Trapped in an open-concept jail, with a pool on a higher level. The reason for being in jail is now inconsequential, the focus of our group has changed. From a Mandarin Duck, it’s now a snowy white owl that glides along the pool. Momentarily confused about whether it’s a rabbit or an owl, I pick it up and it stretches its wings out, extended to their full glory. How beautiful and magnificent, the power it exudes, yet such loving, soft eyes.
My father is there too, watching as I connect with the owl on an intense spiritual level. Soulmates.The scene changes and I’m screaming at him, pounding my father’s chest with my weak, tiny fists. They pummel him repeatedly as I ask where my owl is. He tells me they have wrapped it up, made it into Char Siew Rice. My father begins shouting at me, scolding me for daring to hit him, to have the audacity to shout at him: Am I asking for a beating? Push him aside. Run to the owl. Sob as I scream for a penknife, a scissors, tearing not one, not two, but three layers of plastic away, finally reaching my owl, char siew rice plastered across ever inch of its snowy feathers.
My baby, I weep, my poor, sweet baby. An infant it is, as I wipe the rice off. The eyes are still soft and imploring, what a beautiful soft brown they are. I fell deeper into these eyes that never turned away as I stared into them.
Rush to the toilet. Fill up an orange basin too small to wash the baby in. Start filling the larger sink up with warm water. wash the infant. wipe it clean, be careful of its neck, the poor thing, so very small and fragile, too small to be healthy, to be real…
It’s now a male doll, Bratz Doll in features but resembling a Ken Doll in size and proportion. Wash the doll; immerse it face down several times, for brief periods of time. I did as the two men commanded, but stopped after a while, hugging the doll to my bosom. Felt its pain and discomfort, the fear and confusion that so obviously flooded its visages.
A shop, characters similar to The Most Popular Girls In School youtube series. There’s the queen bitch, hating on me. Another lady, the outcast, working to satisfy the demand of Queen Bitch, aka owner of this Muji-lookalike stationary shop. We start arranging the stationary, from pencil sharpeners to staplers, to really small and inconsequential pieces that are but colourful bits of plastic in the same shape, but seem to serve to purpose at all. I notice that one of the pencil sharpeners are of a different brand, that at the back it holds staple bullets. It’s longer, with a different brand name. Better put it in the other shelf… The other shelf has tons of them, it must be where this belongs. Continue the sorting… Why is it sideways, I’m too short to reach the other end. Let’s turn it to face me.The owner of this Other Brand is cute indeed. I apparently just finished helping him with something, and he throws me a wearied smile. Don’t mess with the Queen Bitch, sir. It ain’t worth it.
Kids appear, and a fight ensues. They attempt to take that small shelf I’m working on, along with the colourful bits and pieces. upon refusal, the little imps take out guns, paintball guns I assume. A fight ensues.