cut the heart out of the land

I opened the door today to a whole corridor of mucky cement. Yes the 'upgrading works' are still in progress though the term is rather dubious for what looks like a major attempt to make the place look like a mental institute or a renovated Changi prison. So I attempted to leave the house, but found that I was stranded on a little island of newly dried cement, with my cello. To my right was the stairs, which was sealed off with masking tape and wooden planks. And on top of that there were numerous huge pots of plants lined up on each step of the staircase, stretching to about 4 storeys below. (I live on the twelvth floor.) However, the option of squishing through a corridor of wet cement to get to the lift wasn not an option at all, given another flimsy barrier of masking tape, and an Evil Looking Man on the other end frantically waving his hands at me every time I took a tentative step forward. After about 3 minutes of pacing around on my island acting like a burdened lost ant, I decided to venture down the stairs. The prospect of getting poked by thorns and splinters was infinitely better than getting boxed by Evil Looking Man.

Thus began the plodding through the urban jungle a.k.a. not-so-standard obstacle course.

Kick away the planks, barge through the masking tape then peel it off after, hold cello in front as shield from intrusive leaves and numerous dangerously wobbly/flaccid cacti (What's with all the cacti! We are not living in a desert!) Above all, do it stealthily without sounding like a hippo crashing through the jungle, so as not to attract the attention of more Evil Looking Men. Repeat till feet touches solid ground. Which felt like forever.

This whole block makeover thing is not working very well. Painting walls white and sickly pastels is like an open invitation to the many students from the 'neighbourly' schools to, well, paint the walls red. The fourth storey has been attacked by a chocolate ice-cream streaker, and the green town council dustbin has been the target of a wandering night arsonist. On my way to school last week I noticed the green plastic melted down to a puddle of green goop, leaving only the naked metal barrel standing exposed like a peeled banana.

And why is it only the top two storeys that are splashed with pastel pink paint, while the rest of the other floors get the blue! I feel sick already.

The joys of being a heartlander.