A dog dies and it doesn't know when. Even if it did, it would have been wagging his tail nonetheless. "I don't have a story to tell." My life isn't sad enough to make something beautiful, because when I finally found my peace and joy, there was nothing left in me to create something special. I'm not special. I'm not special because I, I'm too happy? What now, then? When your back is turned away from the silent void, when you need not hear your echoes for another ear is there to receive it. No longer thrown away into the thrash. I go out now: my bicycle is tied to my art I guess. The more I descend down that tiny hill, wind in my hair, sweat escaping my pores, completely quotidian - free from that backpack that I threw on the parade floor. I'm done with the rat race. I'm done, I told my mum. -- Yesterday, Tango took me by surprised. Two and a half hours, family drama, gays, lesbians, aunties, Hong Lim, and penguins. The bo...