i'm a lover of such tradition of family love diffused in the chatter, the same questions asked every year and the same type of food. maybe i hate some of the false parts. it's all part of the whole package. yesterday lunch with the trumpeter and his parents alfresco and dinner with my girls recalling how we hung out so much at sammie's place. unaffected schoolgirls. salted vegetable duck soup and the sambal balachan. gazing out of the balcony and lazing on sammie's big bed and watching 'gigi' in her mother's room on secret school day afternoons. green silk flower camisole with black baubles and sprawled friend-like on the sheets.

i gave six hours to walking, traversing the city with the crowd, by myself. i purchased a pair of gold stilettos on sale. i bought a pair of running shoes, black as i like it, with fuschia bits. hence, i was focused. i admired a dress. i read on the train. i gave myself in to afterthoughts and reminded myself to rein it in.

sisters watching a japanese art film on tv with lychee martini ice cream whilst the father and mother are in bangkok visiting the relatives in a happy annual ritual.

morning comes soon.