I went over to Chua Chu Kang Columbarium this afternoon. It’s not a very accessible place without a vehicle so I had to suck it up and walk the cracked roads under the sweltering sun.
I passed by great fields of long grass and in the distant was a knoll that was wrapped with the older Chinese-style gravestones. It’s like something out of the old Chinese drawings you see from history books.
That 20 minutes was therapeutic. Nothing but birds in bare trees and butterflies playfully flirting with its potential mate. In the distant were the dull thuds of, what I assume to be, artillery fire and the occasional pepper-shot of rifles.
The columbarium was deserted save one middle-aged man in white that lingered around. He was the staff there, and I went on to find my friend’s niche.
I spoke to him about whatever’s been going through my mind and how much I missed him, just like I always did. The arty fires laced our conversations and I chuckled at the irony of it all.
I laid a kiss before I left, and walked the long journey out again. They didn’t have proper pavements so I had to walk on the grass beside the road fearing a little for my life as big construction trucks went rolling by at amazing speeds. There should be a speed limiter on those things.
It was my off day today. And I stayed in camp the night before, and I went back in again tonight. People look at me as sort of a sad sorry soul. Staying in camp all week long. Last couple of weeks I was over in camp all weekend, never going home.
I’m not sure what to think. I just like it in here.
Damn. I lost a pen.
