wow. sorry for not writing for quite some time. i suppose i was suffering from a case of writer’s block, even though i’m not a writer.
fiddle dee dee.
there is a diner close to where we live and i have been frequenting it a bit. i sit at the same table and no matter what food i get, i always order coffee. and when i go by myself, which is the norm, i always tote a magazine or a book. on this particular day, i wrote. i wrote on those little mail-in subscription, pre-stamped, pre-addressed cards. and here is what i wrote:
monday, 23rd of february, 10:30am
as i sit in the middle of Bangkok at a quaint restaurant known as “New York Diner,” i can’t help but feel more at home than ever.
the familiar taste of coffee that has been sitting on the burner its allotted time brings back such fond memories. and though i am quite the coffee connoisseur, i will always have a deep kinship with bad coffee from local diners.
i am current reading an imported copy of “Elle,” compliments of my Mother.
the weather is hot but there is a nice breeze coming from a combination of the air-con and a nearby fan.
the curtains next to me are closed to block the inevitable, always appearing sun beating down.
i am wearing the shirt i wore yesterday. my hair is quite messy. and i keep shifting my legs to sitting “indian style” to sitting properly (when sitting in a chair).
i opted not to bring my iPod; i often forget to listen to the music by which i am constantly surrounded.
my thoughts tend to wander from things past to things present to things that are to come.
and though i am unable to quiet my mind, i can’t help but feel a sense of peace… sitting in New York Diner… drinking a bad cup of coffee.
- pensive. typical. obvious.
