The Night is Still

I love the Water. And the Night

I started this habit of visiting my aunt’s home in a compound in Satwa to accompany my other aunt here who just came from HK. If I were not helping out in her job search or touring her in malls, I kept her company at home. All the while the image of the compound’s turquoise pool was permanently etched on my mind, and the urge to just jump onto the crystal water was just too great.

I do not know what makes me too enamored on pools and beaches. When I see one I would fight the instant urge to ask if I could go ahead and splash in. I always forget to even take off my wristwatch and eyeglasses. And eventhough I never know how to swim, I can manage to float for hours, and I will not mind the sun burns. Then after a four-hour morning dip, I’m already looking ahead for the nightly floats. This is almost bordering on irrational.

When the night come and the whole compound is unlit, the half-moon hanging on ebony sky, I wade the shallow parts of the pool (I still do not know how to swim). I love the feel of the war, salty water, wondering where the hell do they source the clean, salty water every week. I love it when my plump, heavy body floats on its glassy surface, the heavenly feel of my legs and arms swirling, trying to mimic a mermaid or a seasoned swimmer. I feel sexy. I also love the rush of water into my ears, blocking all the sounds, and all I hear are the rippling water and my breath. Everything feels peaceful. Thoughts or voices do not plague me on the pool. They all flee at the thought of a pool or a beach. Especially at night. I love it. I love it that the night is still.

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