Neon Warmth.

The world gives you its best and its worst on the same day, because it can.

After the closing gala of arts festival, I went back to school to check up on my lost laptop charger and the possibility that I will have to stay in school to finish my part of the report. I walked from Victoria Concert Hall. Disoriented in the dark, I walked towards Fullerton Hotel. I would’ve ended in a forest of steel. But I let my feet walk by itself and it turned around. It walked on and on past the bus stop in careful steady steps along a slippery rain-soaked pavement. It walked on and on, floating on neon lights. They weren’t as colourful as the lights of Tokyo, London or New York. But they were safe. The roads murmured with the sound of cars and conversation. It walked on and on, carrying a body that wasn’t quite there but a voice which murmured to itself. Walking on shimmery wet tarmac glowing red green and yellow, you almost wished this was a movie. But it couldn’t be. It’s not pretty enough to be. So I walked on and on alone, undisturbed and unnoticed. Like I’m not really there. Like I barely exist.

I wondered what it would be like to run onto the road and feel the metal crush against my bones: just to feel something, nothing, anything and everything. Just to prove to me that I exist. Just to teach me what it means to say “I am”.

Well this is just crazy talk.