Home Court.

4 apartment blocks, 1 swimming pool, 1 surau, 2 basketball courts. One of the courts is always occupied by some Indian Under-12 professional footballers, where there is no clear goal line and boots are not needed. The other court is one rim short. The halfcourt with a rim is what I’d like to call– home court.

I was there almost every evening for a few years after I stopped training at school. It’s a really ugly court though. The free throw line can barely be seen now, the wooden backboard shakes like it’s earthquake every time you hit a bank shot, and of course, no net.

We had a group of people who would come here most of the evenings, and we’d play till sundown. I was the youngest amongst them. Naturally I was always the one being bullied, and took every jumpshot I could get. Talk about playing with fucking giants. It was there that I really learned how to shoot better because I had no chance of getting to the basket.  They’d tease me by calling me “Shooter” or “神射手” all the time. I thought they meant it. Thinking back, a lot of them shoot better than me, I was called the names only because I was always afraid of going for layups.

After every session, we would sit on the court and chill for a bit. They would smoke a bit and talk about their online games, somehow they can’t get enough of the games. I’d sit and listen for a while, and after I had enough of the mosquitoes, I walked back home. I’d call it a great day if I played great and won some games. Simple as that.

Even on days that the guys didn’t come, I would go down to the court and shoot some hoops myself. When you have a bad day, it’s good to know that at least you could still hit a few jumpshots, and at the end of the day that keeps you sane…anchored. On days when it’s just me, some boys from the neighbourhood would come and shoot with me. Sometimes I’d even play pickup games with them, and they’d score all over me. I guess they call it a great day when they make shots over me.

One of those days I stopped going to my “home court” and started playing at school again. I forgot why. After I went to Singapore, it’s been a year or two since I played at my home court.

Today I just picked up the ball and went down to my home court. The Indian kids were still playing soccer on one of the courts. The rim had gotten weaker, and still no net of course. I was all by myself until a guy came onto the court.

“Remember me?” he said.

Took me a few seconds to figure out who he is. He was one of the kids from the neighbourhood who used to mess around here. I didn’t like it when adults told you how much taller you’ve grown since the last time they saw you. But boy was he been getting tall or wut.

“Do YZ and the guys still come here?” I asked.

YZ was one of the guys who was responsible for my shot-first instinct.

“Nah…haven’t seen them in a while.” he answered. Then he left.

There I was, expecting to play some hardcore pickup games with the guys to relive this once merry battleground, and ended up making layups that I’ve been practicing for a while, on my own.

“Salty Water Chicken” was the name of the saltiest dish of the night. The “Siamese Pork Leg” was very well cooked and the fish was subpar. Big feast and some awkward chatter were highlights of their night. It’s Mother’s Day, the mothers ought to have their dinner duties relived, albeit just one night where children feel obligated to treat their own mother nicely. There were lots of mothers in the restaurant. Some called the waitress over to seal some remaining dishes they couldn’t finish to take home, or “dabao” to be exact. Everyone fought for the bill when it was handed to the table, because paying for the meal is the cool thing to do. Happy night ended with some desserts.

Sally and her daughter had a great late dinner together. They don’t usually have dinner around dinner time, they’re used to having it late. Sally’s daughter is a smart and hardworking girl. A daughter who helps at home and does well in school is all that Sally hoped for. In fact it’s all that she has. That is what keeps Sally going and motivates her at work. Even having her shift on Mother’s Day evening was fine by her because she knew she gets to dabao the extra leftovers caused by customers’ overorders on these occasions. Sally’s daughter couldn’t hope for more than her favorite “Siamese Pork Leg”, and Sally couldn’t be happier bitching to her daughter about some annoying mothers.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Underneath the cupboard drawer.

At the airport.

He used to think that the airport is a beautiful place. People get suited up, go to the airport, and fly to wherever they wanna go. And the plane, it's such a beautiful vehicle. He used to wear his nicest clothes and gears just to look nice on the plane. The view from up there is so mesmerizing. Everything looked so small, your house, your city, your favorite mall. He felt weightless flying, nothing holding him back.

Today he looked casual. He looked as though he's a frequent flyer, walking around and going through the procedures like a boss. Didn't even bother to send cheesy goodbye text messages. The Internet makes goodbye text messages seem phony.

He had some coffee with his parents at McDonalds before taking off. They didn't really talk much; they're not that type. He just sat there, quietly. He didn't smile much today. He was just sitting there, into his own world of thoughts.

#

I guess he's a little bit different now. He used to be the kind of guy who makes all the sick jokes and laughs out loud all the time. He was always busy with stuff. He was never lonely. Now he still got the same funny bones, but his laughs were not so...real anymore. I don't think he's having fun.

I remember him talking about this key...the key to his cupboard drawer. I forgot what did he keep inside. It was something important i reckon, a bulk of letters I think. He was so upset that the key is gone. I guess he just left it at his dorm. He was so sad that day that he couldn't do anything, just hiding in his room listening to Mayday.

It was supposed to be a happy trip back home for him. He had been waiting for this one-month holiday for so long. All the food, places, people that he missed so much, although he never said it. As soon as he's back, he did all his usual routines that he would do back then. It wasn't very hard to adjust to his former lifestyle, he loved it. But something was missing. He didn't wanna admit it, but something's definitely missing.

On the morning of the day of his flight back to study-land, his face was as stiff as Kirsten Stewart. He didn't talk much. But he did something else instead of packing his luggage. He used all kinds of needles and pins to try to crack open his cupboard drawer. He was so desperate. When everything didn't work, he just hammered it forcefully. And then he started breaking down and slammed the door shut. He was alone in his room for a good half an hour, and he was still listening to Mayday.

#

Three minutes till boarding. They said their goodbyes. He took a last glance at his parents, and noticed the airport wasn't really as beautiful as he thought it was. He walked through the gate, feeling somewhat relieved. He managed to keep his cool.

"Welcome to Singapore", they announced.

He took a mental note to look for the key to his cupboard drawer right after he arrived at his dorm. Somehow he didn't look for it right away. He just lay down on his bed, falling asleep to the sound of silence.