World of Small Things

Dear Reader,  The clock has struck eleven.  A thin yet austere blanket of clouds has materialised over the once starry sky, like algae on a stagnant pond. I can feel the stars stray farther away into the unknown as the wisps of pale violet consume them.  But the goddess of love now shines brighter, exuding her enigmatic allure.  I have found a neat corner on the verandah for this rather unexpected session of documenting absurd contemplations. Accompanying me is a modest white pillar which is subtly conveying its disregard for 'meaningless' imagination. I am tempted to engage this silent gentleman in a discussion about reality, escapism and the meaning of it all.  The harsh surgical glow of a fluorescent light dramatically bathes the rocky broken soil of the front lawn which is now occupied by a lanky, drowsy stray dog which was intermittently breaking its nap to peer at me with curious, melancholic eyes.                ...

Dear  Readers, I'm waiting for an old friend. I've been waiting for a while. It seems that this comrade of mine doesn't reciprocate the fierce eagerness that I have to meet him. I don't remember his face too clearly.Like the radiant full moon disappearing behind enigmatic night clouds, my pal's face had faded from my memories. I think everyone's mind has an attic. Memories,like fresh,glistening photographs, Polaroids and films, flutter and settle in the attic ,until they turn into the sweet colour of sepia. Sometimes they float down clumsily from the lofty tops of sepia skyscrapers;like dried scarlet leaves from stiff autumn trees,making me fly into a furious,but silent and pleasant fit of nostalgia. I've compiled the most precious items from my 'attic' into this infinite book of  intangible pages.  Clouds whiz by me,reminding me that I was several thousand feet in the air,in a frugal,aquiline airplane. We duck and swerve below the cottony fl...