Rantglass - because that's how things are.

Flick it on, all night.

Flick it on, all night.

I wish I could roar.

Introducing: Twig, one of my companions in the garden.

Nah, it was just another one of those creatures that we called “four-legged snake” (huh?) in Cantonese, dropping by in our garden.

Little aunt seems to be having a bit of a mild phobia in handling the nephew. She responds clumsily (“Get the feeding bottle! Where’s the pacifier? Diapers!”), and attempts in vain to soothe the baby’s cries. She is afraid of carrying the baby, fearing that he might fall and break into a thousand pieces. She wakes up in the middle of the night to the incessant bawling. She feels insecure even when left alone with a sleeping baby. On the other hand, she cannot help but marvel at the tiny size of his fingers and toes. She smiles when he gives out the occasionally odd yet adorable sounds. She finds it amusing that the baby’s face goes all red whenever he launches into another one of his now infamous wailings. She melts when the baby seems to smile when he is content, snoozing happily in the baby bouncer. All in all, she is proud at the fact that he is, indeed a part of the family.

Well, it is a bit embarrassing to admit that the ‘little aunt’ is me (why, as if you did not already know that). I find myself in a situation akin to The Sims – in fact, the game pops frequently into my mind these days – almost wishing that the ‘crying’ baby cot will materialise into a child of about five or six years of age, complete with fairy dust and some sort of a magical tune “krrrriiiinnnng!” or “tada!”, any day now.

Of course, the growing process takes years. At times, it all just seems so surreal. I guess this sort of feeling regularly happens to those who would normally run away at the sight of curious toddlers and noisy kindergartens.

Top that with the fact that we were all once like that too – small and green, seated on the chair, legs barely reaching the ground, finding comfort in colourful wrist rattlers and wind chimes, demanding for attention day and night. Look where we are, now.

On another note, I thought I was going to go for Exabytes, but they did not respond to my hosting enquiries – that is not a good start. Anyone can recommend a good, and affordable local web hosting company? Yes, yes – I need to have my own personal space on the Internet. I harbour big plans to expand the net ring, house my design portfolio, and possibly throw in a website for photos as well – all that, in a place I could proudly refer to as my home on the world wide web. But we shall see.

I have to sleep with the bathroom light on. The apartment is empty tonight, devoid of the usual chatting sessions of my housemates, and the recognisable theme songs of Chinese soap operas from their computers. Strangely, I think I am going to miss all that when I move out in two weeks’ time.

Edit: Okay, I had to scratch that. I just paid a visit to the kitchen and noticed that the many white dots on the big black plastic bag on the floor are – horrors of horrors – maggots, some still twirling around merrily on the edges. Frankly speaking, whoever left that pile of rubbish (?) on the floor will have to clean it up herself. I can only wish that it does not contain a dead body.


On air now: Pistola, Incubus

Details of this entry.Sunday, March 28, 2004, filed under Blogger Archives.
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