a tribute to the residents of blk 145 potong pasir:

dearest brave comrades, congratulations on your courage and perseverence in the face of the numerous obstacles constantly encountered in this precinct we call home. sweat has been dripped, fists withheld and eardrums tested; life is sweet despite the fact that:

- when you return after a long day of work/ school, the sweet smell of home means that (a) the rubbish truck has exactly timed its routine to your arrival, or (b) some bladder-challenged bastard has unloaded his cargo in the lift again.
- at the bus stop affectionately nicknamed "the bird-shit bus stop", you walk/run as fast as you can to avoid getting hit by weapons of mass destruction
- prior to the long awaited opening of NEL, they threatened not to open the potong pasir station
- when they finally relented, they took away all the public buses instead
- only taxi drivers don't reply with "huh? potong pasir? near pasir panjang issit?"
- you need to mention either chiam see tong or "opposition" before friends can go "oohhh! potong pasir!"
- car alarms blare for so long you wish someone would steal the damn thing already, or at least bash the system in
- you've had to endure the construction of an entire st andrew's village for so long, you feel uneasy when there isn't a reassuring pounding in the background
- now that the school is finally functioning, the school brass band is up and running too.
- and so is the hindu temple's music committee
- and the lion dance troupe from the cc
- and the occasional public karaoke session
- if you live in the top storey of the flats, the damn slanted ceilings are a pain or two.. hundred
- the hot, dry season only ends when the (already rare) pasar malam pops by; then the monsoon sets in
- said monsoon only ends when dejected pasar malam drags its feet away and vows never to come to potong pasir ever again.

(sometimes i'm so glad i stay in boon lay prison)