the threads in her head

I want my dad to work again because he has the most beautiful leather shoes. Shoes that he does not wear now, not since he was retrenched and had to work as a taxi driver.

It's more comfortable to wear sport shoes when you work a taxi, you see. Comfortable to walk around in, less ostentatious, more befitting to his driver role. Red, black, white shoes - the standard issue for all Singaporean NS-men.

His old shoes were leather - chosen not just for looks, but comfort too. Not stuck-up, in-your-face pointed oxfords, but a boxed toe, smooth supple leather, often conditioned and cared for. Black, a soft black. My dad has always been picky about shoes.

To see his current shoes now, and recall those old shoes carefully packed away; shoes awaiting to see the light of day again, and go work, is a thought that hurts.