Instead of me, this email finds




IDD entertainment calls for 90s kids: / “1 HKD for every 6 seconds. Seek parental approval before dialing.” / We didn’t, of course. / Long dysfunct contact numbers we still remember in the advertisement actor’s voice: 173173… 900-60-628-628 / “Press 1 if you want Mario to slide down the pipe. Press 2 if you don’t.” / Wrong choices brought us back to the beginning of the game. / Others games were: noughts and crosses, trivia quizzes, detective stories, but interactive. / I called the lines for girls / so instead of live housewives, I heard recordings of male actors, / their dramatic rendering of vulgarity in accents too proper and clear. / I giggled out loud at the salty wet stories / forgetting that the phone was in the middle of the dining room. / Big beating when the big bills came. / Money was a realer concept for parents. / It’s only years later / when Clubhouse’s retro voice message sex / was on the rise / we talked. / If there’s a time machine, / you would use it for one of the many wrong purposes: / tell primary school me / that dialing from public telephones in ParknShop or restaurants / was free, / that is, / excluding the time cost queuing with migrant workers who called home. / I didn’t ask how / boys could do this in public / without showing.






another email; an anonymous otter;

Echo’s underwater voice through a choppy

connection; the Nokia 3310 you

and your secondary school crush

no longer use, ineffective methods

to dodge contact tracing apps;

the most honest fascists; government

workers passing personality tests;

my test results; bad days, good days;

cuddling as an alternative career path;

Radu asking are you in the jacuzzi

again; imposter syndrome hitting

the massage function in that big,

warm pool of fuck me and this world;

me ignoring emigration stories

and strategies from BNO holders

who aren't my friends. Instead of me,

I hope this email finds ways for the world

to adapt faster than my exhausted ass.