December 6, 2014

my world is an exercise in cream, brown, and gold. only my sea-blue nails don’t match.

there are marks on the wall; mysterious scratches and bits of blu tac. was someone counting down the days? one gauge for every five. i like the setting sun’s rays best. it is easy to be lulled and content then. only my green-blue nails are alert.


Perth is faraway, a remnant of a nightmare where things are proper and i am shoring up karma points for Life. here, the colours are different; my country’s favourite stone is cement. my floors and walls are swirls of grey. i can be incongruous here. comfort food is a five minute walk and the real deal. i don’t have to make do with interpretations.

do all migrants feel this loneliness, this displaced; what consoles them in the strangeness? i am witness to history’s last survivors; soon, the retro boomers will perish, the coolies fade away. i will remember her black knee-length skirt, and his shoulder’s sack of rice under the orange streetlight. in their eyes, are there shanghainese women of old?


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