EW7

Disclaimer: please read this series of posts starting from EW29, then backwards.

We both grew up in more than one place. Me, in the decades-old flat where my parents got married and my older brother was born. You, in a house next to your brothers' primary school, a luxury you were too young to appreciate.

You moved to Johor when you were seven, with the many siblings that could not fit in that flat anymore. Going through customs on your own was normal when you were in Primary One, while I still struggle alone as a 20-something.

But whether or not you were living in a flat in this old neighbourhood or the bungalows across the border, one thing was the same. Your parents revolved around religion either way.

Here is where you took all your classes, just a station away from the mosque that your father used to teach in. He's long gone, still climbing up the ladders and watering his head with values that he failed to shove down your throat.

But I don't care about him, knowing that you didn't. It is your relationship with your mother that I want to talk about.

I know she always wanted me to wear a headscarf, constantly asking you when would I? You even mentioned once, that she was willing to pay for me to take the same classes you did. I made a face, I know, but I swear to god in my solitude I sometimes considered it. I sometimes imagined me being a sweet little Muslim girl after we got married. You know me, I'm a daydreamer.

It's a pity, because I couldn't take you seriously. As the very cliche saying goes, it takes two hands to clap. I couldn't be the only one having to change when you were far from perfect yourself, and showed no interest in changing for the better. You know yourself. Our hotel habits back at Bugis and Aljunied proved that you didn't take her seriously yourself, so why did I have to?

I take some of the blame: I should have stopped you. But the same way you could never contain my anger, I couldn't stop your lust. We contributed to each other's flaws just by being ourselves, you being late and annoying, and me just being a woman.

Honestly, this old neighbourhood really does have some 'holy' aura to it. With the mosque and Ramadan decorations now, with the MRT roof that was inspired by old Malay kampungs. But you ruined that one Saturday morning, when you skipped class to bring me to a hotel stations away. When you said in my ear that you couldn't wait to put your dick in my mouth.

966, the only bus from Woodlands that would take you back. You brought me once, just to follow you collect your letters, but it was more than enough for me. My body still remembers climbing the overhead bridge, you talking about your childhood, and watching you flip through envelopes, majority of them bearing your mother's name.

When you left last year, I wrote a few letters to you. I even sealed them into envelopes with the address that I was confident enough was correct. But I never went as far as sending them, believing wholeheartedly that you didn't want to hear from me anymore.

Now I'm in the same state, only it all feels the opposite. Last year, I didn't think I could get over you, but I did; I was convinced you wouldn't come back, but you did. Now I wish you would, again, but this time you won't.

I still pass by on 21 every morning, and these few circumstances are already hard to ignore. Sometimes a lone bird flying circles in the distance or trains crossing each other outside Eunos are my only distractions, from the relationship that was destroyed by the only thing we had in common.