Crying shame

In keeping with my habitual lateness when it comes to everything, one day after September 11th, I would like to hark back to that Monday night, exactly five years ago, when I thought my brother meant to say a plane had crashed into Singapore’s World Trade Centre, the one across the bay from Sentosa.

Even in front of the telly, watching the towers burning, I didn’t really comprehend the loss of life that had occurred and was to come. I’d thought, naively as usual, maybe no one was at work yet. Maybe it was a Sunday in the U.S. Wishing and hoping. When everything went crashing down, and the blood drained from the BBC presenter’s face as he, even he, struggled for words, I turned to my gran and intoned, nothing would ever be the same again. The urgent wail of fighter jets launching from the nearby air base seemed to echo my soothsaying mood.

The rest of the night was spent glued to the news, for scraps of shared solidarity, more than anything else. No real thought of whodunit, no real expectation of survivors — though I was still numb to the numbers dead. The next day in Critical Theory, I thought maybe there would be some frankness about last night; but save for a most subtle query by Dr P if a talkabout was needed, which prolly flew past the ears of most, nothing happened. Regrettable.

Since then, the world has changed, as it was wont to do anyway. And every September 11th for many years to come, those who perished unwillingly in NYC and Pennsylvania and Arlington would have their names recited and broadcast across the world, unlike the tens and someday hundreds of thousands who have followed in their wake, civilians and soldiers alike from all sides of the story.

Caught an anti-war protestor on the telly last night — ’twas a pitiful sight to see such forcefully delusional inarticulation strike such a worthy cause. But go on squabbling with words, not weapons, thank you.

In more mundane matters, am recovering from a nasty bout of tonsilitis, complete with raging fever unchecked through sheer tiredness. Vision is a bit blurred now, I worry. And the occasional chest pain is returning. Hope it wasn’t strep throat affecting my valves and what not. Will know for sure whether it is or is not the streptococcal bacteria by Friday. Almost had to plead with GP for a lab referral to check. Didn’t want to take antibiotics needlessly, see; hope it wasn’t to my everlasting detriment. I don’t wanna become a statistic too early, ay.


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