how you have enclosed my everyday behaviour, how you dumbed down my childish tantrums, how you kept silent when i told you every deep and meaningless secret (also when i sing in the bathroom), how I've come to bore you with awkward guitar chords and pseudo falsetto arrogance, how you've seen my naked body =/, how we've lived together for more than 10 years.

dear house, you know me best.

i can say that with confidence.because its true.amazing because it is.just because.

i don't feel attached to you.quite the opposite.but one day, in far-off places, maybe.

and this is my humble home.static.

Dust.The inevitable trait of houses.

....and the Colgate is greatly outnumbered you can see as it is cornered to the edge of the cup.

my mom would mop.much to the ideals of middle-class suburban homes.

i remember once, when i was little my mum was away on a work trip and she called home.she cried because she misses her family.sorry mummy i was too young to understand.i would have cried too.

it came from Holland in a bag.it is now stuck to my fridge.before this i would go to other people's houses and see many of these magnet souvenirs or decorations on their fridge(s).My family caught on too it seems.


i dropped many sweet wrappers into this decorational vase.tho i never remember the kind of sweets.


the stairs i came to fear.because you have high walls and you are always the darkest part of the house.i often skip the last step.something that has grown into a habit early on.i do miss and trip.and i will do it again.and again.


and each with a different purpose.to aid, to learn and to play.you know the saying about wearing different shoes as a metophor for different personalities.well here's the saying realised literally.


like a globe, with different continent arrangements.

the pile of worksheets and work shit i've been given through out my secondary school years.and browse through, you will discover that they are mostly left undone and unchecked.but they do have their own distinct characteristics.one might have coffee stains.one might not even be mine.

the rest of the house/my room.a vision of division.bedroom, you and i have a restless love/hate relationship we should settle out.i abuse you for just barging in and sleep,you annoy me when that sleep doesn't come.


your strings they tire and rust.i cannot play you anymore.you now only last four times as long.i am afraid i cannot restore you to your former glory.remember that Talenteen? i sang like a squealing horse but you kept close.remember that prom?i sang too soft but you came through like i knew you would.


this post is brought to you by this plug.hi there.whenever there's a blackout, we would sit together in the living room.we would really talk.


you still look funny with glasses on tho i'd never admit.i cannot imagine the both of you sitting side by side wearing glasses talking about cheap bargains in the supermarket whist donning the words 70 years old on your sleeves.proudly waving the wrinkles constantly shapeshifting as they place themselves comfortably according to the movement of your faces as you find out your youngest son is going to marry.

you are not a castle, not a palace,not a magnificent mansion, you don't own the fanciest driveway, you crack and you creak, you've begin to groan through your days, you are my home.humble and unconcerned.

home is where the heart is.home is also where the heartache is.