I have eaten absolutely NOTHING of redeeming nutritional value today, save for the dainty portobello mushroom sandwich I constructed this morning. The consequent hunger pangs during the poetry workshop (Yes, I went for a poetry workshop and it was the best $95 I helped my parents spend) compelled me to buy an ice cream sandwich (raspberry ripple) from the ice cream stand. It was the kind that's catered for tourists, because it costed me 20 cents more than usual. And, the only people standing around it were batik-clad mainland Chinese on vacation (obviously, they strayed from their city tour group) and ex-pats with Pan-Asian toddlers and amazing cheekbones on their way to Saturday kiddy hip-hop lessons. Also, because the ice cream stand was located along the Singapore River.
For lunch, I had a seafood aglio olio that I used to distract myself from entertaining thoughts of spending my next allowance on a twin-lens reflex camera. Us workshop participants had some interesting conversations, e.g. being mistaken for a lost tourist deep in the heart of Bedok. Topics included: teaching, what to do in the coldest cinemas in Singapore, and how needing a salad for dinner is very French. Additionally, despite being male, teenage and half-bald, I did not feel like the Other there. (At uniformed literary events, wearing anything with the school logo instantly made me a novelty. People gawked and found it adorable to witness folks from the heartlands trying to make it to the cultural elite. It was horrible.)
After churning out a personal poem about ill-fitting shoes, the mediocrity of having a blister and the somewhat contrived allusion to strained relationships, I left and greedily stuffed myself with a monster cookie and a chocolate chip cream drink. Then I found myself standing in front of Best Fries Forever with a cup of Gusto Garlic in my incipiently pudgy hands, trying to shake off the crippling angst stemming from a postponed choir ice cream day. (Here, the narrowing of eyes at guilty parties' facebook profiles.)
Unsurprisingly, my worldview is shaped solely by food. Unsurprisingly I also stole that line from 30 Rock. I am halfway done with Bossypants. My father is sitting nearby at his iMac, trying to figure out how to create a, what they call, a 'tiny url.' Why does he need to create one? Why is my mother rising from her chair to join-in his journey of learning and discovery? Why did I eat that last bag of hot-n-spicy chips? Why is "How to see who viewed your profile!!" an event in itself? Why are my eyelids suspiciously heavy this evening?
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