The Book At Borders

I am XenoBoy. I am the Political Savant.

Yesterday, the Merlion was in tears. I missed the spectacle. Its a wonderful narrativist symbol, a Merlion in tears. Consigned forever to look away from Singapore. Guardian against the Other. Perpetually wounded and denied a Voice. Its role as a site of memory. Part of the fabric of our official memory. Originary state and terminal state determined. What are we when our memories are woven relentlessly into the National Fabric?

Was advised against going into the city due to the crush of X'mas revellers. Orchard Road was closed for a party. Decided to write a meaningless ficcione instead.

X was never a browser in Borders. She actually bought books. Notwithstanding the fact that Borders killed MPH and Times in singapore, local bookshops which played a huge formative part in her life, X still liked Borders. Somehow, books in semi wooden shelves always made more sense to X. The books seemed more comfortable. There was only one thing about Borders which bugged X. The magazine section. That did not belong in Borders. She wished that Borders would just kill off that section. It was valuable space wasted.

X was at the Fantasy/Sci Fi section. She always wondered why Fantasy and Sci-Fi was lumped together. In her own world, Fantasy was one section and Science Fiction was another. Two antithetical genres, but always lumped together in Singapore. Strange bedfellows. Always a semantic dissonance, a frisson, when she entered this section of Borders. She scanned the selections, have that, maybe go for that, get back to this later, hey what's this?

"My Life in One Page". No author name. Its not even a printed book. Its a jotter book. Jotter Book? Hard to explain, but its a book to jot things down. Its usually empty. But this was not.

Are you dead? If you are, you will understand this page. There's a higher chance to meet a fellow dead in this section. That's why I put it here. I am still vain. I am not having an existentialist crisis. I exist after all. I eat, sleep, work. I exist. But unlike all my neighbours around me with their swashbuckling worlds where there is a villain of such epic proportion, I exist in a world without villains. Everything is good. How are you? Good. How about you? Yea not bad. Everything is taken care of in my world. In my life, the only instability is when problems befall other people I know. Usually to do with family, love or money. Problems which are always dealt with individually. Mote problems. After a while, the equilibrium is restored within the larger order of things. Mottled problems on a perfect quail's egg.

I read my neighbours to feel the Big Problems. To experience the reality of life. life with a capital L. To make the circle meet. Everything is quite good in my life. Its abit like Heaven. Which explains why I am dead. After this introduction, would you buy a book of my life if it is more than a page?

So I thought I would do something naughty. I will write this jotter book and sneak it into Borders. Its a thrill. Its something risky. I could be a villain for while. Come in every week. To see if its still there. If its gone, I will wonder forever who took it. Is it someone like me? Whose life is just as good. Will my life in one page be transmitted. Or will it be taken by a staff and thrown away. Its no loss still. It was the act of putting it there. I was not dead for that one moment. Alive.

X left the jotter book back on the shelf. Between a Tim Powers and a Neil Gaiman. It belonged there somehow.

When she returned to Borders the following week. The jotter book was gone and she wondered where it went.

I am XenoBoy. I am the Political Savant.

Quote of the Day,

"I will finally learn how to perform for evermore the final scene of my Cyrano, I will see what I have looked for all my life, from Paola to Sibilla, and I will be reunited. I will be at peace. Careful. This time i must not ask her "Does Vanzetti live here?" I must finall seize the Opportunity" -- Umberto Eco, The Mysterious flame of Queen Loana