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Of course she wouldn’t have accepted a medal anyway.

She thinks this time last year I was in Changi, waiting for my connection flight to London.

She remembers how humidity makes her feel. Almost like it is always holidays, but something even better than that.

There have been choices to make. Choices of no degrees. Choices of either-or.

She pokes into the corners of her mind, the layers of her soul, the curves of her heart. She pokes. Then she prods.

But there are still no lurking regrets.

Despite the injustices heaped upon her by the universe and some mortals, she has found time to update the blogopera

Even after spending the afternoon in a corner contemplating her actions, she was still filled with righteous indignation. No doubt about it, she had been wronged. And both her father and the mister agreed.

Injustice is a terrible thing.

Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

And she wasn’t even dressed yet.

and before she knew it, it was time to write the cover letter

surprise

Even after two rounds of scones, there is enough King Island cream still in the bowl, that it is worth putting it on the top shelf of the fridge as soon as it is obvious that no one is eating any more. The popcorn, the figs and even a small piece of cheese are still out after the last person has said goodbye. The figs stay out all night.

During the week, she uses the old, larger teaspoon. She scoops the cream from the bowl, heaped teaspoons they would be called, always two and sometimes three. She does not stir, and before all of the cream can melt, she lifts the cup carefully to her lips. She sips.

The rest of the cream melts.

She has three cups of coffee instead of two and each is as good as the last.

The cream slides past her lips and through her body and folds itself onto the curve of her hips.

Unlike apples, which are fibrous, and travel through the small intestine, resting only briefly in the bowel.

‘You look even more tired than you did this morning,’ the teacher said in a voice and a tone which was not rude.

And thus could her week be described.

the latest blogopera episode has been uploaded

Remains of the day

Dedicated to the year ten English teacher who set an assignment ‘design a book cover’, and gave a B to the girl who designed the back cover because of course I meant the front cover, thus punishing the girl for her (complete) inability to draw, although the subject in question was English, and wasn’t having compulsory art lessons suffering enough for a person like her? And also that B completely ignored the fact that in choosing to design the back cover, the girl demonstrated excellent creativity and insightful analysis of the book in question as well as a good understanding of all that there is in a book as object (isbn etc etc etc) and even her mother agreed that she was not being a smart arse and praised her creativity. And yes, that was the same teacher who taught Shakespeare by assigning a part from Romeo and Juliet to different students in the class and making them read it aloud day after day after week and stretching into a month, and NEVER NOT ONCE EVER giving the girl in question a part to read. Bitter? Yeah. And twisted too.