Seven floors of silence
Shared the lift with a neighbour I recognise but do not know by name. We nodded.
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Between stations
On the North-East Line between Chinatown and Clarke Quay, the tunnel darkened the carriage for three seconds. Faces reflected in the glass — mine included — looked briefly like portraits hung in a gallery no one visits.
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The fan's small theology
Afternoon in the studio. Ceiling fan turning just fast enough to move the air without scattering papers.
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Peeling an orange at the window
Stood at the studio window peeling a ponkan orange from the fruit stall on South Bridge Road. Juice on my thumb.
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Closing a book slowly
Finished a novel on the park bench near Telok Ayer. Closed the cover and sat without standing for five minutes — long enough for the ending to settle, short enough that no one asked if I was unwell.
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