In Continuum.

Construction Site

The bus came to a stop with a loud hiss in its bracks,and the folding doors opened at the back of it.Out stepped me,with my iPod stuck in my ears as usual,the standard way of myself walking alone on any sort of street nowadays.I dont there is ever going to be another template of myself,other than just a sling bag,an iPod,with a simple shirt and pants,strolling down the street like that.I think accessories are such distractions,arent they?

A good evening for walking,that's what i thought as the folding doors closed behind me.The other passengers who got off scrambled across the busy road,and there i was in the middle of an empty bus stop,admiring the bright sparks coming from the worker at the side of the street.Sparks splattered all across the metal flooring like little asteroids,crashing into each other and vanishing into the evening air.So short-lived,i thought.Such beauty,such an instant death afterwards.I became melancholic for a minute,or was it the music that was playing in my ears?

It's been so long ever since they started work on the MRT station beside my estate.I remember the noticed made to us,about the shrinking of the outdoor carpark at my block,and the change of the main entrance to my estate to the other side of everything.The noise and dust that came along with the machinery,pumping away in it's metallic rhythm,even through my days with the dreadful examinations,throbbing through my head like pulsating headache.My neighbour on the third floor sued the company for the black smoke that poured into his house,as well as the noise pollution that he and his kids suffered throughout the construction process.But that is the way the typical rich Singaporean asshole acts,isnt it?You are rich,and because you are unhappy with something,you file a lawsuit against that person or company,without considering the fact that the building of the MRT station is probably going to boost the sale of your pathetic house sky high once it is done.No,he didnt think of that,and i say that he has shit for brain.

How i adore Saturdays,and the workers sure was having a good time in their container bedrooms,or sleeping quarters,to be more technical.In the shadow of the night,the streetlights casted its light on the corridors of the containers,staked up neatly in the corner of the site,with dirty clothes hanging from strings,tied from railings to railings.They fluttered in the soft wind,which brought along with it to my nostril the coming of rain,and the muddy stench of a construction site.A door opened,and a half naked Indian man walked out with a green cup in his hand,and behind him the radio roared an unknown indian song.He took a deep breath,and stared at the wreckage before his eyes,a storey below his feet.

I followed his gaze,and there i was standing at the entrance to the site,with its metal gates pulled opened and the area cleared of any lifeforms,save for the half indian man standing up there,surveying the grounds.The hole sunk deep into the group before him,reaching deep into the earth.So deep you wonder if it is ever going to end,if it goes on forever.If a rock is going to hit a bottom if you throw it down.And at that moment,something pierced my heart,and it was a sensation so sudden i grasped my chest.

The bulldozer sat there quiet,with the driver's seat darkened.The newspaper stuck to the back window,shading the driver from the afternoon sun.But it stuck to the back useless then,with the moonlight bringing no threat to anybody,whatsoever.It was so useless,so useless...

Metal poles stuck out from the ground here and there,like fingers belonging to dead men,crawling their way out of the dirt.But to no avail,as they stuck out of the grounds like bones,so bare and cold to the dropping temperature of the night.So there i was,almost like an extra pole,sticking out of the ground,feeling all useless and empty.The desolation got to me somehow,as the wind blew with a sudden chill.Did it matter then,that the construction site was how my heart might have looked like then?Did it matter then,that before my eyes was my heart materialized?

No,it didnt matter.Not to the indian man working at the side of the road on a Saturday night.Not the half naked one standing on the second storey of the container bedrooms.Not to the man in the posh BMW that sped past me as i stood there like an idiot.But to me,as i stared on with the sad music playing through my ears,i felt the wind to be colder than usual.Almost too cold.Was it pain that i felt,when a stone was thrown down the endless hole?Or was it the void that was sucking in me like vacuum,pulling me in and threatening eternal darkness?

I didnt know,and it mustve been the damn song.John Mayer takes your heart out and squeezes it like a wet towel sometimes.At times,when you are looking at something,anything.A vase,a whither flower,a rusty shaving blade,a forgotten notebook,old sketches,yellow-ish pictures,familiar scent of perfume,a chocolate bar,shopping carts,playgrounds,you...

When you are looking at a desolated construction site,your heart,your soul.