Monsoon Season Singapore -

Her grandson, Wei Jie, was sprawled on the sofa, his face illuminated by the blue glow of his tablet. He was seven, born into a world of Grab rides and indoor playgrounds.

They walked home on wet pavements, stepping over earthworms that had been driven from their burrows. The air was cool, washed clean. The frangipani flowers in the garden glistened, heavy with water. monsoon season singapore

As they reached their block, Lin paused. The drains were still gushing, but slower now. The city had survived. It had been baptised again. Her grandson, Wei Jie, was sprawled on the

Lin ordered two waffles and two cups of kopi peng —the iced coffee so thick it was almost a syrup. The air was cool, washed clean

The rain began not with a dramatic clap of thunder, but with a whisper. It was the kind of whisper that Lin knew too well—a slight thickening of the air, a drop in the temperature of the wind that threaded through her kitchen window, and the sudden, frantic chattering of the Javan mynahs on her balcony railing.

“Ah Ma, why does it rain so much here?” Wei Jie asked, his mouth full of green waffle.

Wei Jie tugged her sleeve. “Ah Ma. The sun is here.”