My ghosts of West EW1.

it feels like years since i last visited this place. it seems so different in so many ways. children have grown up, buildings have sprung up, trees have been cut off.

they once told me to call this place "home". i did. but it was not worthy of the title.

welcome to the west side of Pasir Ris.

i've just finished work; that's in the East side. i've long promised myself never to have anything to do with this town anymore, but my friend got me a job here, so i didnt have much choice. still, i've always been avoiding the West side. that's where i used to live.

i press the traffic light button. it probably doesn't do much; just a placebo, but here i feel a sense of control. i stare at the blocks across the road, stare through my hair which the wind blew all over my face. when i finally shove my messed up locks aside, my eyes start to tear.

there are ghosts of the memories past. when i was a little girl and my parents held either one of my hand; pulled their hands up to swing me because they knew i liked it. when i was 15 and my first love brought me around on his bike; my hands gripping his shoulders as he raced down the slope.

the memories are gone. but the ghosts linger.

like they always do.

as i press the button for the ninth floor, i find myself brought back in time. this feels so normal. like i just went out with my friend and am returning back to my parents and brothers now.

it's been half a year since that could have been labelled as "normal".

the gate to my old house is unlocked. i opened it; "Assalamualaikum", i said.
since i am no longer living here to disrupt that peace. i thought.

my little brother is there, with his soccer ball. it really feels so normal. we don't say a word about our separation; neither do we rejoice about our reunion.

the last time i was here, my clothes were all stuffed into garbage bags. now, they're all neatly folded, some laid on my bed and some squeezed into the cupboard which door i had broken during one of those times i lacked self-control.

the calendar on the shelf is collecting dust; it's a 2012 calendar, still on its December page. that was when i left this house.

my younger brother irritates me like he used to, all the time, and vice versa. he's the only thing from this house which i dare admit i miss. he was the only thing which made it a lot more pleasant.

i used to be the only one who showers in the kitchen bathroom; everyone else did so in the master bedroom's, because they all liked the cold water and didnt need the heater which only the kitchen had.

but now i see the mess of shampoos and soaps in where i thought would have been completely dry. "is someone else showering in the kitchen toilet now?" i ask my brother.

"papa." he answers.

i ask him whether Mama has agreed on contributing to my school fees for me, because i couldnt depend on myself alone for that. they are still discussing, he says.

what is there to discuss? are they really washing their hands off of me just like that? no matter what wrong i did, arent i still their responsibility?

and all those things i did for them, through out all those years before 2012; are they gonna forget those just because of one year?

____

i can live on my own. i have my grandmother, my aunt, my boyfriend, and my new classmates. i dont need to go begging from someone who abandoned me.