Saturday Morning

I don't have much of a social life. It's a beautiful Saturday morning, where the clouds in the sky are fluffy enough to absorb most of the Sun's heat, allowing only the golden hues to shine through. Yet, here I am, alone in bed, listening to the flow of water filling up the toilet's flush tank and the sounds of unnecessary construction works nearby.

Get dressed, go out, stretch, and go about town in search of breakfast! If I were the kind of positively charged individual who would bother stretching my feet beyond the threshold of my cheap mattress, I would gladly do so and look forward to a productive day ahead where I'd also hear the voices of other people. As much as this bed is terrible for my back, I don't have anything else to laze on in this narrow student accommodation. There's a yoga mat under the table, somewhere.

What's a slothful lump of fat to do on a Saturday? Melt, in the heat of this tropical country. I said I would read Endo's The Girl I Left Behind, but I wonder if I could bring myself to reach the table it's lying on. Am I also someone who is left behind? I think so. If I read it, maybe it'd tell me something about the kind of woman, or girl, that men will undoubtedly kick off the boat. They say that if you throw someone or something into the sea, it'll be difficult to find them again.

Back Number is my number one go-to band recently. Can't the karaoke parlours here provide more than two of their songs? I'm grateful that they at least have two of their greatest hits, whereas they don't even bother with Spitz. Perhaps I should spend this day YouTubing Ayumi Hamasaki's songs in preparation for the next time I visit the karaoke parlour.

After a good six months or so since being with my Huawei Mate10, I still don't know whether I hate it, or love it. I've got no qualms about its overall performance, however, its lack of attention to the music and sound performance sector is a thorough disappointment. Such a huge phone, one that I can barley hold with one hand, one which I use as a stretching exercise for my thumbs in hopes that I can reach beyond an octave when playing the piano, its speakers, its lowly speakers, tiny and inadequate, sound like those RM10 ones they sell at the pasar malam. How now do I enjoy some quality time snuggling up with the lovely voices of my favourite vocalists? The sound quality makes my hair stand, in a bad way like that of a screech, where the longer I hear it, the higher my blood pressure rises. Having left my portable speakers at home, I suppose I should just listen to construction work instead of Back Number.

Why leave the portable speakers? Well, they're called portable speakers, but they're still bulky and weigh as much as my arm, probably. It's already been known that I make terrible decisions anyway.

So much complaints on a Saturday morning; tsk, tsk tsk! My eyes are starting to grow heavy again.

An Afternoon Where I'm Not By Myself

I had been silently planning my Friday afternoon activities inside my head. Scrubbing between my fingers, scenes of my usual shopping trips lined themselves up and I thought of the order in which I should go about today's lonesome outing;
which shades of Urban Decay's latest Lo-Fi products I wanted to swatch, whether I should make my leisurely rounds at the ever so welcoming Sephora; how many hours would I sit at dal.komm today, writing, since I don't have a book in my bag. The suds have receded, I don't suppose I've been lathering my hands for too long?

Flick. Flick. And I dried my hands with some disposable napkins.

Absent mindedly with my spirit browsing through Sephora's shelves, I walked out of the kitchen. The Kindergarteners were still having their lunch, one boy chewing his rice painstakingly slow as my aunt sat opposite him, monitoring his eating behaviour.

Looking at these sprouting beings serves as a wonderful dessert after a teacher's lunch. Before going back into the classroom, trapped, facing the children of Satan, I want to have my fill of toufu-like kids. Some of them have deep, dark eyes, like an endless well of soy sauce. Their innocence is adorable, though their personality is less so.

"Where are you going after class?" my aunt observed today's dressing, and my over-blushed cheeks.

"Oh, to ioi," I mumbled, still walking through the Sephora, of which layout is already ingrained into my soul.

"I need to go to the pet store to get some supplies," with this, perhaps I wouldn't sound like someone who is totally alone. A necessity, a chore, yes, that ought to mask my intention of spending 5 hours alone at the mall.

Well, it didn't. Somehow, my aunt managed to make plans with the other teacher and the three of us, along with both of their children, ended up in the same car, driving towards ioi.

Caring Samaritans have barged into my alone-time! Perhaps I was a little disappointed at first, since I did plan on writing the afternoon away while inhaling the aroma of freshly ground coffee. But company, being together with people, humans who speak the same language, an opportunity to talk to PEOPLE, and not myself or Teddy boi (the guinea pig of my sister's friend which has now come into my co-posession), is also a vital factor in improving my mental health. Physical health however, is debatable, for we end up eating too much, everytime.

We talked for a good hour or two during our meal, mostly about our colleagues, the school, and the children. But I suppose that's how conversations with colleagues go? That's the link between us after all, that prevents us from being total strangers. I won't go into detail here about the issues we discussed, save for the frustration that we wish the kids themselves would start to realise the importance of their own education and willingly do their work so that they can move on and graduate! I'm not in a position to criticise them though, for I am also a brat who lacks motivation when it comes to my own studies.

I offered some of my coffee to the other teacher. Declining it, she told me that she's sensitive to coffee and gets sick after drinking it. It was at that moment that I realised the best way to abduct someone of Hakka descent is to feed them coffee. Perhaps the children of God are blessed with weak immunity towards coffee so that as we wait for the ultimate judgement, with coffee being served, they'll send us drowsy ones straight to heaven.

Walking around with kids is much more leisurely, because they've got tiny legs that can't function well enough. I wasn't unhappy in the least, and I even thought that Jay Chou's absolutely stupid newest single sounded a little less cringey.

Sunshine in my eyes, stupid kids by my side, I let my fantasies slip and thoroughly enjoyed the presence of those other than myself. Sharing and accepting the goodwill of others is sometimes a necessity, even though we prefer to be left alone.

I should also rest, while I wait for the coffee to clear out of my system.

Udon, so Slippery

And so I turned into a back alley, looking for a way out of this clustered maze of shoplots in a town long established. How would I get back out onto the main road?

The food court, with its glaring florescent lights calling out to the lost and hungry, gleamed at the unevenly paved corner. That corner, which I have been circling to find again, seemed to retreat further into the sights of nighttime the longer my foot pressured the accelerator until finally, I lost it completely as my car shone its headlights on a narrow alleyway where old men gathered. Ah, I've never been good with directions but sometimes I wish that I could stop myself from being pulled by the force of oddity.

Backing away slowly, I slid into an available parking space opposite of an udon shop.

Why is there a cheap Japanese restaurant hiding in this alley? Situated right next to a dodgy motel which I assume caters to old men with an interest not in their wives, I wasn't sure if I should turn off the ignition. But the waitress waiting by the counter, wearing a bored countenance, is likely a university student waiting for her part-time salary to flow into her pockets while she leans against the counter, texting.

With ochre-tinted bright lights, and Sakura prints on its sign, I braced myself for disappointment as I grabbed the stainless steel handle of the glass doors, pushed it open and took a step into this empty establishment. Hisaishi's music filled the atmosphere, and I thought to myself, how generic can this place be?

Sliding away from my grasp, the slippery Udon dives back into the kimchi broth, and I am taken aback by the orange sprays that have splattered against my glasses. I sigh, and pull a piece of tissue out from the dispenser. Everything I try to hold onto, struggles to be free from my grasp. I wonder if it is a flaw, undeniably fixed, that my hands should never be able to hold whatever that may come into their reach.

Again and again I try to firmly hold them between my chopsticks, but each time, they effortlessly slide back down into the fishy waters. I sigh, and pull out another piece of tissue.

I'm reminded of the time I went on a date with a Japanese guy. After I greeted him at the station, we walked around in search of dinner and came across Hanamaru Udon. He said he wanted to try the Udon here in Malaysia. It wasn't until my udon slipped from between my chopsticks and fell back into the thick curry sauce with a higher than expected splash that I realised, sitting across my date who was leaning in to slurp his own udon, was a terrible idea. In general, eating noodle soup on a first date is a disaster. I never saw him again. Perhaps my chopsticks skills were unacceptable.

Having downed my third cup of green tea, I suppose I should pay and leave. They close in 15 after all.

好人，坏人，普通人，两头蛇，四头蛇

看看某一些人的朋友圈，他们到处的人缘关系，总会觉得他们应该很棒吧，能让那么多人喜欢跟自己相处。我并没什么羡慕啊，只是想知道这些被受欢迎的哥哥姐姐们，他们的长出到底在哪儿，是啥。

到了我们俩相处的时候啦。一杯咖啡在眼前，我一脸不满的样子。原来被他人疼爱的小圣其实是位虚伪的小丑。天上那么多颗星，人们就偏要看上一颗卫星。他的确闪得比已消灭了千年的小星星还亮，但这种光不迷人。眼睛好痛呀！我的双眼快盲了。墨镜刚好留在车子上。

热喷喷的面包出炉了 ，但是我闻到的却是狗粮。怎么回事？那还不是因为坐在我对面的是一条狗。吃吧，吃吧。很多时候，狗都是非常可爱的，但如果是一条人狗，那就不一样了。

对着世界说谎的人是你，是我，也是他。但是我们都应该还有一点点的尊严吧？看来，我面前只不过是一面镜子，那狗粮也是我的。想说一声我恨你，但内疚的玻璃心仿佛把碎片刺到了声带里，苟且的哀叹代替了露不出的真相。

好人，坏人，普通人，两头蛇，四头蛇。坦白的我就是面对不了事实。

Forest Fire

I came home to a forest fire.

The woods outside, choking on the fumes of their own burning bodies seemed rather unperturbed as the fire crawled higher. Under the evening sun which should have only been warm enough to kiss our tired skin, charred leaves fluttered, and so landed on the third floor corridor. Walking down the aisle that is scattered with waste, the clicking of my heels echoed and from far away, I could hear the crackling of burning wood.

From my window, before the clear sky is a wall of smoke. Painting the sky grey with its body, I am patiently waiting for it to rain. It is so bright that I can't keep my eyes open, but I'd like to believe that the sky is truly grey.

I wonder if the birds outside, having been smoked out of hiding, are panicking. Their high-pitched chirps tell me nothing. After all, I'm not a bird expert.

Suppose the wind, with its gentle fanning, has carried the smoke past my rectangular view. I can see how blue the sky is again.