It is now the time of the year when we have the most rainfall ever. I always love rainy days, the way i love coffee and books. I don’t want it to stop, but somehow it gets wild and heartless, paralysing the whole city.
I am missing home.
At nights like this – when the skies grumbling like a hungry tummy – i can never get close enough to my dreams. As if it is swiftly blown away by the wind. As if the night rains washed away all my hopes and fears, leaving me soulless and again, cleaning my own slate.
I ask myself a question a day on Twitter. It is just an attempt to give meanings and measures of my efforts – in a way that we should be grateful of every little thing that we have, or that even our smallest contribution could do some changes the world – so that i can put myself to sleep with satisfaction, every-day. These questions are prominent, pushing me over my limits and yes, terrifying. I don’t know where this idea comes from but it seems to move me away from bad habits – like a good distraction – but somehow, addictive. I think we all need our own bubble – to keep ourselves sane – especially when dealings with negativity, or people influenced by bad experience whatsoever.
Those questions are my bubble.
Remember the movie ‘I am Legend’? Every time i cross the campus for shorter route or just to avoid traffics, i imagine my small family survived such an event, hiding in one of the buildings. The harm is all done and away, just that we are trying to rebuilding what’s left of the world – or at least a part of the campus that reachable. There we then find another two small families, and a few survived students who have hidden in the underground armoury lab of the army. They have food supplies, tools and materials needed. One family has medical background, another is … ok this is where it usually ends.
I know. I hate it. I hate it even more because i don’t actually know why i would have such imagination. I have another one, i even give it a title “My name is Prakash”, and i swear, it is weirder.
And i hate it when i use a lot of ‘i’s in my post.
Wish for tomorrow: backache gone for good.
Let say you play a game and you are at the final stage, and you are yet having too many lives.
Will you keep going to end it, be cocky that you are immortal, never once failed any stage, but actually you used cheats? Or will you go back to other previous stages where you scored low and amend, because you ain’t that perfect?
What would be your choice?
I breathe the smell of papers and ink these few weeks. There is such a chill in the morning when i am alone, tuning on the radio and the door at the back shrieking as if someone is entering. And somehow i can overhear girls chatter about their PMS, and how it hurt so badly that they couldn’t even attend classes. And sometimes the boys was so loud i thought somebody is in trouble. And at noon, there will be this smell, almost like the smell of a cigarette, coming from the window.
There’s a big fat fruitless tree outside and some papayas are mysteriously falling from it.
Can you imagine? It’s almost like i am living in a haunted campus, like those in Thai movies.
I see big mistakes we human do. And yet we ignore. We step on the same mud, and blame the rain every-time. We opt to stay when everything’s changed.
Is our brain limited?
If so, why do we have this constant thirst in acquiring knowledge?
Why do people love lies?
Should us be living a fake life?
I think i need to reread Sophie’s World.
It has been awhile.
It has been like forever (actually) since my last post. Honestly, i have a lot to tell. But it always gets me to a point, when i see it pointless. So i stopped. Or better, left on draft. At least i can get back to it later. If only there is later.
I am having toothache since yesterday and it reminds me of my dad. How he would be so emotional and stressed of his tooth, how he would hate the noise, like every noise including the chirping birds, and how he would just forget about seeing a dentist when the pain subsided.
Yep, i took paracetamols then singing my heart off until bedtime, and suddenly feel like hammering down that screeching fan.
I guess it’s human.
How would a human (the one helplessly out of hope but not dreams) leaps into power?
Not superheroes power. Just at least grits and the will to fight for more.
P/s: i pledge to write everyday.