today I position myself by the less used door on the mrt. it’s a day of rest – I shan’t use my phone today.
my eyes wander, focusing on one thing after another, as the train speeds past sections of singapore, awakening from their sleepy getaways.
my throat catches, my heart leaps, at the sight of the morning sun. it seems almost unreal, angelic in the shadow of its harsh noon counterpart. how have i, after all this while, not noticed the beauty of infant dawn’s light?
everything here has a subject.
they glow, in the reach of warm sunlight. dew glistens on blades of grass, sporadic patches of undeveloped green.
but their shadows tell a different story, one of circumstance and neglect – from the realities of city life.
then the windows plunge into night, the veins of the central business district. where its bustling occupants provide moonlight, the heartbeat of xin jia po.