forced out

Cold, cold day. In more ways than one.

The weather's been like that for the past few days, and I didn't fancy going running - I'm even getting into the habit of staying inside during my Wednesday lunchbreak instead of facing the elements. But the voice at the back of my head had been nagging me for about three days, so I reluctantly went out for a short trot today.

The paperwork was formalised this week. My parents have to move. They had hoped to grow old gracefully in the house they had lived in for the last 22 years, but that's not going to happen. They live in a nice estate of 34 terraced three-storey houses, all arranged in a U-shape around a small little pavilion, badminton courts, playground and swimming pool. Four generations have lived in their house, along with animals that just happened to wander in and never left - a tortoise, three cats, a mynah, a starling, a kingfisher (believe it or not). It must be that exotic forest of a garden my mother created. After they move, it will take some time for my family to get used to not being there, and certainly it will be a bleak day, when the greedy developers - who pulled off an en-bloc sale by convincing a majority of over 80% of the owners to sell - bring in their bulldozers. They are going to build higher-storey condos in place, to generate more money.

We went back in October partly to get remnants of my stuff out of their place, so they wouldn't have to move it over to their new house. They already have enough junk hoarded away in the fourth-storey extension that they built. It never became the study they envisioned, just an e-bayer's 501K plan. We also went back partly to say a sentimental "goodbye" to the house where I'd spent most of my life. (My parents live on the other side of the world, 13 hours away, and it was the last time we'd see the place.) We'll temporarily ignore the fact it's a house - that at certain periods of my life - I couldn't wait to get out of.



Many nights spent staring out the window pondering the meaning of life. As day breaks, the delightful sounds of birds filters into the room.



Messing around while on leave. It's only a camera tripod, by the way.



Patrick Roy tribute/I need to join an art class.


And learn how to work Photoshop properly.


"Don't take a picture of my bottom," she said. So I did.


Part of the forest at the front of the house.


Exemplifying the creative streak that runs in our family, this cat was called "Meow".


Near the house there is a lagoon where you can hand-feed tortoises.

Come March, the house will be nothing more than rubble. But it's the warm memories that make the place.

Goodbye, no 23. Thanks for the memories.