So Ms Chia calls me tonight. “Eh, 3820 third prize leh.”
There is a play, 3 Years, 8 Months, 20 Days, that we were talking cock about the other day.
“3 Years, 8 Months…World War Two, is it?” “Pol Pot. It’s 3 Years…8 Months…20 Days.” “Aiya, what year, what month, what day, so difficult. 3-8-2-0! So easy. Like 4D.”
We talked the number into being – a nice number it is, will you look at all its curves? – and didn’t put money on it.
I have been discontented for weeks now. I don’t know if it is the wacky sun-with-rain weather or the one-month-to-go-before-my-31st-birthday climate of fear. Going on leave makes me want to go on leave again, permanently perhaps. I want to be a housewife, I think. But a housewife needs a backer and I have nobody. Besides, I think, I can’t be latching on to a backer because I don’t know what to do with myself; I can’t be hatching a baby because it will free me from the office for three months; I should be keeping to myself my karma of discontent.
There was the answer, 3820, that was staring me in the face – a ticket to three months, four months, five months of unpaid leave? – and I didn’t even think of putting one penny on it. It is a sign, I think, that I should be resigned.
2 comments:
there's this song by fairground attraction, a now-defunct folk-rock group fronted by the still-active edie brickell (a kc fave). the song is titled "find my love" and there is a line in it which goes:
"somewhere out there there must be a boy for this girl/could be anywhere, could be next door, on the other side of world"
but there is also another fairground attraction song (i think these two were their only hits) called "perfect", with its catchy chorus: "it's got to be-e-e-e perfect/it's got to be-e-e-e worthy/too many people take second best/but i won't take anything less..."
so, between perfection and possibility, there might/could/will be someone out there, and one waits somewhere in between resignation and hope. When it happens, you won't know what hit you, so hang in there, it'll get better once the birthday passes and you're not dwelling on these things.
thanks. and i know that song! the perfect one.
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