Confession

I want to be different, but I lack the guts to stage a rebellion. Make a mistake, say the wrong word, my conscience screams into my head. I am troubled by my own morality, enraged by my own sense of justice.

I look at people in higher positions of authority, and I wonder how they can blatantly get away with everything. They need not fret over letting anyone down. They view such acts of irresponsibility as their right. Lowly 'slaves' such as me will never get to question their motives. We are taught to strife, to suffer, at their own minute whims of comfort.

I toil under the sun with my freinds. These are my buddies, helpful honest and hardworking guys. Their the only reason why I work like a dog. I will never want to be a liability to them. That is my principle. We are all getting out of this hell hole. Hang in there guys, we'll be able to say byebye to all these bastards really soon.

I do not have much to say about where I am now...it really is the worst place to be.

Sunset

The pipe is made. I make my way down the gangway, feet sore from the excess use of safety shoes. Everyone is heading home, their faces are jovial as they wave goodbye. I reach the bus-stop, and there are only a handful of commuters in waiting. I take a gentle leap and lay my bump to rest on the side bars. The climate is humid, albeit the darkening sky.

The shuttle arrives. She is a huge machine, manned by a burly driver who decorates his shoulders with rose tattoos. He bites onto a toothpick, probably a placebo for his nicotine addiction, and dons a pair of broad rimmed shades, to accentuate his rugged stature. We board the bus, and the medley of Thai hits on the sound system perturbs me.

The rough humming of engines induces a feeling of tranquil sleep. My head is tilted to the glass window, my eyes having seen this road countless times, and my placid mind drfiting into oblivions parallel to my existence. I exhale, casting the burden of work, assimilating the comfort of peace.

The destination is the train station. It rests on the foot of a hill, where my secondary school resides. The old buildings have been torn down, replaced my towering structures with new urban designs. Years ago I ran up the hill with my satchel each morning, being the perpetual latecomer. I get off from the bus, there are no students at this time, except a bespectacled boy, with textbooks slipping out of his sweaty palms as he walks briskly towards the escalator of the station. a split second blink, the boy has disappeared.

The platform is not as crowded as I envisaged. A young couple cling and fondle with one each other, oblivious to the outside world. A young man receives a text message and smiles to himself. A woman skirts past and I inhale the scent of her perfume. One minute before the east-bound train arrives.

The doors open. It is the last cabin of the train. My hands clutch the handle bar, and I'm greeted with stares from both sides. I believe I must have disturbed their own train of thought. It is only monetarily. their eyes move away and I'm relieved I did not forget to zip up my fly. I alight at the next stop and allow all the rushing citizens to contest for escalator space. Middle-aged woman are seen distributing flyers at the entrance. It is easy cash, no smiles nor cajoles. Give them the paper. They will drop it in the bin next to you.

The malay boys continue their sepak takraw session at the park. Yuppie parents arrive to pick their toddlers up from the day care center. I hear screams and laughter, and they turn soft as I climb the steps of the bridge that leads to home.

The lift opens and I walk in. The dim light above my solitary company. I attempt to prevent the sudden outbreak of pespiration. It is futile. I reach the ninth floor and the high-rise breeze serves to ease my irritation. I stride down to flights of stairs and draw out my keys. The wooden door is heavy, but it swings open with ease. The life I know has returned to me.