I went to Times Bookstore at Plaza Singapura today and got myself three books. All three books had to do with money, or more precisely, they had to do with the procurement of it. It felt strange how I had to spend money to learn how to make it; the books were not cheap.
After I had made my purchase, I proceeded to Dhoby Ghaut MRT station. At the station, while still pondering over how long it would take for me to recover the money I had spent, I was distracted by a girl.
I found her attractive. She looked my age, maybe a year or two younger. As I looked on wishing I had something to say to her, I noticed she was doing something very perculiar: she kept on looking at her reflection in the glass wall separating the platform from the track — in a way that reminded me of a parrot.
Looking intently at her reflection in the darkened glass window, she would suddenly tilt her head to the side. Her gaze never leaving herself. She would adjust her hair a little, then simply keep on gazing, head tilted. After a minute of gazing, she would walk away, only to return to do the exact same thing. It amused me, and I enjoyed watching this little game of hers.
I was looking at her — staring! — but she did not care that I did. She wouldn’t she have cared if the ground beneath her caved in. The way she looked at herself, you just knew she would float above the caved-in ground.
She was a picture of serenity. Of rebellion against the world. Her indifference would have made a rock proud.
Then the train came, and we parted ways.