today, i lived a solitary life, him being away from the hotel since 10am. the toilet bowl was choked up and i'd to be there while housekeeping cleared up the mess. we went to the gym last night and i was turned away for not having the proper attire. he later on told me that the gym instructor had said to him, "your wife is very pretty." i should have been flattered, but i wasn't really flattered. compliments, like everything else, pass me by very simply nowadays.

i think of families and mothers cooking up a storm of pork chops in eras gone. i think of cuff links and cuff links. i think of mr and mrs smith, the movie. i think of playing with chopsticks and sheepish smiles that evade quickly. i think of yoga poses and hand holding and balancing on one leg and thinking about falling. i think that the longest distance in the world can be the shortest at times. of damn carpets and crisp white shirts and black shorts that hang low on hips. of fingers, neck and skin. of ears. of ergonomical swivel chairs and laptops and palmtops, of luggage tags and priority.

***

I drew her to me and kissed her. It was a heady kiss, a nostalgic kiss. Then we drank our umpteenth brandy-and-soda, and snuggled together while listening to the Police. Soon Mei had drifted off to sleep, no longer the beautiful dream woman, but only an ordinary, brittle young girl. A class reunion. The clock read four o'clock and everything was still. Mei the Goat Girl and Winnie the Pooh. Images. Deductible fairy tales. What a day! Connections that almost connected but didn't. Follow the string until it snaps. I'd met Gotanda after all these years, even come to like him, really. Through him I'd met Mei the Goat Girl. We made love. Which was wonderful. Shoveled sensual snow. But none of it led anywhere.

***

the phone's on vibration mode, a tribute to someone else who sets it on vibration mode, then deigns not to answer calls from associates at half-past eleven at night. club sandwiches at night, toasted bread with fries on the side - don't tempt me with that last piece, don't eat already lah. i'll tell you what i want - i want toasted bread, lettuce, ham. that's about it. the tray was heavy. i wondered how i'd managed to balance it while opening the door while he - he? he? i think he was out. where was he? i met him on the way to the shopping centre. like a flash of recognition. they were holding on to umbrellas. i think it was raining before that. that someone brought in a blower to the room and the noise made me leave the hotel room even though i'd told him that i would prefer not to leave. i know that girls don't like to eat alone. no. i'm fine with that - i just don't feel very safe going out at night.
he wrestles me to the bed. an odd memory of me being astride him and asking him a question. unexpectedly, he bursts out in brief laughter, "call my engineer". we spoilt the moment, but we spoilt it beautifully. yesterday, i decided to embrace grief. and i've embraced it beautifully so far.

coffee in the mornings to clear my head. my morning smoke, ash drips into my coffee cup and i lap it up, the acrid taste of smoke with ash mixed with coffee, a thin blend, instant coffee. there were tiny packets of coffee placed in a nice box upon the shelf near the wardrobe - you know, hotels always have this tiny place where they place two identical cups, with saucers and a jug with which to heat up water - the exact word for it eludes me- milo before you sleep, coupled with a yellow pill under your tongue.i can't sleep without drugs, you say. i just keep thinking.small wonder, i think. you're thinking, thinking, full of vitality, energy. heat rub. around your body. a small tube in a red box. i saw it in the bathroom and was wondering - muscle ache? aches? muscles?

dance, dance, dance. revolutions, convulsions to the tunes, music, words, pop, retro tunes. dance. a lampshade, bright hues of yellow. a switch that can only be turned on or off by turning it clockwise. you can't turn it otherwise. when the man came to do the plumbing, another showed up to fix the switch. it seem ludicrous that he would complain about it. what did he call it? an intelligence test - and i failed it. the man showed me the paper on which was written the complaint - by GOH. guest of honour? cue laughter, please. the piece encasing the keycard that i found in the bin. GOH again. the second piece encasing the keycard that i slipped into my white saddlebag. and which is still in my white saddlebag. i'm comtemplating putting it into my black leather wallet - is there a display slot? a plastic one?because there are some rushes of memories from yesteryear. because such are the things that i will take away with me. i hardly know if they will matter, years down the road from now. i hardly know. a heavy head from sleeping past 3 last night, no yellow pill under my tongue, i stared at the night scene and remembered that a particular building was there, as though it had morphed out of nowhere - i never deigned to take particular notice of it till yesterday. the words in blue and red lighting up the cityscape, i thought of - i thought of - people in the lit offices. i thought of - steel circular handles on black rosewood cabinets.