Frustration and I

Sometimes frustration wins.

Like yesterday, when,
fleeing the institutionalised stupidity
that NS can sometimes be,
I ran over to Empress Place,
and saw, across the water,
a row of our history painted over
with the plastic colours of the tourist industry

Or when, last weekend,
after supper at circular road,
I saw girls confidently
offering themselves to passing expats,
savouring their objectification,
proudly stripping off
every last shred of pride.

But then I tell myself to take things
one step at a time.
To know that history
is ours to repossess;
that mine is a generation that,
having discovered the world,
now longs to find itself;
that we can be who we are,
and proud of it.

That’s when I win.



- 3 March 2008