It happened . Not fictional .

originally uploaded by shangz.

It started rather innocently , i woke up with a impending sense of dread . The same sense of dread that i can count on to greet me every morning , foreboding some kind of horrendous torture that awaits in school . As i struggled with selecting the T-shirt of the day , by the time i left the house , i was slightly late . I left without breakfast . Little did i know , one tiny transgression would lead to another .

I waited for the bus . The bus arrived , packed to the brim as usual . The same old bastards occupying the same old bus . Same old behavior , not understanding the concept of moving to the back of the bus . Same old expensive bus fare . Only this time , i didn't feel like paying . I did not .

It reminded me how i could just jump over the turnstiles in paris , if i wanted to . It reminded me of paris . which in itself is a huge chasm filled with melancholy. Then i thought of the tarte aux citrons at pierre hermes . Then , the lemon citron tart at starbucks came to my head.

Mind you, i didn't intend for this to happen . My morning grande vanilla latte has become a too comfortable routine to abandon. Only this time, the lemon citron tart sitting in the fridge keep reappearing in my mind. I forced it out of my thoughts , afterall , this poor student only have a few dollars to my name and i can't possibly get a vanilla latte and a lemon tart . That would be too decadent . almost sinful .

The trains , as the bus , presented the same old challenge every morning. The same group of bastards who refuse to move into the centre of the car and refuse to keep to the left . The obstacles are endless . Finding the right door , like the lucky contestant in the game show , the sliding doors open to reveal a miniscule spot for me. The difference . This doesn't feel quite like the million bucks . I stared at the TV on the train , blaring the same anti-terrorism messages . I contemplated lightly the effects . Have we perhaps become too paranoid ? This risk averse inherent nature of Singaporeans combined with a tinge of paranoia may just turn out to be a combustible combination. I wondered if the terrorists , instead of carrying the said big bulky bag may opt to carry the explosive device in a stylish LV tote . No . Impossible , materialism doesn't go hand in hand with their ideals . Perhaps in this way, people might notice the bag even more and the last thing on their minds before they blow up into smithereens is , "must be a fake". I digress .

Dhoby Ghaut then to City Hall. The switching of lines . The switching of thoughts . I walked from the white shiny station of the NEL to sombre marble featured platform in the North South Line. The train arrived . I thought of rushing down the escalator for it . Who was i trying to fool . Rushing for the train for Ethics class . The madness of the morning crowd must be seeped into my head. The mechanical whirl of train came and left . As i settled on one of those new avant garde sloping seats where you lean on . I looked my watch , wondering if i had enough time to get my latte . 8.25 am . The train was due to arrive in the next minute .

8.27 am . I'm in the train , rushing towards City Hall , possibly underneath each and everyone of those horrible jade-coloured glass buildings of torture . Going pass School of Economics and Social Science , Informations System , Accountancy and finally Business . I was reading my collection of short stories . The reasons i won't be coming was the title . It wasn't in anyway meant as an ironic device in this entire account . I chuckled at the title as the possibility crossed my mind . A moment of weakness , u could call it , or just plain lazy . Maybe i just wasn't feeling up for it . I didn't want to go for class and listen to an egotistical pompous asshole. The reasons i won't be coming became more than just a book . It was a list . There was the lemon tart to consider , the delicious grande vanilla latte , not to mention , i was halfway through my short story featuring a delicate story of loss .

As i strolled into to starbucks , Tom Estad was there , he waved and i waved back . It felt good . It was as if the mermaid worked it's magical powers and there was a familiar face welcoming into this oasis away from the insanity down the road . Without hesitation , in fact , without feeling poor , i handed over my card and paid for what i've deserved after the entire morning . My lemon tart and my coffee .

Everything was as delicious as it promised to be . I sat down with my breakfast , pulled out my book. I savoured every bit of it while the soft chatter of the french couple behind me and the soothing songs emitted from the speakers , formed the soundtrack to a very leisurely morning.