Bohemia Bunny

The Funnerology Principle

Monthly Archives: August 2010

Saturday Morning

The lighter of the two sleepers awakens first,
roused by sunlight and the sound
of an MRT station being raised out of the soil,
out of the land,
by men from foreign lands.
Lips meet bare shoulder skin as the sleepers wake up to each other.
On Saturday morning, there is no alarm,
only the promise of sex, ringing in the distance.

The market is noisy with the chatter of children,
who learn Math as they pay for 3 cups of iced Milo with a 10-dollar note,
who learn Science as they watch their fritters sizzle in 200-degree oil,
who learn humanity as they thank the cleaner who clears their plates.
The nearby school is silent.
On Saturday morning, there is no assembly,
no conformity,
just the freedom to be a kid.

The bus to Shenton Way speeds past the stop.
No one waves it down. They are all waiting
for the bus to Orchard, to Sentosa,
waiting for a bus to take them away from the routine of work and school
that holds them captive 5 days a week.
They are smiling, eager, anticipating their release.
On Saturday morning, there is no rush hour,
no deadlines,
just 48 rounds of the minute hand on every clock
before the cycle starts again.

The sun is gentler,
held back by the clouds from last night’s downpour.
It feels like early summer in a temperate clime –
Melbourne, London, Massachusetts, Tokyo -
just pick one and imagine
that you’re not on a tropical island
where the people scurry like mice to the nearest air-conditioned hole,
where the humidity is more oppressive than the government,
where the floodwaters rise as quickly as the cost of living.
On Saturday morning, if the weather permits,
you can pretend for a little while
that you’re on vacation abroad.
That’s what Saturdays should feel like.

Look, mummy!

Look at me, mummy!
I’ve been at work for a year!
Mummy do you remember
You were so worried I wouldn’t have a
Job to go back to?
Because who wants a teacher who
Can barely speak above a whisper?
Thank goodness my voice got better
And I’ve been at work a whole year.

Look at me, mummy!
I’m doing Tae Bo!
Angrily punching invisible assholes!
Remember there was a time when
I could barely even stand
Because my blood just couldn’t send
Enough oxygen to my brain,
And I would faint
If I got up too fast
Good thing that didn’t last.

Look at me, mummy!
A hundred bucks’ worth of sushi!
All sitting in my tummy!
Surprising how quickly your stomach learns
To stop going into reverse
Every time some food drops in.
Chemo messes up everything.

Look at me, mummy!
My hair’s so pretty now!
People stare and say wow
At my soft fluffy curls
That means a lot to a girl.
Because one year ago, the stares
Were targeted at my lack of hair.
A pink bandanna, screaming loud
“Underneath this I’m really bald!”
But the staring made me stronger inside
It taught me how to walk with pride
Because what can gazes do to you
They only mean something if you let them through.

So look at me mummy, look at me now
We made it through, knew we would somehow
Find a way through all the fear and the pain
And learn to enjoy our lives again.
So don’t cry mummy, don’t cry no more
Everything’s the way it was before
I’m alive because you paid the price
Thank you for giving me life – twice.

A tale of two receipts

There are 2 receipts I keep in my wallet. They’re POSB ATM receipts, because I’m one of those people who enjoys keepsakes.

The older receipt is dated19th June 2003, from the Siglap branch. I have $28.37 left in my savings account after withdrawing 20 dollars.

The newer receipt is dated 6th August 2010, from Novena Square 2. I have $9210.29 left in my savings account after withdrawing 80 dollars.

These receipts represent the low and high points of my financial life ever since I started JC. It’s taken me this long to hit such a high point, and it’s not even a 5-digit sum. *pouts*

Anyway I’ve since moved the money out to somewhere more secure, so I no longer have $9k sitting around tempting me.

I keep the old receipt around because I never want to forget what it was like to have so little, and having to call home to my parents for “reinforcements”, as an ex used to put it.

I’ll keep the new one because I know what it took to inflate my account to such awesome figures. It was the result of a lot of hard work, stress and sacrifice, and I earned it fair and square.

By the end of the year I’m hoping to be able to keep another receipt – indicating a solid 5-figure sum sitting pretty in my savings account.

Peel

Don’t peel today off.
Tomorrow is too raw,
too pink, too fresh.
Like new flesh underneath a scab.
So don’t peel today off.
Let tomorrow surface when it is time.

Grocery Shopping Tips for Single Girls

1. Check the fridge and the cupboards which you have not opened in 2 weeks, to see what you need to buy.
2. Do not purchase more items than would fit in a supermarket shopping basket, unless you have someone else to carry items for you.
3. Remember that bread and bananas are very perishable, so unless you intend to be eating Nutella banana sandwiches every day for 4 days, buy less.
4. Go ahead and buy the family-size box of breakfast cereal. It signals your belief in the most important meal of the day, never mind that it has a cartoon bear on the box.
5. No one is going to judge you for the 2 pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. It’s on promotion!
6. And no one is going to judge you for the box of Choco Pies.
7. Because you bought a bag of fruit, so that mitigates the effect of all that chocolate.
8. And you picked multigrain chips instead of Ruffles, so you can pretend it’s healthier.
9. The only meat in your freezer should be pre-cut, pre-seasoned and pre-breaded so all you have to do is to throw it into the microwave oven.
10. Remember to buy non-food consumables such as toilet paper and detergent!
11. Such inedible items are easy to forget when you go grocery shopping on an empty stomach.
12. Bring your reusable bags, because plastic bags are hell on the fingers.

Signatures

The surgeons left their signatures
On the blank expanse of my skin.
For a quill, the blade of a scalpel
For ink, my own red blood.

With that, they wrote a talisman,
A benediction, a tetragrammaton
To exorcise the cancer within me.

My clavicle is the first memorial
Where they deduced the nature of the beast

The second, on my chest
Beneath my breast-bone
It was very nearly the final cut.
They told me later I stopped breathing
So they started cutting
Deep, deep into my thigh
Searching for the femoral artery
That would keep me alive.
They didn’t need it. I came back anyway
And they finished the third signature
By adding two tubes
To keep my heart from drowning in its own juice.

The fourth one came three weeks later.
It was the smallest and most powerful of them all.
A tiny doorway through which chemical armies
Swarmed around my body
Killing indiscriminately
And I was caught in the friendly fire.
But it was a war we won.

The battleground is scarred, yes,
But it is far from marred.

Each signature is a testament
To human intelligence and diligence.

Each signature is a reminder
That humans, though broken, can heal.

Each signature is a memorial
To the power in the hands of a healer.

Each signature proclaims
“I have been marked for life”.