I went to Borders today.

Zooming through black concrete and finally stopping after a flurry of moving tv screens, I moved out of the train and into the underpass. Amidst gaudy flashing images that threatened to make one feel inadequate and pseudo-human cultural samples that promised a commercially better identity, I climbed the escalators one, two and three before catching the faintest smell of paperback through the chilly aircon. Raindrops stippling down the cone.

Boy was the place big. Been years since I last went. "The Shock Doctrine" - a book I've been reminding myself to get. Check. A little further down I saw Iris Murdoch's The Sea, The Sea. A bit too long. No idea who that is too. Down the shelf came Toni's Sula. Now that's a favourite! The Bluest Eye. Paradise. Make a mental note. Dragging my feet around the next shelf. Jiang Rong's The Wolf Totem. Reminds me of Gao's Soul Mountain. Hide one copy in the gaps of the topmost corner.

The Devil wears Prada? Eew. What's all these Chinese writers using sex to sell their book? And science fiction is not Star Wars. What happened to Ray Bradbury? What's with The Unofficial Biography of Obama appearing in the social science section. Whatz.

Milton's Paradise Lost. I start wondering why I keep walking around in circles and not choosing anything. My hands slide in and out crevices between the plastic covers, gasping for air and hurting at the nail folds. My right foot starts aching in the arch and I start to limp. My back feels numb from the squatting I've been doing. Then I realised why I had been so troublesome. Perhaps I wasn't looking for a really interesting setting. Or a twisted plot. Or even Naipaul's House for Biswas. I knew then, that I must be desperately searching for time.

Sigh. The magazines seem much more appealing. Short reads, easy digestion, captivating images. Ooh there's Top Gear Singapore now. Torque... Guitarist magazine. Ah. Kerrang. The truth behind Michael Jackson's death. Hmm.

Time to go! Bassist is waiting at Dhoby Ghaut. Oh Aravind Adiga's White Tiger. Hmm.... maybe next time. Perhaps next time, these books wouldn't look like white elephants anymore.