I am in Singapore and my breasts are like towers.

I’ve wanted to say that since I got here, but I’ve resisted since it makes no sense. It is a riff off Song of Songs 8:10: I am a wall and my breasts are like towers. I read that in church camp the summer after eighth grade; rumors were going around that Song of Songs had all the dirty stuff in it. Nobody did much about it save for me—I read the damn thing. 

I am in Singapore and the maid’s (the domestic engineer’s [Erna’s!]) cell phone ringtone is Aqua’s Barbie Girl. I can hear it playing right now, but she’s not in to pick up the call. This must be some sick joke of globalization that this little Indonesian Muslim loves the hell out of that song and listens to it while ironing. 

I am in Singapore and walked home last night. Chinese dog stared at me as I went past his window. I stared back at Chinese dog. He put his head down to the ground where I couldn’t see it and he brought up a toy, showed it to me. Wagged his tail. Can’t play with you Chinese dog. You’re inside. I’m outside. 

“Sustain me with raisin cakes. Refresh me with apples.” (SoS 2:2)