It's September 4th, and for the first time in a long time I'm not in Singapore. I'm a million miles away, inside a concert hall, shoulder to sweaty shoulder with strangers. One of my favorite places and ways to be. I'm not sure where this concert hall is, but it's winter outside; I'm pretty sure of that. There's still a rime of chill clinging to my skin. At the end of the night, when I've danced until I'm shaking and finally go outside, then steam will rise off of my body. 


It's September 4th, 2020, and Singapore doesn't fuck around with COVID. I spent months locked alone in my studio apartment, never seeing anyone in person for longer than it took a takeaway cup of coffee. That meant months without human contact, months without seeing another human without a mask on. That messes you up.

September 4

It is September 4th, late in the afternoon in Singapore. September is still summer here, so the endless heat is even more endless than usual. I'm downtown, meeting friends for a drink, wandering in the shadow of all of the Singapore postcard landmarks: Marina Bay Sands, the Singapore Flyer, Esplanade.