Try talking

The mischevious sun was not well this morning. Weakly emitting soft rays from behind the comforts of fluffy grey clouds. He should have listened when the storm clouds tried to warn him. Poor sunny. My heart goes out to him but i do admit im enjoying the gloomy grey sky for a change from the merciless scorching weather in the afternoons. The chilly morning air made its presence known as i swing open the big wooden door a little too enthusiastically. Startled, i stepped back in and grabbed my grey pashmina and an umbrella just in case. All bundled up and sheltered, i made my way towards the train station.

Inhaling the clean minty air, I carefully recollected my thoughts from last night's frustrating events. To summarise the lengthy drama, i simply categorise it under Condemned girl=Angry girl. Have you ever wondered why we are taught and expected to do good on this god forsaken planet? From as raw as 1-2 years of age we are taught to be good baby boys/girls and shut the hell up so mummy can sleep till past 6am. In kindergarten we are given a glimpse of retribution when the boy in the other group didnt get his tea break for pulling Molly's pigtail. Primary school principals' forward letters of approval to the MOE for monthly "Do Good and Goodness Will Be Blessed Onto You"(or some crap like that) workshops. In Secondary School public canning sends a clear message throughout the dead silent assembly hall. If all this is suppose to benefit ones self and goodness is such a big fuck in our orderly society then where is the appreciation for the good that has been done? Why does the society brutally condemn the wrong but refuse to acknowledge the good that has been done? Ever screwed up big time and then spend a lifetime clearing up your mistakes and fighting for approval? Everytime you do good it goes unacknowledged and they say you could have done better but when you mess up they breathe down your neck and brutally slash you with their razor tongue.

Explain to me why i have to fight for your approval and please you at every turn. Show me a list of benefits i gain from perfectly performing to your unpredictable tune and dance routine. Entice me with prizes I can expect to win from spinning in your sure-win-but-not-so-sure lucky draw. When you do and you do it convincingly i will fight, dance and participate willingly for you. But make sure i end up victorious, graceful and a lucky bastard.

Brushing aside droplets of clear water from my hair, i wound the pashmina around my shoulders and step into the open glass door. Gazing out to the moist grass carpet i suddenly remembered the weird deal we both made last night.

Survive this

The sun was tilting slightly to the right, playfully blurring my vision every now and then. Despite the temporary sight malfunction, i could still catch a painful glimpse of sweat-stained armpits dangling provocatively inches from my face. The odor i cant spell in words, it would be too ghastly. From my cramped spot near the glass door i could sense the impatience, smell the discomfort and feel the agony of my fellow commuters. Yet these same citizens go through the same 30-40minutes routine every single weekday knowingly. Some however managed to survive the daily ordeal. These Survivors owe thanks to their kiasu, inconsiderate and thick skin inner-self. A majority of these Survivors are the cunning Nyonya's. Even before they set foot in the train they have their faces literally pressed against the glass door of the cabin, refusing to give way to people coming out. They proceed to shove their way in, jamming their multi-coloured shopping bags into your hips to slow you down. After which they swiftly eye the nearest empty seat and throw the shopping bags onto the bright plastic seat. Victory is never sweeter as they ease their aged butt on the plastic seat and sigh dramatically. If you think im exaggerating my account of a train ride to work, i suggest you step into the train sumwhere along Orchard to Cityhall or Chinatown if you dare. Not a very pleasant surprise.