15th of the 7th month


This guy waxes and wanes. He represents your heart, my heart or nothing.   

This is one of those days I wonder how at 45 I still have this surfeit of emotion? Surely it must be spent by now.  
 
On my walk tonight I see hell money strewn about the pavement; I imagine diabetic ghosts imbibing rows of Yakult, Ribena and those carb-heavy offerings the PM would nag about in his National Day address; I think what inconsiderate and frankly filthy habits disguise themselves as tradition and worship - I admit, no amount of romanticizing Toa Payoh tonight will take away this realization that, no it is not hell but yes, it looks like a freakin’ ghetto. This is not righteousness. It is just defeat.
 
At 45 surely I cannot still feel as when I was 25. So I try to keep my eyes looking up instead. And there is that moon. That guy waxes and wanes. He represents your heart, my heart or nothing.

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