Hanging by moments

My Days are numbered from 1 to 15.
Every journal page is a resistance to reach 15-
But 15 came and my days have names again;
Everyday is a day to resist thoughts about those 15.
Today is Thursday, I think I am ready.

Day 1

Conversations on the plane, on the bus, glazed doughnuts and rain, red walls of Dragon Lodge, first Angels, first Mortals, dinner spread on the long dining table, two paintings staring, I stare back at the one with a man, back-faced, relaxed, perhaps looking into the distance.

Day 2

Checking the school grounds, feigned illness, wet grounds on the market, flies, fruits, darkness in a circle, light on some faces, you share, I listen, all walls are broken, rain pattering at 2:29am, my roommate is asleep, I am awake, shaking-with warmth.

Day 3

Sweeping whirlpools of dust, face-masked, their eyes follow us, they smile, wave, names exchanged, sweets placed shyly in my hands, fizzy drinks in their hands, running away, in a huddled blanket, you share, you bare, I listen, colossal thoughts in bed.

Day 4

Voices with eagerness overflowing, there is no fan, no frustration, there are smiles, Simon Says, packet lunches, swarms of children, I cut strings, you weave, you laugh, I am beaming, there is laughter before my turn, I am immensely scared, I speak, my heart thuds, I do not censor, in a circle, lights on nobody’s face, we hold hands, I am trembling.

Day 5

Toasts with marmalade, jazzy songs, glances exchanged, I smile, it is a beautiful day, encouraging notes in my mailbox, chopping in the kitchen, teases and jokes flying, five people and a new dimension, my sides hurt from laughing too hard.

Day 6

Chatting and sandpapering, intense bonding, talk of tight butts and muffins, around the corner friendship bands tied around my wrist, glorious food, guitar strumming, a birthday cake falling apart, secret meetings and letter writing, I am afraid that I cannot undo the knots of the bands when I return.

Day 7
A painting with three monks in orange robes against a backdrop of grey, chewing and munching, polite laughter, delicate and careful, toilet adventures, sinking into the sofa, cold toes, old Chinese songs given a contemporary twist, a new hotel in an old Laos, frustration over micros and macros, honesty along the stairway.

Day 8

Bus Journeys, a thought that we are all linked by colonialism, unsettling feelings amidst serenity in the boat, giving thought to what real community needs are for the first time, blasting music, happy dances, the smell of beer, we leap high, the bus is standing on the water, the sunlight falls on me, a child splashes water on her face, hands in water, water on face, looking at your country in semi-darkness, waking from naps, fried rice that never tasted so fragrant before.

Day 9

Discussion under a tree, animals roaming around, a pale blue above a lush green, us in multi-coloured shirts, Polaroid shots, Walls ice cream tune, toasts that transcend cultures, rockets shooting up, the sun, the heat, the happy drunkards, Prata with condensed milk, condensing us together as we walk back to the lodge, the wind in our faces, sleepy faces playing card games in a room, saying Good Nights.

Day 10

Good Mornings to familiar faces, today is my last teaching day, learning not to fight transience, will deal with it, English lessons at 5/2, tongue twisters, arms linked, singing songs, camping in Room 204, gossips amongst fun fair preparations, imitations of “Morning!”, laughing about Singapore T-shirts, the guys leaving, lights off, there is Fam beside me, there is a happiness radiating within the four walls.

Day 11

Squatting, hammer in hand, hacking bits of the wall, tuk tuk journeying to the market, I am quiet, I am taking in the dust, the brown bumpy gravel roads, sign boards that I may never see again, briefings, meetings in our room, pats on backs, snipping paper, howling with laughter over multi-coloured sunglasses, panties hidden in handkerchiefs, smiling sleeping.

Day 12

Waking up to knocks on the door, scissors on the floor, early tribe breakfast, enthusiasm that floats around 300 children, a posed photograph of us, arms akimbo, sitting around a table, writing, talking, remembering for life that “of” does not follow consist, spontaneous sharing over soy bean milk, thoughts that belong to a world of silent articulation.

Day 13

Josh Groban music playing, soothing companion on a windy night, the aroma of Teh Tarik lingers, conversation with Mrs. Chan Sook, suppressed giggles, Camel lurking in the backdrop, posed Piggy faces, I am left alone in the depths of the night, my green journal and I, I am falling asleep, I carry myself upstairs, tonight is the second last night.

Day 14

Tourist attractions on possibly the hottest day, pizzas, reminiscence creeping in, everyone looking lovely in purple shirts, cream puffs in the embassy, it is drizzling, names read aloud, ceremonial mood, cheers, songs, dances, durian feast, notes to thirteen other people, last-minute packing, scrambling down, henna painting on ankles, on hands.

Day 15

Singing all the way on the plane, scribbling reflections on a paper, touching down, embraces, photographs, fighting back tears, knowing that Metta means love is reassuring.