My parents know me better than I know myself. Someone who learned the hard way. I learned much later in life. Yaya wrung the neck of the hen then chopped off its head. Did a headless dash. Our bloodied driveway. Never met anyone so fascinated with rust, who took me to warehouses, cemeteries and shipping yards. We hurled stones in La RIve Gauche. All that hard work was framed and hidden underneath the bed, where it could no longer be seen. Discontinued my studies. Removed my designation. Left my scribble in his postbox where it remained unread. Walis tingting. He wouldn’t sit in the cinema after the movie had begun. I re-watched Tan Lines isolated in spirit. He never forgot my face but couldn’t remember my name.
