home on the range

I'm going home tomorrow. To the place where I spent the first 18 years of my life. Where middle-age uncles still ride around on ancient motorbikes clad only in boxers and wooden-clogs. Where the first thing you breathe in/step on when you put your foot out of the door is the friendly neighbourhood chicken/cat/dog's shit. I can still go on with "where trees are climbed and poured pee on (as fertilizer for the fruits, see)" and "where children and household animals alike roam freely in vast fields of greens and blossoms under the bluest sky ever beheld" and such but I shall stop before my city readers vomit and my hometown readers strangle me.

I miss my childhood days. More so because I wasn't the best-behaved exemplary child/teen. I had my fair share of biting the dust trying to fight with bigger guys, ass biting the rod when verbal threats to be obedient didn't quite work (which is more than often - a trait I carried proudly to this very day... the disobedient part not the ass-caning part dammit), building a tree house with my younger brother and 2 neighbour boys and nearly burned ourselves to death trying to celebrate our success with barbeque lunch...

I have an abundance of stories to share. Buy me free food with Ribena and I will. For now, I'm marinating in anticipation to return to my little town with houses blasting tung-tung-chiang music at full volume and share "remember when" jokes with old high-school friends (a particular "lai-lai-lai" reminiscence never fails to tickle me and Eryn).