On weekdays, it's all about work. Most days, I'm super exhausted with no one to blame but myself. I'm trying to do, in essence, the work of two people with one body. In an effort to make up for the insipid routine of my past life. Some days I collapse into bed at 8ish; I thought I was nocturnal, but my body has somehow adapted to being up early in the morning while it's still dark, and shutting my eyes before twilight. Having met so many people on working weekdays, my weekends are now quiet, peaceful ones.
On weekends, I think about love. Or rather, allow my mind to deliciously, wander into almost forbidden territory. Taking a solitary walk to the nearby prata shop, order an egg-and-onion; and sweet hot milk tea, and immerse myself in a novel that speaks of love, or the notion of it, set in the 18th century where love, like today, is frail, often temporal, fleeting, momentary. As they write about the moments that imprint themselves into the beloved/lovelorn's mind with deep intensity, I too find myself harkening back to that short, split second where my eyes chanced upon his smile, an almost rakish smile that burst right open into a full, embracing, warm smile from the heart, a sort of indescribable happiness at this intangible moment we shared, for a minute, for that moment. And in unexpected moments, while hanging on for dear life in a crowded train, or while I sit on a bench to rest my feet, that dear image springs to mind, and I forget my senses, and smile back as if Moppet was here. I wished he knew what was written on my heart. But I'd never have the guts to tell!
I wrote(tweeted) earlier this week that; if love came easy for me... ... then I'd never be able to treasure the simple moments of just... walking hand in hand, and without sounding overwhelmingly overwrought, I'd always have taken that for granted otherwise, until I realize how hard it is to find, or for someone to find you, in the midst of the madness that is the everyday sameness of life.
On weekdays, I try to limit myself to one cup of coffee everyday. I found yummy English chips (I am a chips aficionado!!!) and red velvet cake (my latest obsession!!! I never thought that sg sells red velvet cake and maybe one day I will discover crumpets too) at a cafe nearby; and just opposite, curry puffs freshly baked in flavors of potato and egg, chicken, sardine. Piping hot curried potato just smells and tastes heavenly!
Myself and my colleague has taken to mid-morning snacks of curry puffs so often that everyone now knows of their existence. I hate the morning commute, especially during the half eight crunchtime, I literally see people sprinting to their offices, running through the tunnels. Too often for my liking I have been bodily pressed on scruffy looking industrial workers whose knapsacks have never been washed and seem covered in layers of cobwebs and gray schtuff.
Plus, they smell, so I often wake up earlier and reach before crunchtime, sit at the coffee place below my office building and eat a muesli bar and drink my morning cuppa. I have a quiet stranger-companion sitting next to me most mornings. He has a shocking shade of red hair, which made me feel a little sorry for him, and is as tall as Moppet, and I believe from the same country, although he has never so much as uttered a word in my presence. He always orders the same thing, a sandwich, orange juice, coffee, and reads the same magazine from the coffeeshop daily until he recently bought a playbook or one of those pad computer thingys. I start work half and hour earlier than him so we often see each other coming or going; except for that 10 minute overlap of time where we both sit in the same spot.
Immersed as I was in my book reading habit, I scarcely paid any attention to him til one day I heard strange noises (angry bird?) emanating from his table, mere inches away from my ear, and I turned to look for the source of the noise, and there he was, playing some game before work, after sandwiches. He always walks off in a northeasterly direction and arrives the same way, so Red isn't working in the same building as me. Sometimes, we spot each other at our nearest Starbucks, and, in silent acknowledgement of 2 familiar strangers etching out a living in the buildings dotting the central business district, you may see that the sides of our mouth are upturned, just a little bit, in recognition.
Posts
