Paradise is a place.
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,.................................
are also on the faces of people going by..
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Oh yeah
Last minute plans can be wonderful.
She was still the same old, same old. The same hamster pokemon of a smile. The same engaging Qing dynasty eyes. The same sleek black hair...
But so much more..beautiful.
A different air.
An evolved...........poise.
Yes. Poise. I think that was what she gained....and what I lost. But well, I've realised being a "poise-less" dimwit comes more and more naturally to me these days. No point playing the suave, when I havn't got the slick. Or am I regressing? Maybe I'm just distracted.
It was good to see her again. So many great memories. Funny memories.
Like shouting "WHHHAT????" into the ticketing machine, after it spat out a pre-recorded robotic message of gratitude.
I thought a parking attendant was trying to warn me about something through the machine's speakers.
WHHHHATT???
Lousy parking skills. Again.
...........
Black eye-liner. First layer. 2nd layer. Greenish blue eye-liner.
We talked. About her. About her dad. her mum. her driver's license. her dog. her teeth. her jaw. her shirt. her shoes. her books. her dentists, orthodontists. her caffeine abstinence. her career. her loves. her near marriage. her glitch. her annoyances with the wrong people sending her flowers.
About me. About my brother. About my career. About my pointless protracted meandering worries. About my fears. About my options. About my choices. About my coconut ice-cream, and how she hates the shavings. About my girl. About my hair. About my impatience. About my driving. About my car accident.
About ambitions. About the quarter-life crisis. About inner-peace. About anxiety. About t-shirts from paris. boots from new york. plastic-wrapped-stashed-in-a-corner-painting-belonging-to-mum from Singapore.
About LVMH.
It's MHLV. Ahhh. Not LV and MH. Or LVMH
Moet Hennessy Louis Vuitton: world leader in luxury......
Lipstick? Deep-pink. No lip-liner. I think.
Mascara. Not too sure.
The "Rock Girl" cursive stitched wordings done with red thread works only on her. I can't fathom anyone else who can pull it off.
That can't be her mother's handbag. But well, she's the right person to carry it. Funky.
Chatterbox is empty. Waitresses stand around chit-chatting.
She sits across the small table. I wish we were lounging on the comfy sofas at Equinox sipping something irrelevant. But well, I guess this arrangement gives me a good opportunity to scrutinize an old friend. I'm also guessing we steal moments to scrutinize the pores and zit-marks on each other's faces. That notion made me smile. It was silly...but typical of our mutual vanity.
We talk about bleaching our pearlies. She spent S$900 on laser treatments. I took the S$400 plastic-mould-fluid-bleach route.
Her nose is a little fleshier than I remember it to be.
But her voice is the same.
I mumble and she has difficulty hearing.
Too much cranked-up Green Day back in high school I think.
We leave Chatterbox.
We remember going to Berlin, in Hong Kong.
It's a sweet memory for us.
Some people we know have left Slick City Singapore for good.
Empty Singapore streets.
Clean. Empty. Clean. Neat. Empty. Neat. Empty. Traffic-lights.
New York is terribly busy at 2am with people jostling to cross streets and crowds filling up McDonalds' like it's lunch-time.
She tells me this as I turn right at Raffles MRT station and drive towards Fullerton.
I tell her about a lame writers' forum on Violence in Contemporary Literature at the Asian Civillisations Museum. It was lame because they didn't mention Chuck. Good Ol' Chuck who wrote Fight Club.
I hit the curb while tryin to give her directions to a scenic walking trail that's past the bridge, across the river, in front of us.
Then I reversed and hit the curb again. She looks worried. I find the situation comedic.
Thank god for big wheels, and low kerbsides.
Earlier, we drove past the Esplanade. We stopped in the middle of the road, and contemplated taking pictures with my digital camera. Alas, we didn't. Too much caution and infectious poise =P
We listen to jazz.
Cliched but perfect. Louis Armstrong
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom....for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world~
The CD came with the Toyota.
She plans to buy a Volkswagen.
I tell her Hitler helped design the Beetle. He made it look cute.
I mispronounce Fiat. Fee-Yat? Fyat? Fiv-yet?
I send her home. She remembers a lunch appointment tomorrow.
Turn right here. Then left. Then right. Do you want to see Tspoon?
I thought he would be asleep at this hour?
She cuddles him like he's her little baby boy. He didn't bark. Licked my hand and fingers.
Tspoon is not a smelly dog, I thought to myself. Very docile and friendly! I love the little fella.
We take pictures.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Paradise is a place.
It was the title of the book she gave me.
Utopia was a stretch. But it wasn't too bad a way to grow a night older.
Oh yeah.
posted by audaciousjoy @ 5:20 AM
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