an egg-ception

Today, after I paid for my groceries and left, I accidentally dropped a packet of eggs.

This is just outside Carrefour. Please don't imagine the worse. It didnt spill out of my bag, and plunge to the floor over a metre in height and splatter all over. No. This was just a simple tumble - it rolled over about 5cm and that was it. Nevertheless, i checked, and while my mom assumed only 1 egg to be broken, I knew what I saw. 3 eggs had been cracked and this is just mere MINUTES after paying for them.

And it just occurs to me - This is the first time I've ever broken an egg accidentally immediately after buying them.

I mean, seriously. And while I knew this was just eggs, for some reason it struck a chord.

I remember going to the market with my mom when I was 7-8 years old. And my mom would hand me a huge square carton of eggs and say "Don't break them, okay?" Which in child's language, translates to "If you break these, I will break YOU."

And I remember walking at a snails pace with the carton of eggs right in front of me, not taking my eyes off of them as mom would weave around the veggie stalls.

Even on the ride home, as I sat in the front, I'd throw a glance behind each time the car came to a stop a traffic light and I heard the carton move as the car lurched. It was nerve-wracking.

And when we got home, I'd set the eggs on the kitchen counter and disappear to a corner of the house furthest from the carton. I mean, in case anything happened, I wanted to make sure I was as far away from suspicion as possible.

Fast forward 20 years to today, and when I think about it, im STILL paranoid when I buy eggs. I stack them up right in the corner of the shopping cart, build a wall of soft items (bread, fruits) around it. And it's also the last thing I unload when paying.

If I buy eggs that day at the supermarket, I take a taxi home. I'd never risk a bus ride, especially during the rush hour, even if I have to pay the peak period surcharge. To me, it'd be worth it.

I have no idea why. I must be crazy.

Pls tell me I'm not alone.

a random spin

It used to be that I always enjoyed the ride home. I'd squeeze into a cold seat far int the back of bus and smuggle up with my cd player, turn the volume up and get lost in a tantalizing piano melody.

I wonder when I started to stop enjoying those long bus rides home.

Was it bcos I started to get impatient with my life? Maybe it was the device. Having a spinning cd in the player, with no more than 13 songs that u really loved, meant that u wanted to listen to all of them as you sped down the street.

It was almost romantic in a way.

But it didn't mean you had to be moving. Stuck in those jams on the causeway were probably one of the most calming things in my life, as long as there was still power in the CD player. Going back to Eunos, back in JC, I distinctly remember taking the longer route, so long as it involved one long bus ride, no alighting.

Maybe its bcos its like being your own music video, those sentimental ones where the artist is just sitting there, reminiscing abt a past love, a lost childhood, or promises made, kept or lost. The moving trees, the appearance of a landmark, or the brief glimpse of someone familiar - they all seemed to synchronize with the music.

Perhaps it was the people... when I used to go home, the bus would always be empty, being the last one to leave the classroom does that to you. Boarding the bus, there'd be only several faces, compared to the morning rush of monotony, and endless pushing, and the occasional psycho who yells at ppl to move in.

I miss those empty buses. I miss the days of CD player, where I didnt have to choose from 400 songs in an iPod - bcos a song that is chosen to be played has no fatality. 13 different songs, all TRUE favorites, spinning and selected at random - that probably had more meaning to it than anything of those days past.

half empty, half full

Now every Sunday, after work, I pack my bags and scoot on over to the company gym, hang around there until my legs start to buckle and then I head back home, to a sumptuous dinner (prepared by me, so of course it's sumptuous). Basically, I like to earn my calories.

Now tonight, it was a little different - maybe a little too much Red Bull.

And despite the aches and light-headed ringing in my skull, I donned my running shoes and took to the road - something I havent done for quite a while.

I make a left at the main street, stick tight to the pavement, and instead of heading towards the Thomson Medical, where I was born, I make cryptic left turn.

I say cryptic, because it takes me up a gentle slope, one that keeps winding upwards steeply, towards the place known as Tan Tock Seng Hospital. And I while fighting for breath and energy, and desperately trying to put one foot in front of the other, it suddenly hits me WHY this is cryptic in the first place - I was born in Thomson Medical, and it is likely *this* is where I will die - in a hospital.

I mean, this is where people die, seriously. Not that death isnt always serious, but it just seemed utterly surreal. And it seemed pathetic that just a few moments ago, I was fighting for breath, struggling to make it up this slope, and i thought to myself, "Man, this is KILLING me. I am DYING here."

It made me feel small. Really small. And insignificant.

But like all slopes, that road behind Tan Tock Seng comes to a peak and the slope moves away from me now, leading towards a junction in Moulmein.

And as I hit that downward slope, I pick up speed with the night breeze in my hair and the cold air in my shirt - and then I think perhaps I'm looking at it wrong.

This isn't where people go to die. This is where people go to live.