favourite scene from chungking express, a toss up between faye wong's magic-clean love and the narrow alleys of tsim sha tsui where indians gargle cantonese and hindi in the same oral cavity -- days when tony leung was most beautiful, most winsome. milking the nus library resources to the max, too many books and films and worlds to escape to, me in second-handed earphones never knowing how to operate the dvd machines
days walk themselves into a wild frenzy, and the nights are too short. i met a professor who staunchly disbelieves in technology, who does not own a phone. she said she was free, almost too wistfully, then added that she would not be the sucker who answers her phone on the first ring, the sucker to whom work will be delegated to...would not be at the beck and call of a prison cell number, an identification of seven numerals in a row. she sounded sad at the end of the sentence, and someone faced her and said, i heard you do not sleep -- i heard you answer emails promptly even at three am. to which she laughed, and said but she would not ever own a phone, and she doesn't watch tv. somewhat sadly, but maybe i imagined it -- can't get her grown-up-and-old hands out of my mind's eye, sad staid digits, the sort she'll never be.