceremoniously on his bed. He doesn't even look up from the book he is reading, some dialogue on philosophy, the usual nonsense he reads. Philosophy. As if real people like me, who have real jobs, can just afford to sit around reading poetic discourses written by some two thousand year old Greek. "You're back," he mutters. I don't bother replying. I walk to the fridge instead. I dig past behind the bottles of beer and find a pastry. There are eggs, I could cook them for dinner, I process mentally as I stuff the pastry into my face. I turn around to look for my laptop. There's no point in wasting time. Might as well get to work. "Why are you here?" he asks, this time looking up from his book. Because I'm stupid. Stupid. I think to myself. "Because I owe your mother a favour," I say aloud, shortly. "So you've come here, to watch me, as a favour for my mother?" he says, rolling his...

I watched him as he took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. I watched him lift his other hand and run his long, spidery fingers through his dark, curly hair as I fought the urge to wave the cloud of smoke away from my face. "I thought you quit..." I said. "Extenuating circumstances," he said, exhaling deeply again, keeping his eyes fixed away from my face. "I'm sorry," I blurted. I didn't what to say. He shrugged. I felt so bad. He looked so broken. I tried to look away from him. I blinked my eyes rapidly. I didn't want him to notice my tears. "I thought you had left," he said slowly. "I did," I said quickly. "And yet, here you are..." he said inhaling another long puff, all the time looking away from my face. "Extenuating circumstances," I mumbled. He let out a short, rasping laugh. I didn't find it funny. Not one bit. "You should leave," he said matter-of-factly, t...

The leaves wither and fall. The sun fades. The snow melts and turns into annoying, slippery, icy patches. Winter turns into spring. And I am revisited by the same dream. The haze of colours, unknown people. A house I have never seen before, but I know for sure that I have been there, even lived there. The same staircase, the high ceiling, the painting by the landing. The mosaic stone floor, the french windows, those faceless people. Mere bodies, shuffling. What are their names? So many images. Crowded streets, umbrellas, traffic noises. The house. A feeling that this was somebody's home once. And yet again, one sinking feeling keeps coming back to me. Every time I make yet another new acquaintance, every time I discover yet another face to politely smile at. I remember. That one person who I would rather see than any one else in the world. My dreams are not haunted. They are invaded by unwanted feelings and images, unknown and foreign to me, yet achingly familiar. Through all ...

I waited for you. Long after you were gone, I stood by the window Overlooking the trees And the white cross On the steeple of the Local church. The dark grey clouds Came and thundered And it rained. Then the storm cleared, And you didn't come back. I waited for you. I knew it was foolish, Everyone said so. How I wished They were wrong, For once. I left the window And the house With the wooden floors And creaky stairs, And sought my fortunes Elsewhere. You didn't come. I should have known. Nobody comes back. They promise, And they leave. And then the storm clears, And the sun comes out, And you think you see them On the horizon. But it's empty. They have gone. And you're left alone. My new life is mine. It's in a land far away. Sometimes I think That you will find that house, And the window Overlooking the trees And the white cross On the steeple of the Local church, And think to yourself, "Why did I let her go?" But I know you ...