The window at my feet.
A warm bed with pillows all around.
Dozens of books at the front of the room, arranged neatly on all five shelves.
A text from a ghost.
The sound of someone gaming.
I pull my brother's hair and make some joke about him.
I get up, stare out the window and think about what I should do that evening.
The house is spacious, an executive flat, kept spick and span.
Mom's at work, I have to get my own breakfast as well as my brother's.
I am left to tend to my own life. I'm not sure if my parents know how much difficulty I'm having in my studies.
I am strong but I am lonely.
I have what I want but not what I need.
Too much mess that I have to simply sweep under the carpets.
The wind forces its way in and messes everything up, forcing me to fly with it.
The wind is a tornado ripping through my life, destroying everything.
I close the windows so the wind doesn't come in ever again.
I miss my old family. I want to return to Paya Lebar.
I am home. But I want to go back to my real home.
not where you came from.
not where you were born.
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