Letter to My 2-year old Son
Time passes fast, really fast. I remember very vividly the day you were born. I had to wait outside the theatre from 6am to half past 7 in the morning, just to wait for the gynae to call me in to witness your birth. There I was—dressed in the blue operating attire with a pair of rubber sandals I was told I had to wear in order to be able to enter the theatre—waiting in the lounge checking out for signs of anyone looking for me. Thou dressed, I felt naked under the thin clothes and baggy pants. The TV in the lounge was showing Channel U’s commercials, and the repeats of the same few commercials were making me lose my patience.
As the time ticked away, I couldn’t help but turned around checking the lift. I was getting restless; I needed…
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