And now I'm all alone again nowhere to turn, no one to go to
without a home without a friend without a face to say hello to
And now the night is near
Now I can make believe he's here
Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else is sleeping
I think of him and then I'm happy
With the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head

I walked up Emerald Hill this evening. It was not much of a hill, I’ll say, but a lovely walk nonetheless. As I made my way down the lane, old shop houses greeted me on either sides of the path. The intricate designs of the shop houses intrigued me; the faded colours of the walls showed evident traces of age. The wide windows, donned with dust-laced blinds that shield the interiors from curious eyes, stood agape as though luring those eyes to search deeper. It was quiet. Very quiet. I could hear my foot steps clearly as the heels of my worn-out flats tapped against the dry asphalt. To think these were once the shoes which tortured my feet with blisters, of course they still cause those god-dammed abrasions once in a while, but the breaking in phase had finally passed.

I continued walking. A couple of Caucasians and Philippinoes rushed down the road with bags of groceries. Not together of course. Separately. At odd intervals. Otherwise, nothing threatened the deafening silence of the lane. It was really quiet. I appreciated that sort of quiet. It wasn’t something too common in the city. It was comforting; it calmed me a little. I took a cursory glance at the houses on my left. Each standing majestically behind every individual gate, each of a different shade, each harbouring a different story. I wondered to myself, do people actually still stay in these houses? Well, I guess they do. Cars were parked in the tiny porches built at the front of some of the houses. To my right, were another row of shop houses. They were lined along a sheltered pathway unlike those on the left. That gave it a more cosy feel.

I turned back upon hitting what seemed like the end of the lane. I stepped onto the sheltered pathway which was originally on my right. I passed every shop house slowly. It was quiet. So quiet. No light escaped from the windows of those houses. It was quiet. An old lady sat alone on a wooden bench outside one of the houses. I smiled. She smiled. And nodded back appreciatively. I walked on.

A black cat stealthily crept past me. Ominous. I walked forth. House after house after house after house. Every one of same template and scaffold, yet of different intricacies; so similar, yet so different. I spotted a young couple playing on one of the few see-saws that appeared awkwardly down the lane. They looked happy. They looked happy in that moment. It was nice.

I walked past a house. It was a pink house if I am not wrong. The pink paint flaked off the exterior walls – such stark contrast to the whitewashed walls of the common HDB blocks. Soft pale yellow light seeped gently through the slits of the blinds. Pale yellow. Emitting such an old feel, as though I was traversing grounds of yesteryears. I heard the clinking sound of porcelain. The family must have been having dinner. I could see the shadows cast at odd angles by the revolving ceiling fan, which scrapped through the air in a lethargic manner. Somehow, I was reminded vaguely of fragmented scenes from Stella Kon’s ‘Emily of Emerald Hill’.

As I reached the end of the lane, the disturbing scent of burning tobacco hit me. Disgusting. Beer glasses clinked, and the mellowed sound of joyous laughter filled the air. Merry making was underway. All the booze and buzz. I could not help but hold my breath as I walked past a guy lighting a cigarette. I scowled. Another step on the edge of the pavement, smoking. Inhale, exhale, 2 seconds of your life gone for taking in that puff, and probably another 2 hours gone for the stuff you did not fully exhale. Smoking is gross. I see a guy studying with all his notes, and a mug of beer. Interesting, maybe he was conducting a study on which was the best beer in town. I rolled my eyes as I saw a odd china-looking man asking a Caucasian man help him light his cigarette. I glared awe-struck as he happily puffed on the freshly-lit poison stick, walking towards what seemed like his wife and his barely-3-years-old child who waited by the pavement.

The street was bustling with activity. I heard the last few beeps of the traffic light. Cars whizzed by. Exhaust fumes laced the air. What happened to the quiet, I wondered, as I brushed off a jewellery brochure which was shoved in my face. I took a long glance at the row of commercialised stores and shops opposite the road. Something jumped into my head, at the end of the day, what exactly, is it that I want out of my life?

As always, I do not have the answer.

I miss the quiet. Already.

-------------------------------

I went to watch another recording of we are singaporeans today. Another episode with judee in it. It was pretty fun at certain points. When judee spoke! She is so funny. The questions were way tougher today. Though I wished I had actually been the person chosen for the $200 lucky draw, the question was answerable. I need money.

We waited for judee at the reception. I dont know why. It was awkward. Oh boy… Well, yes. Afterwards I spoke extensively with CJ over dinner and desert. Now I am unsettled. Oh well, Emerald Hill helped a little. Refer above.

And now I'm all alone again nowhere to turn, no one to go to
without a home without a friend without a face to say hello to
And now the night is near
Now I can make believe he's here
Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else is sleeping
I think of him and then I'm happy
With the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head

I walked up Emerald Hill this evening. It was not much of a hill, I’ll say, but a lovely walk nonetheless. As I made my way down the lane, old shop houses greeted me on either sides of the path. The intricate designs of the shop houses intrigued me; the faded colours of the walls showed evident traces of age. The wide windows, donned with dust-laced blinds that shield the interiors from curious eyes, stood agape as though luring those eyes to search deeper. It was quiet. Very quiet. I could hear my foot steps clearly as the heels of my worn-out flats tapped against the dry asphalt. To think these were once the shoes which tortured my feet with blisters, of course they still cause those god-dammed abrasions once in a while, but the breaking in phase had finally passed.

I continued walking. A couple of Caucasians and Philippinoes rushed down the road with bags of groceries. Not together of course. Separately. At odd intervals. Otherwise, nothing threatened the deafening silence of the lane. It was really quiet. I appreciated that sort of quiet. It wasn’t something too common in the city. It was comforting; it calmed me a little. I took a cursory glance at the houses on my left. Each standing majestically behind every individual gate, each of a different shade, each harbouring a different story. I wondered to myself, do people actually still stay in these houses? Well, I guess they do. Cars were parked in the tiny porches built at the front of some of the houses. To my right, were another row of shop houses. They were lined along a sheltered pathway unlike those on the left. That gave it a more cosy feel.

I turned back upon hitting what seemed like the end of the lane. I stepped onto the sheltered pathway which was originally on my right. I passed every shop house slowly. It was quiet. So quiet. No light escaped from the windows of those houses. It was quiet. An old lady sat alone on a wooden bench outside one of the houses. I smiled. She smiled. And nodded back appreciatively. I walked on.

A black cat stealthily crept past me. Ominous. I walked forth. House after house after house after house. Every one of same template and scaffold, yet of different intricacies; so similar, yet so different. I spotted a young couple playing on one of the few see-saws that appeared awkwardly down the lane. They looked happy. They looked happy in that moment. It was nice.

I walked past a house. It was a pink house if I am not wrong. The pink paint flaked off the exterior walls – such stark contrast to the whitewashed walls of the common HDB blocks. Soft pale yellow light seeped gently through the slits of the blinds. Pale yellow. Emitting such an old feel, as though I was traversing grounds of yesteryears. I heard the clinking sound of porcelain. The family must have been having dinner. I could see the shadows cast at odd angles by the revolving ceiling fan, which scrapped through the air in a lethargic manner. Somehow, I was reminded vaguely of fragmented scenes from Stella Kon’s ‘Emily of Emerald Hill’.

As I reached the end of the lane, the disturbing scent of burning tobacco hit me. Disgusting. Beer glasses clinked, and the mellowed sound of joyous laughter filled the air. Merry making was underway. All the booze and buzz. I could not help but hold my breath as I walked past a guy lighting a cigarette. I scowled. Another step on the edge of the pavement, smoking. Inhale, exhale, 2 seconds of your life gone for taking in that puff, and probably another 2 hours gone for the stuff you did not fully exhale. Smoking is gross. I see a guy studying with all his notes, and a mug of beer. Interesting, maybe he was conducting a study on which was the best beer in town. I rolled my eyes as I saw a odd china-looking man asking a Caucasian man help him light his cigarette. I glared awe-struck as he happily puffed on the freshly-lit poison stick, walking towards what seemed like his wife and his barely-3-years-old child who waited by the pavement.

The street was bustling with activity. I heard the last few beeps of the traffic light. Cars whizzed by. Exhaust fumes laced the air. What happened to the quiet, I wondered, as I brushed off a jewellery brochure which was shoved in my face. I took a long glance at the row of commercialised stores and shops opposite the road. Something jumped into my head, at the end of the day, what exactly, is it that I want out of my life?

As always, I do not have the answer.

I miss the quiet. Already.

-------------------------------

I went to watch another recording of we are singaporeans today. Another episode with judee in it. It was pretty fun at certain points. When judee spoke! She is so funny. The questions were way tougher today. Though I wished I had actually been the person chosen for the $200 lucky draw, the question was answerable. I need money.

We waited for judee at the reception. I dont know why. It was awkward. Oh boy… Well, yes. Afterwards I spoke extensively with CJ over dinner and desert. Now I am unsettled. Oh well, Emerald Hill helped a little. Refer above.