2.58am now. it's a friday. early morning
i have earlier slept about three hours after dinner, according to the only witness Mr. Lua
last night i was sitting at a local franchise cafe, toastbox. it's decorated / designed with some old stuffs from the mid to 70s 1900s, type writer, rusted trophies, old certificate, old photos, rusted saxophone... the wooden frame of its window has been specially treated to give that kind of worn out feeling. the temperature was cool (because of air-con), windy (because of fan). i have no book with me, and i sat, sipping the black coffee (we called it Kopi-O-Kosong), waiting for my friend. I looked around, there's a girl in pale yellow singlet and shorts (or it's short enough to be called hot pants?). There's an old lady whose hair is in red, i saw her partner bought her drink, brought it over, sitting across the table. There are groups of friends drinking cheap coffees (it's roughly 1 dollar each), sitting close to each others (the wooden table is really small, really, smaller than an A3 size, I feel), chatting, looking into each others eyes
and i was waiting. observing. enjoying the stories happening around me
and i've just received a gift online. a writing of a gal about her meeting with her long-time-no-see boyfriend. sincere love and happiness flows out from her writing. i noticed someone said, do keep me jealous of you two : ) the relationship of friends does mean different things to us than paparazzi. we are happy for them, and if we see them separated, we are quiet, and we wish that his/her wound heals with time. and so i secretly wish my girlfriend & her beloved, my boyfriend & his girl stay happy with their beloveds
and for myself. i mean. my love story is something worth to be written and shared, i thought, but i will probably do that when i turn old... white hair. more clumsy. when my grandchildren run around me... or i will bring the story with me when i leave
and when we have left school, and when we have to feed ourselves and even our family, and when we have to spend huge amount of time doing something so called "work", it's just different, very different from our childhood happiness (& sorrow). I mean I think I will be happy, happier than I am now, if I successfully sell myself to that radio station by end of Aug/2010...
Meanwhile. I'm tired. Demotivated.
After working on something I truly like, and back to these days dealing with scanning, calling, registering, liaising...
After work, still, I have to make time for myself, for us, for my family, for my part-time job... : | i m just... i need a break
by the way, welcome back, dear zc.
***hmm... so what it's sweet about this bitter blogspost? Probably, just look at the sorrow I'm feeling upside down. it's a true blue bliss
