Don’t

  • Do not have sex with your friends. No matter how lonely you feel.
  • Do not think someone is your friend just because they say they are.
  • Do not allow yourself to feel comforted if a man texts you often and is keen on meeting you. (Chances are you haven’t slept with him and are still a novelty.)
  • Do not be surprised if a man stops texting and wanting to meet after he’s slept with you.
  • Do not be impressed if a man continues to text you after he’s slept with you. Especially if he texts less than he used to before the sex.
  • Do not expect any man with whom you’re having casual sex to take you seriously when you say you are busy because of family and work commitments.
  • Do not choose to give someone you’ve known for ‘five minutes’ the benefit of doubt. There is a 99.99% chance that you will be disappointed.
  • Do not assume that you will know these things just because you’re over forty and a mother.

 

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No One

You like your own company but every now and then you’d like to laugh at a joke that isn’t your own; listen to another person’s opinion (that is not an Fb post or a tweet); connect with someone you know, even if it’s through WhatsApp.

It has come to the point where you are willing to barter yourself for some conversation, some company: A kiss for a smile; a blow job for his views on Brexit; a fuck for the story of his childhood. But people are not kind. You should know this by now, but you still hope for the best, or are fooled, or fool yourself. In the end, please try to remember that no one cares how you feel.

 

 

The Dead

Microfiction By Daphne Lee

She watched the dead walk by, in single file. They did not look dead. Not rotten. Not grey. But if you looked carefully, you noticed that their eyes were unfocused and they dragged their feet slightly. There were men and women of all races and ages; there were children. One woman carried a baby. An old man shuffled by, his arms held out to his sides, as if for balance.

‘Ke mana mereka pergi?’

‘Entah,’ said Azrul. ‘Where can they go?’

‘I mean …,’ she licked her lips, ‘they must be going somewhere. Right?’

He shrugged and glanced back at her. He gestured in the direction of the long, long procession. “You have to find out for yourself.’

She took a step back, her hands closing into tight fists. “But I’m not—’ Adam’s expression stopped her from continuing.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’s early days. You’ll get used to being dead.’