My kind of Chinese New Year goodies

Notes to a Suicide
                             At 16

1
Don't ask for a clear inventory
of reasons for my decisions - too much guilt
stemming from dishonourable desires,
a lack of understanding from my parents, friends -
as they add up simply
to a loneliness. 

2
Maybe I will do it in December.
Just after Christmas, so as not to spoil
anybody's fun. but then New Year would
no longer be propitious, with the news
of such an ill-omened exit. I could do it
on my birthday. But that would be June
and such a long time from now. 

3
I could have done it this morning
upon waking, opened the window
that would tug at my hand like the hand
of a child eager for me to share the view.
I could have shrugged hesitation
off like a robe falling to a shapeless
heap around my feet. 

4
Imagine it: my face on the last page
of The Straits Times. Passport-size,
no less. A grin on my face, for sure,
mother having chosen it herself.
But do not mistake that grin for irony.
Among veterans, I will be the exception,
the prodigious newcomer for arriving
before my time. And so imagine it:
that finishing tape at the end of the race
tightening to an arc across my chest.

Chinese New Year goodies: Cyril Wong's poetry borrowed from Joy and a watch gifted by dad. I was in his study room helping him to sync the music in his iTunes to his spanking new iPhone 5. I was contemplating sitting him down and teaching him to sync his own music once and for all; especially since he changes his phones every three months or so. He walked in, placed the watch on the table and carelessly said, "Nah, give you." My father, born in the year of the ox and a Taurus by horoscope, is always so awkward when it comes to expressing his emotions and affection. Nevertheless, I'm not complaining. A gift from my dad, I'll take it. I'll take it as a sign that he loves me.