27

It was the time of year when a movie

By Chris Nolan couldn’t last forever.

As expected, my iPod died after an hour,

The Mac chose a grave beside his buddy.

No music, no movie, it was Economy

Class. Boredom caught on like a fever.

The pilot droned as the airplane quivered.

Holding an empty cup, I lifted my wrist to see

The time. I rolled my eyes. This was agony!

It was a frigid winter, but it would be warmer.

I would fight and argue, but hey it’s my brother.

The food would be Indian, not the Fresh Food Café.

I would sleep and sleep thirteen hours a day,

My home: Singapore… sigh, just 27 hours away.