23:55.

It's five minutes to midnight on a Tuesday night and I have Planet Shakers blasting from my laptop at the highest volume possible. Not as loud as my shouts/ screams of "My God is big, so strong, so mighty", lyrics that are cries from inside and reminders that I am under the protection, guidance and complete care of a God who can do all things and through who I can do all things.

To borrow Sinead O Conner's words, Lord, "nothing compares, nothing compares to You".

When you still don't know whether you would be carving out a career in Sg or Melb, making plans is hard. I look forward to things that are going to happen in the near future then stop myself, and say "I won't be here" then equivocate and say "I have no idea whether I would be here".

I have forgotten many things in Singapore. Certain street names escape my attempt to locate them in the recesses of my mind. Two months ago, I looked through the little red notebook in which I scribbled all the numbers my Sg mobile contained and I realised there are people who I cannot place at all. Just three days ago, while going through an old email account, I saw one of the scribbled names in an email and finally managed to place one of these persons who have been mere names for two months. I cannot remember how my mother's cooking tastes like. I cannot remember the feel of my super single bed. I remember the Eeyore and Garfield I hug to sleep but can't remembered how they felt cradled. I can't remember the feel of my beige piano, left standing there in the corner of our purple living room.

Would the shade of the walls be lighter? Would the pink curtains (a result of non-colour true samples) finally look more right and pale? Would my room smell slept in by someone else?

What would be on my blue Ikea desk? How much dust might there be on the cover of my keyboard, placed on that wide, 2.06metres-tall Ikea open bookshelf that gathers so much dust?

When I look into that full-length mirror on the wall, that mirror whose bottom most panel suffered cracks - on the left or right corner, I cannot recall - caused by me accidentally ramming my office chair with rollers into it, how different would I seem to my own eyes?

Would I look taller in my room? There was a time when I used to realise that this ceiling above me was different and higher, except now it is the norm.

Would my white wardrobe looked slightly yellow?

Would my white bedside drawer share that fate?

What about the white bed frame?

When I lie down on the bed and look up at the light green ceiling, and the two similar green walls and two blue walls, what would I think?

Would I miss Melb?

Would I miss 222 Victoria Street?

Would I miss the smell of the night time air, that air that I took deeply into my lungs half an hour ago as I stood on our little balcony?

When I play my piano and love the feeling of doing so again, would my mind unfaithfully be momentarily distracted by memories of the drumset in my living room here?

Similarly, would I shamefully compare my dear church with City Church?

There are some things I wish for and to and some I do not. Sat noon, I stared at the skies from where I laid on the couch and told You what I know I want. I still don't know truly if I want to be in Melb/ Sg and that's one of the biggest decisions and probably the most urgent one I have to settle on but there was something I knew I want, every thing aside. But I know that will only happen if You choose to and I am not going to stick my nose or fingers into this in ways I should not. Dad....

I am remembering some things I have forgotten. Images of me in Singapore have started running in fragmented reels in my mind's eye. I remember the simple pleasure of certain routines and places and I miss some people in honestly real ways.

And I don't know why I typed "Would I miss Melb?" just now.

I already know the answer.

I stare at you
you stare at me.
the looking glass can't speak
so can you? girl in a land I cannot see?

tell me the stories in words plain to understand
interpret me every look and hue
the slight sad look in the brown eyes
that painted smile so slightly lop-sided

speak to me in stories plain to speak about
and tell me what my eyes are seeing
and what i am not saying

I already know the answer.