Philia.

I’d like to think I have a knack for finding freaks. Not any random freaks either, I seem to get the outliers within their own spheres. Maybe this is what happens when like attracts like. Curse or blessing, I am not an average of any given population. This legion is a circle of the highest honour where entry is determined by a Darwinian selection process. Kidding! I don’t know how they came to be. All I know is that each one possesses a heart with a strange concoction of idealism and art. Yes, even you Chloe.

Or to put it simply: I have found and built friendships that I hope will last for a lifetime. Entering it isn’t as easy as you think.

They’ll be the ones sitting on a bench with you till the last minutes before lecture starts. Laughing at your silliness. Recognizing you for you. Defining kindness in their gestures. Reminding you what’s worth losing sleep over and what’s not. Ramen and Mr. Tea says:

“Honey, don’t compare them to us or you’ll never date anyone.”

Muffin girl is a phone call away to laugh at the next absurd thing in your life and keeps you grounded. More people should learn how to laugh at themselves, at each other and take it easy. The universe has a great sense of humor, don’t you think?

I know where I belong.

Do not trespass here without the right intention.

RAAAAHR.

I miss you brocollifro. Big sis isn’t coming home this year. =\

Dearest albino ape,

I hope you’re eating more than just canned soup, tofu and ham. I’m sure you’ll learn how to throw extravagant banquets out of kimchi and ramen to invite your future quadrilateral of friends.

I’m stumbling on your stray letters. They echo my footsteps tonight. “Boys are tiresome, I should have loved only you instead.” I’m learning to trust myself again. I don’t know if this is wise but it feels alright. The hollows of this city feel different now and so are the faces. I thought I missed this place but it isn’t the same place that I left. Or perhaps I am no longer the same person who had fled in that taxi leaving a flurry of hasty goodbyes. You’ll feel it too. I’ve notes for future adventures to burrow deep into this island with you when you come back. We’re going to have to find a new sanctuary out of this campus soon. Right now the ony thing worth burrowing into is books! Go go deforestation!

For now, long-distance calls and insomnia are a blessing. If we’re on the same island, we’d be caught up in our plans and see each other less and less.

I don’t miss you much, not really. I’m glad you’re here on this digital plane.

With love,

Pest.

Captured!

The ceremony carried on inside the humid hall. All the kids escaped and hid in the backyard. Sofi, the little imp, began to pluck all the bitter green berries. She attacked us with the green balls. The rest of the babies followed suit.

I caught her first with my camera. SQUISHSQUISH!

Food for Thought: A Clever Cute Quaint Cafe!

met up with Dawn for dinner date since I missed her gingerhead early in the week.  Little bird flew to KL and came back more ganguro than ever. It is now as blonde as Marilyn Monroe! It actually looks pretty good on an Asian kid, like a vanilla wafer on peaches and cream. yeah I know enough with the food metaphors.

Well too bad because this post is going to be about food! We scampered and wandered around and around and settled for a quaint little cafe called Food for Thought

Open up the door and the smell of food greets you with a friendly hello from the counter. My hair smells faintly like barbecue sauce by the end of the night. The service was fantastic! It was cramped really with their kitchen merely inches away from us but the warmth from the stove and the chefs and servers made it cosy. They were so chirpy, laughing and singing through the night. It was my first visit there.

It was a busy Friday evening too. As we wait by the counter, we spotted that they had RED VELVET CAKE! I squealed! Dawn cringed. I have to explain. Dawn is deeply disturbed that people would make a cake so red. Menstrual red. Naturally, I dared her to eat it. So we waited!

We managed to snag the table close to the door. We were instantly charmed by their spoons, shaped like ice cream scoops. I ordered Basil Pesto Chicken pasta. It was comforting. No I’ m not going to torture you with shoddy pictures from my phone camera. D ordered the set menu that came with soup, salad and a sandwich. I forgot what she ordered. Maybe you can make a guess….

Check out the spadetastic spoon!

I suck at deconstructing the taste of dishes. It just ruins the enjoyment of eating it. It was good and comforting. You’re just going to have to trust me on this okay?

We swapped tales: escape plans, unworthy accomplices, calculating whims, thieving mouse deer and even more things I’ll have to rewrite in code. Way too lazy for that right now. I actually don’t remember being disturbed by the door opening and closing even though it was right next to us. I guess the conversation and the ambience wraps you up in a lovely cocoon.

Then comes the moment we were waiting for: The Old-Southern Style Red Velvet Cake ($5.50). So here is where I’d tell you why Dawn is terrified of that pastry in a way that makes a three layers of red butter cake slathered in cream cheese frosting sounds like a frightening monster made entirely out of pints of blood from a nubile goat sacrificed at Martha Stewart’s altar. But again, way too lazy. I’ll have Smitten Kitchen explain what’s so fascinating about a red velvet cake.

Guess what? It was yummy! I love the texture and the way the frosting complements the light buttery sweetness. Win! Dawn was actually eyeing a lethal concoction made of brownies and marshmallows but instead overcame her fear of The Red Velvet Cake, coming closer to achieving the Pinnacle of Pastrydom.

You think it stops at dessert don’t you? We were already charmed by spadetastic spoons, its chirpy service and good food. What more could you possibly do to make me adore you? Food for Thought actually sets aside at least 10% of their profits for social causes. Hoo I know you’re cringing. But they’re absolutely genuine about it. Don’t believe me? Check out their website although I have to warn you, you’re going to fall in love with them too.

“We believe in serving the community. Part of Food for Thought’s profits go into social causes that we support – including School of Thought’s Financial Aid Scheme for underprivileged students. Tap water is also served free here but you have the option to donate to international well-building projects instead so that other people may have free water someday as well. We also try to work as much as possible with local farmers, local cottage industries and collectives to support small businesses with a heart

Food for Thought is our second attempt at a social enterprise. Like our school, we want to offer the same winning formula – top quality stuff at a fair price, served up with a great deal of heart in order to generate profits to support and serve the community we live in.”

–squeeeeeeee-

toooo CUTE! If Food for Thought was a person, I’d fall head over heels. The night ended with filled tummies. We parted ways. I took a long quiet walk along Orchard Road.

I love the sweet scent of the night, best savoured alone.
Feeling full and feeling whole, again.

Food for Thought
#01-06 North Bridge Centre
420 North Bridge Road
Opening hours: 9 am to 10 plus daily, last order at 9pm. Closed on Sundays

Zombeeeeeez.

Alex and I will resurrect zombies this summer.

It will have teenage pregnancy, a foreign student, a christian boarding school and ZOMBEEEEEEZ.

All the necessary ingredients.

raaaaaaaaar.

Dawn of the dead, day of the dead, night of the living dead, shaun of the dead, 28 days later, 28 weeks later. If you have any of these gimme gimme gimme.. and uh.. come watch it with me please. I have never seen a zombie movie in my life.

I don’t actually like horror films.

so why the heck are we making a zombie movie?

Cause there’s always a first for everything.

In 2007 we did this:

.

Prostitute On Leash.

.

but he has gotten
much
much
much
better ever since.

.

.

.

I have eaten brains before though.

Jellylike, squishy, melts in your mouth, goes well with curry and rice.

Told ya this summer is going to be awesome!

Laughing Out Loud.

Documenting a life is neither truthful nor deceitful.
We pick details for vultures, keeping the best parts hidden.
Life is worth the laughter though I often forget.
This is how I remember:

Life | Love | Music | Musings | Craft | You |
Jakarta

Newfoundfriend.

“So are you a hardcore jihadist muslim?” – Giselle.

BWAHAHAHA.
you m’dear have more in common with me than you might think

“”I don’t want to be “sort of dating” someone. I don’t want to be “kinda hanging out” with someone. I don’t want to spend a lot of energy suppressing my feelings so I appear uninvolved. I want to be involved. I want to be sleeping with someone I know I’ll see again because they’ve already demonstrated to me that they’re trustworthy and honorable — and into me.”

“I can’t text, I’m not charming via text.”

“I had this guy leave me a voice mail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.”

– He’s Just Not That Into You

How did you happen to skate through smoo and
not have “root beer and tea” with me, Gee-Zelle?

Thanks for the heads up, you
Stick around.
(=

May First.

We do not make a lot of sense together.

“You have a jaw fetish? I’m sorry i can’t be friends with you anymore.”

“But that’s the thing baby, your lack of angles is what keeps our relationship platonic.”

“It’s 6:10″
“What time are we meeting them? 6:45?”
“6:15″
“Okay so do you wanna take a bus or walk to Cathay?”
“Walk”
we were a good 20-30 minutes walk away

“There’s something in the McFlurry tonight.”
“Yeah but there’s nothing in her cake. You’re just being yourself.”

“You guys are in love.”
“Always and forever”
“Well that’s it then, one of you have to switch gender“
“You do it, I’m too pretty”
“Okay“
“But you better make it dinner, not a snack“
“Why not just go for the whole buffet”
“All you can eat”
“Where is Jeremy at a time like this?”

“She’s a chubby chaser.”
“He’s pear shaped.”
“She likes big butts and she cannot lie.”

“When was the last time you saw each other?“
“Like Forever.”
“your Forever is a month?“
“Yes..“
“Then that makes summer three Forevers… Forever Forever Forever…. or forever cubed.“
“No, that’s Eternity”
“What’s anything longer than that?“
“Doom.”

“They’re like cherries.”
“No they’re apples”
“Cherries! Or cherry blossoms, you know”
“You’ve never seen a cherry blossom have you?”

“Shake it, shake it, shake it like a polaroid picture…. wouldn’t you be shaking your hands?”
“I think they meant you’d shake your butt.”
“So is the butt the polaroid in this case? Wouldn’t you need a hand to be shaking the butt then?”
“I think it’s the act of shaking the butt”
“So the butt is shaked… shook”
“shaken”
“not stirred”

“They should make Unemployeds: A reality tv series”
“They have sitcoms for that”

“Do you like him?”
“uh..How would you operationalize like?”
“in litres… 10 litres?
“or twenty?”
“out of what? What’s the maximum threshold?”
“Lake Michigan.”
“Why lake? Why not sea?
“That would be Infinite.
“Like Doom”

What I know for sure is that my love expands across 5/4 of Lake Michigan for you, Birthday Girl. Think Caspian Sea except much much much much less.

Ann wants bovine meat seared medium. So Crunch, Miss Blue Rosarch Tigress, The Original Miss Muffin, Bulbasaur, Paullimzhiway and myself convened together before each of us flies off or gets a job. We had a pretty nice dinner too.

Then off we strolled to Esplanade for the heck of it. In the end we caught half of Kagura & Taiko performance by the waterfront. It’s a Japanese dance and music performance by the Tenko Kagura & Taiko group, presenting stories from kojiki, The Records of Ancient Matters. Plump cheeks blushing red with sake, the emperor’s gold threads gleaming. Muscular sinews and ripples of vertebrae glistened in the amber light. The flautist was absolutely superb! He outshone them all. I think it must have been a family troupe. The youngest drummer was this tiny 10-year old little boy whose drum sticks are half the size of his tiny body.

We scavenged for dessert, filling up ourselves with giggly glucose.

Then scampered off to bed.

Waitress

Jenna thinks in pies.

“I Don’t Want Earl’s Baby” Pie
… Quiche of egg and brie cheese with a smoked ham center

“I Hate My Husband” Pie
… You take bittersweet chocolate and don’t sweeten it. You make it into a pudding and drown it in caramel…

“Baby Screaming It’s Head Off In The Middle Of The Night And Ruining My Life” Pie
… New York style cheesecake, brandy brushed, pecans and nutmeg…

“Earl Murders Me Because I’m Having An Affair” Pie
… You smash blackberries and raspberries into a chocolate crust

“I Can’t Have No Affair Because It’s Wrong And I Don’t Want Earl To Kill Me” Pie
… Vanilla custard with banana. Hold the banana.

“Pregnant Miserable Self Pitying Loser” Pie
… Lumpy oatmeal with fruitcake mashed in. Flambe of course…

from the movie Waitress.

I was gushing about the movie to a friend and he told me that Adrienne Shelly, writer and director of the film, died long before the movie was out for release.

Adrienne Shelly

She was murdered sometime in November 2006. The movie was already in post production by then and was accepted for screening at the Sundance Film Fest 2007. I learned later that she’s the woman who played Dawn in the movie, who happens to be my favourite character.

From L-R: Becky (Cheryl Hines), Jenna (Keri Russell) and Dawn (Adrienne Shelly)

Watch the film and you’ll understand why. I would have been itching to play Dawn’s part too. Shelly said that Waitress was a love letter to Sophie, her daughter. She was eight months pregnant at the time and deathly afraid of having a baby. All of this was channeled unto the script. Knowing all this made the movie all the more significant with all that macabre. I liked it. It was honest and funny. It’s a drama-comedy that won’t insult your intelligence.

p.s. Miss Cheryl H, you need to watch this and we need to make pies, pronto.

If Friends Had Wings..

“From now on our reunions will be at weddings”

How on earth did we get to be this way? Marriage? Really? Did we grow up that fast?

It’s days like these with cups of coffee and Milo coursing through my bloodstream that I have epiphanies. You reach out for friends you knew when you were young, when you were twelve and still eager at the thoughts of sleepovers, summers and prom. Today a stayover means unfinished work, holidays mean internships and a night in a dress and makeup is just another night.

It’s been a while since a foot-long essay arrives in my mailbox about your big big plans. You with the goldfish eyes and headphones, how did you grow up so tall? You with the soft squishable cheeks, how did you get to be so sad? I love listening to your big dreams: thoughts of settling down, PhDs in obscure subjects I’ll try to understand, odd passions as a filmmaker, applications to medschool, GREs, MCATs…

Do you know how much I have loved the people that you were, still adore the people that you are and so excited for the people that you will become? No? Yeah I’m not very good at telling the people that I love that I love them. There’s not a lot of things I can do from here with the awkward time difference but I hope these snatches of words will do for now, temporarily. There’s a reason why you are part of a legion of the niftiest people that I know.

Secretly, I don’t know what my big dreams are. Rather, i haven’t chosen to pursue them earnestly which is why I love listening to you. But you, you, you, you and you remind me of the person that I was, the girl with really odd ambitions who can’t seem to sleep at night, who spends endless afternoons inside the drama room, who takes model united nations too seriously, who comes into student council with an iron fist, who wields her perfectionism for our unread student magazine and who actually loved her English class (which most of you loathed). That girl. Where is she?

“Stay 12, don’t grow up, it saddens me!”

Somehow i’ve forgotten all of that for the last two years. Is that growing up? I’ve changed for the better and for worse: softer and tougher, yielding and quiet, affectionate and evasive, patient and inert. I’m trying to piece her back together, taking the best parts of the past before I feel even more…. lost: adrift on a pea-shell boat and feather sails. That pretty much sums up the last three years we’ve been apart.

This deepavali I attended a simple church wedding. It was my first time and the first one where I knew the bride and groom personally. You know, I’m not the kind to cry in public. Anyhow, I was tearing up, not bawling because heck I’m not that bad.  The thought that lingered was that I would be in the pews (because let’s face it none of you will have it inside a mosque) watching you with the boy or the girl that you love…. and I would be so happy for you. So so so happy. I might be bawling too. See how much I’ve changed?

As for me? I’ll be patient. I’ve built quite an enormous store of patience from placing my hope in all the wrong places. Half of university life and I’m still fairly unscathed. But if I could love you this much, if I could love myself then the odds are pretty high that someone could love me in the same way. That’s just my guess. I just have to trust that they will come unexpected. I just have to stop looking for them – especially in odd places – restlessly talking to strangers. That’s a strange little habit but I derive a kind of odd amusement from them. Oh there are other stories I’ll never tell… not without a bowl of mango and tartufo gelato.

I know some things may change forever. We won’t be able to talk everyday. We won’t have the luxury to while away our afternoons with milo peng, carrot cake, duck noodle, prata and mcD’s until dusk comes.

But you know where to find me. I know where to find you.
I’ll find you. You’ll find me. We’ll find each other through static and distance.

That works don’t you think?

That’s what matters.

Soup, Sun, Storm.

10:30am, Wednesday.
Post AiEe midterm exam, Kopitiam.

She weaves unfinished threads of Jeffs and scrapes and midnight escapades. Clippity clop clippity clop, tottering and teetering with a rectangular tigress cradled in her arms. He has a face you’ll never tire. I didn’t know what it was until she said it. No matter how tired you are, you carry yourself with so much grace. Grace. In a man, not a boy. Unravel, unravel a five-year tale about Grace. I want to hear it from the beginning, the part I like best that starts with once upon a time with blushes when the universe conspires and maybe happily ever afters. Nine years will be shorter than you think. Invite me! I want to see a Chinese wedding ceremony, the most legitimate reason I can think of for killing sharks. Tender is the beef floating in a soup of pho, warm like the day would be.

If only we had nothing better to do. To just sit here, stirring soup.

We ambled, strode and limped across with heavy burdens on our shoulders. 80% Milo inflation at Mr Tea! Tragic.

A gust of wind ruffled the trees. Leaves fluttered like yellow butterflies. Like yellow petals. Like a blizzard in the fall. Look! It’s pretty. Catch one before they fall and make a wish. Our feet slowed and savored the long walk to the library amidst the yellow rain. Look! Someone should film this, you said. Nah. They’ll never be able to capture this. This is for you, you and me to keep. No one else. Their grubby hands won’t touch it. It’s ours.

12:20pm, Wednesday. From Mr Tea to Library.
A maelstrom of yellow confetti on Campus Green.

old dirt road
knee deep snow
watching the fire as we grow old
mushaboom mushaboom.

Handsewn

Purple pen, green pen, teal pen, pink. Bernie on a yellow post-its needs colour to brighten up a certain sleep-deprived Bernard. Rummage rummage rummage. Out comes the finished up pens. Out comes the pencil lead fillings. Out comes a green pencil. Wait I don’t have a green clicky pencil. Whose clicky pencil is this? Must be a fugitive. Out out out from this little sack.

Inside out. Expansionary monetary policy is weakened with a fixed exchange rate. Uh huh. Gold glitter flowers softly worn in, sleeping on the inside out of a deep, deep pink pouch. It’s old but I can never seem to part with gifts until they fall apart. Hey a 5 cent coin!

Expansionary fiscal policy is weakened with a floating exchange rate policy. I run my fingers along the zip and marvelled at its invisible ingenuity. I picked out the zip and I picked out the fabric and I picked out the thread. But you sewed it with your magic fingers. “

You better behave or I’ll IMF you”. Finger tips along the innards of a pencil case, along its stitches. It was handsewn, sturdily double stitched and clumsy. Fingers tracing wondering where your machine stitch would begin. It didn’t

Wait.

You stitched all of this by hand? Are you crazy? You have a sewing machine… Don’t you have a sewing machine? I thought you have a sewing machine! My memory is pretty bad. But hey three years on and you really made my day. Pacific Ocean won’t let me get any closer to you. So it’ll be I less than three you lots and lots all the way from here. Shall resurface soon and bug you about your resplendent red hair. I promise!

With all the e-love I can muster,

knead.uh

p.s. is someone missing a green clicky pencil?

Got Mah Funk In Dah Trunk

…and I am leaving to catch the full moon, flying on a spaceship made of saucepans and saucers. They tell me it wouldn’t work because political scientists can’t piece together rocketships. They didn’t know we’ve got pocketfuls of magic.

Okay. was feeling graaaaaaaaaaaaaawr. Am ok. You know what fixed it? 6am geetalk ranting/whining session with one of my favourite little genius too many oceans away. Now the world is full of sunshine and muffins and homemade carrot-apple-ginger-lemon-juice.

You know I have copious amounts of magic fairy dust unused and gone to waste (short self life). I need to gain the special magic skillz to jump on planes on a heart’s whim….. which would be a fortnightly affair. Okeis? That’s all I ask. Either that or a magic door that can teleport you anywhere. I’m okay with both. You can cancel my order for a magical unicorn (30 day refund guarantee remember?)

yeah. it is 5:30pm. I’m going to catch some sleep now. Toods.

non|Senseless.

“You know they put mosquito chemicals in the water.”

“They do?”

Our feet were touching the slippery warm pebbles at the bottom of the shallow water feature in the school’s courtyard. Why? Just because. It was the opening gala of the festival. The event fluttered through the evening like the strange metallic music drifting through the campus green. We’re just too much of a plebeian to understand contemporary art. With pink flowers and matching black dresses, our MarComm contingent ushered guests and a sense of relief that it was about to end soon enough. It wasn’t of course. There were two weeks left and so much more words, emails, images, posters to be exchanged. We were happy enough to be in each other’s company, feet aching from standing on the tips of our toes and tummies rumbling with hunger. The only thing we ate were little open sandwiches. That is not food.

“What are you doing?”

Our large size 8 feet made wet yeti footprints. If I contracted tetanus, then hey so be it. I’d die young and happy. We plodded down barefeet along the corridors now emptying with artfully-styled guests and serene with strange installations. We’re leaving trails of water.

“Where are all the students?”

I spent too many hours inside that bunker over weekends, holidays, study week and exams. There was no other way. It wasn’t a choice. It was my baby and no one else can do it any better but me. Such is the arrogance of mothers.

“Good Job”

There comes a point when other people’s praises feel a lot more hollow than they intended. I’m sure they meant it. But somehow it barely makes a dent. I don’t really care that you didn’t come by. It would not make any difference to me. It was our baby and that alone is enough.

I miss that.

Oh They’ll Sprout Wings Eventually.

In less than 365 days my little babies would be graduating! In less than a year they’ll be doing grown up things like coming back from the land of pemmican and poutine and joining the legion of Singaling Foreign Talent! EXCITEMENT! xD I shall be waiting patiently.

Have a lovely final semester, neevil, juz and meo! I shall see you soon (= Cait, pri and punkus, we’re haaaaalfway throuuuugh!

Lack Lustre.

I see faces like neon lights, flickering in and out. They glow like familiar beacons in a crowd or recede into the shadows under glazed eyes. Walking these bustling corridors feels like picking out the stars in these Singaporean skies, so sparse and so precious.

I remember a time when you were a pillar to lean on, built square and sturdy. You were my constance when other people blurred themselves into their busyness. You kept my silly thoughts and you believed them. You believed in me. You were a comrade and a confidante when you found it to be convenient. Summer brought the distance and I brought the static. I followed you on a calculated whim. With effort, you could meet me halfway. You see, that’s the problem with pillars: they’re stationary. So I let go. There was nothing to let go.

I saw you today. It is not the same any more. Where there was a line, now there is a gulf. You wouldn’t have seen it. You’re a waning light with empty words and easy promises. There was a time when I cared about the heavy pockets under your eyes. I cannot make the effort now. I brushed off your whispered regrets of what we were with laughter. It’s the most civil thing to do for a friend, instead of being curt or brusque. You see, it stung me long before you understood.

If you don’t make the effort now, you’ll lose a friend.

The problem is, I know you too well.

Lords of the Donut Rings

Tissue papered hands gingerly holding rings of pastry – glazed in white chocolate, encrusted in almonds – together at the center.

Let’s call for a toast!

 

To the newly minted president of voiks.
To missing keys and a homeless girl’s sleepless night with her handmade sellotaped daggers.
To furniture that are “like a vagina on stage!”
To being comfortably sedated by a chicken thigh.
To margarine flavoured durians.
To transplanting armpit hair from beards.
To awkwardly squeezing male buttocks.
To “what do I caaaaare?”
To an invitation to convocation.
To finding a tale, a dream and a person large enough to fit Esplanade.
To the silence of suffering, shared.
To friends.

The Hours And The Minutes.

19 hours
You told me they didn’t like it. They wanted to change it. They thought it was too confusing, that there’s not enough distinction, that I look too much like a bride and that I shouldn’t sing. I wanted to explode. My eyes leaked instead. Goddamn faulty explosion mechanism.

18 hours
You tell me you’d fight for me. You would even take a stand to cancel the show altogether. It was touching really and you knew I would not have the nerve to let that happen. I made you promise we’d kick butt tomorrow instead. Messages came in saying that they liked it as it is. Why is it so hard to believe?

15 hours
I wondered how I’ll justify the need for me to exist on stage, wondered how we’d be able to extricate myself out of it smoothly, patching up the plots and the choreography in the small space in my head. For once, I knew I wanted this. I want to be there tomorrow. I can’t remember how I fell asleep.

9 hours
I lied. I didn’t overslept. My limbs were light but they weren’t weary but I couldn’t bring myself to move fast. I drank water. Forgot to eat. I still wondered what would happen if I don’t show up, if a truck runs me over on my way there. I do that sometimes.

Grow

I’m looking at old pictures of friends. I’m laughing at how much we’ve changed – the subtle and the not-so-subtle. A little less flab here, a little bit more plump there. Each getting a little bit wiser somewhere.

I’m wondering where they are and how they’ve grown. I’m wondering who or what is on their mind. I wonder sometimes who they’ll become 10 years from now and how different would our lives be.