The new week began with a weary breeze I could barely withstand and painful attempts at fending off old questions that never seem to realise that there are no answers to empty hopes. But there was a palpable change in the air as you found the strength to breathe in passing showers and I ran around town like a headless chicken in pursuit of a remedy for failing memories.
The barometric dip was perhaps what drew a horde of termites from their nest in an Angsana tree by Bras Basah Road during the peak hour. As the city switched to a darker gear, the alates emerged like pulsating waves of smoke that briefly surrounded the trunk before wafting with furious wingbeats toward nearby street lamps. A dense entourage of blind workers saw off the nuptial flight of their fertile brethren, many of whom languished on the flowerbeds below the tree or succumbed to the jaws of prowling marauder ants. There seemed to be no end to the swarm as it rose to fuel the spirits of nocturnal hunters and seed the hollows of new canopies. Lacking the means to identify or capture the insects in any meaningful way, I could stay but for minutes, pursing my lips and hoping that no would-be queen would find her way into my nostrils and borrow in to take your place before this night's kiss is locked and sealed.