NON FICTION: Opportunity Costs

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One of my prouder moments.

I never really talk to strangers. That’s besides the fact that I can’t hold small talk for nuts. But my conversation with Eileen was as effortless as reciting the alphabet, and the return flight from Siem Reap was over in an instant.

As she gathered her little backpack, I asked her if that was all she had throughout her couple of years in Southeast Asia.

“Yeah,” she said, a smile in the corners of her mouth. “It’s little I know, but many people live with less, and this here is all I really need.”

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NON FICTION: No Mistakes in Life

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Behind our smiles lay the seeds of doubt.

He took a failing airline company and turned it for profit. Then he was thrust upon an international disaster, to which he showed the world what leadership meant. He’s also my new boss, and today, I’m about to give him a haircut.

My tools clatter in my trembling hands. Wait, did I say tools? I meant a shabby kit made out of office scissors, a wooden comb, a women’s disposable shaver, and a bottle of mineral water. Tony Fernandes looks at me, a stretch of bubble wrap hanging off his neck at an angle.

This is going to get messy, I say to myself.

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NON FICTION: The Singaporean romance (Part II)

Finally, I’ve gotten around to continuing this personal recount. Read part one here.

***

The phone rang, and I would sooner chew on broken glass than pick up the call. Cindy rarely called anymore, so when her name registered on the screen, I was sure that having a serious talk would be an understatement. I answered the phone.

“What the fuck, is that bitch, doing sitting on your lap.” It wasn’t a question. Also, there’s something about broken sentences that amplifies the perception of anger, especially when coupled with a seething calm.

“What lap? What are you talking about? We’re just friends!” I said in a tone somewhere between a comforting snigger and a cry for help.

“Don’t lie to me. And what the fuck, are you doing, hugging her.”

“Okay, fine. Fine. Babe, we need to talk.”

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