Life, Laughter and Everything Else

You wake up with a sense of disillusionment. Ok perhaps there is no disillusionment (yet) but you just find it difficult to wake up. There is nothing to look forward at work. It is like there is no reason to get up. It is like there is no reason to write. Nothing interests you anymore, not even the idea of seeing her. You simply cannot get yourself out of bed. “For what?”, you ask yourself. It’s the same shit, different day. Same mistakes, different day. Same people, different day. In other words, it is a bad spell, which could be unconsciously caused by things that are weighing in on my mind, or sometimes there is no reason to. It just happens. All I can say is when you feel like that, take a moment. Take a moment to appreciate, firstly, that you have the time to feel and then write about this emotion. That this freedom is perhaps not even afforded to millions of people across the world. Secondly, appreciate the fact that you are alive, for tiredness can be the result of a la

You see him at a distance waiting at the bus stop. He appears not to have noticed you, which is quite a relief. It would have been impolite to not approach him had he seen you. However, if you did approach him, you would have had to make conversation, not just for the duration at the bus stop, but also in the bus, on the walk to the MRT and then on the MRT for a few stops until he alighted. The mind seemed to cringe at the idea. Yes he was a nice person but making small talk seemed such a hassle when you could be on your phone or book immersed in a world more pleasurable and friendly to you. But why? To be honest I do not know him that well. He has family, kids, opinions and life stories, all if explored could be more interesting than the cute cat video on Youtube. Why do we shy away from conversation with most people while we have a lot to say to others? Is it a lack of trust? Is it a lack of curiosity in someone else's life? Is he just a boring person? Or are we just conforming

A few years back I came across the Facebook profile of a long lost primary school friend and added him. He accepted my request and I messaged him straight after. "Hi buddy! Remember me?" "Yea. You are the skinny Indian guy from primary school". He could have said intelligent. He could have said fun, but of all the innumerable adjectives the English language afforded him, he chose skinny. Though, there is a touch of truth to his unforgivable recollection. Ok not a touch of truth. It was true. I was skinny. Like so skinny my parents considered donating me to the local hospital as they could not afford a skeleton.  Though it never really bothered me. I was happy to flash my rib cages, proudly calling them, my steel body. Besides puberty was yet to struck its regrettable blow and girls were creatures you stayed away from. And when puberty did strike, it started to matter. My first investment was in a pair of 5 kilogram dumbells that my mum said looked hea