In the bus, two male twins in identical blue and white uniforms are sitting in front of me. One has red Mickey shoes, the other has yellow ( I forget the brand) shoes. One is blabbing away in a squeaky voice, the other has his arms folded, staring morosely at the rest of the busload of people. One grins mischieviously and prods my cello case with his foot, the other looks at me with liquid quizzical eyes. And now, the silent one reaches over and tries to insert his fingers into his brother's ears, who in turn tries to stick his fingers into his brother's nostrils.

The Shostakovich cello sonata in D minor Op 40 is repeating itself like a working record in my head, and I feel sick already.

"Anger is but a cowardly extension of sadness", says Alanis Morissette, but when does sadness stop and anger begin?

Tonight I will have another engagement with death, playing for another one of those wakes. "Singapore Casket, Jade Room, 8 pm" goes the email notification. Jade Room, Ruby Room, Emerald Room.. Strange isn't it, with all these brightly coloured stones, we wear black and spoil the mood. It is cruel to attempt to force cheer on an obviously grievous occasion. Then again, people would rather contend with false joviality then face the bleakness of a person's absence, given that most of us are anti-realists, are we not?