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.