last night/ today we witnessed jurong spring from light to dark; deep night to dawning day, carried forth from our fatigue by currents of conversation. the occasional lone stranger wandering about past midnight, an aunty picking up cardboard by the tables, groups huddled on the open basketball court beside McDonald’s having late night heart to heart talks. at 1am the noodle shop uncle sieves through bean sprouts with vigorous gestures, old chinese music streaming from a radio his only companion. at 2am the aunty at the popular economical bee hoon stall chats with us as she slices luncheon meat perfectly evenly and chops up multiple baskets of vegetables; she starts work at 12am and her hands never stop moving until their food sells out at 1pm. at 3am the uncle at the 24h prata shop has only fish curry left and jokes that if he didn’t like making prata, he wouldn’t have been at his job for the past 6 years. at 4am the butcher uncle sharpens his knife in the eerie glow and shares that the only things you can never stop learning in life are values. at 5am we sit beside an aunty who owns a dried goods store; she is waiting for her son to open shop and tells us that this market is filled with friendly people, some of whom we have been blessed enough to meet.