a tribute to mr tan

mr tan is a good friend of mine. good because we can talk, connect and see each other when we have no one to see.

that kind of good. not the other kind when we will die for one another. but you'll never know. because that kind of good is a good way to die. so we might die for another, but not so for the sake of the other person but more for the sake of a better way to die.

i try to remember narratives- the adventures of tan and lim. i'm sad to say that these stories aren't exciting. they are not even sad. they are merely happenings, like the wind blowing, clouds drifting, birds shitting.

i remember in jc days, walking with a group of people towards buona vista mrt, engaged in a conversation with mr tan. i cannot remember what we talked about, but i know we talked and somehow connected.

i remember in jc days, at pre-hip plaza singapura, mr. tan once took some drinks, leftover by strangers, mixed it and drank it.

what balls.

i remember him in worship, playing the guitar, in school, by the sea at marina. his own unique way of showmanship - as if playing was a sport he physically enjoyed.

i'm stuck to find narratives involving both of us. there are none significant. but there are fragments enough to piece together something.

the lack of spectacular narratives may mean that we are losers. allow me to speak for myself - i'm a loser, not because i lack narratives which i do but because i struggle with meaning, with purpose, with results.

i lack want.

mr tan is a good man. in a sad way, so am I. it's a sad sad truth - if somehow we were a little less than good, we will live far more interesting lives.

its frightening, the world we live in.

but let me salute you mr. tan. you're a good man and i'll be the judge of that.