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November 14, 2016

Today, after lunch, the parents decided they wanted to go to Bishan park for awhile. They parked near an area with flowers that might have once had a guitar strummed on it, or some sort of planning. I can’t remember exactly; memories fade.

There were old ghosts there, but the parents didn’t notice and were more unsettled with the anglers using live bait because it’s apparently illegal. A small lizard with a raised head stared at me when I sat on its bench, then at my mom after I started and jumped away. Dad watched the anglers. Three fish were caught.

Later, I sat across an old friend and we decided to stay. We took turns to take tissue from the packet. We prayed at the end, and briefly held hands when we said goodbye.

I still don’t know why Jesus cursed the fig tree and died to redeem, but there are many thoughts in the world and weddings and garlic honey chicken and books are the contradictions waving themselves in my face from the same basket. If there are forests and trees then these are the leaves, silver and green and blue and sometimes a beautiful abstract is meaning enough.

Tomorrow I will finish the lo bak I made, with porridge. I also need to buy contact lens solution, pick up my last item from the seamstress and hopefully have tea with maybs. Then I will be content with netball (please, weather, be good to me) and a bcm supper with extra lard by the gentle Chinese man who does it just right and speaks eloquently to me in Mandarin. He possibly knows I don’t always understand.

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