There was a birthday being held at a bar on this Wednesday night. I had come back from a long day at work and wanted some much needed sleep to fuel myself for the following morning of scheduled employment. I was in no mood to be heading out tonight, but I forced myself to grudge through the routine of getting ready to go out, doing so while half asleep. An event on a Wednesday work night is unusual for me. I wanted to do something different, secretly hoping for (maybe even needing) a change. Maybe it would lead to something different happening in my predictable routine. Maybe I'd meet someone who's going to have some meaningful impact on my life. I didn't want to miss out on a chance on 'maybe'.
So, I went. And that was it. There was no change. Just a night out. A nice night out nonetheless, but one that will have no significant effect on the rest of my coming days. I know that tomorrow will be exactly the same as yesterday, with no progress between the two. Tonight made no changes, but it was different. And that should hold me over, at least for tonight.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
* Who are you?
There has been an insurgence of Facebook quizzes that accurately determine what kind of person you are. And by 'accurate', I mean it tells you your closest equivalent in various (and questionably scientific) topics. People are flooding the news feed with their results of what type of Vampire/Superhero/Greek God/Pokemon/Vacuum Cleaner are you? It's gotten out of hand. Seriously people, just be yourselves!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
* Lip Balm
I have learnt a very valuable lesson. Do not put your mini glue stick next to your lip balm, not unless you want your lips to be all sticky and your documents all glossy.
Monday, December 6, 2010
* Nostalgia
If you know me, or have been following my blog for some time, then you would know that I am a huge John Mayer fan. This post isn't about his music, but of this video clip he posted up on youtube. It's a small side reel of his trip to Japan. I just love the atmospheric tone that this clip conveys.
I had also gone on a trip to Japan almost 2 years ago. And watching the above clip reminded me of those dormant memories. I remember the hustle and bustle of the Japanese city night life, but what stuck with me most on that trip were actually the places where tourists didn't usually go. The places that gave me quiet moments.
Walking down a quiet street in a suburban town. Climbing up an empty set of steps with the sound of a waterfall around the corner. Looking outside the bullet train as rows of rice fields and traditional Japanese homes sweep by.
The quiet allowed me to take in all the new sights without the distraction of others. My eyes wondered, and my mind went with it.
I've started to do the same back here at home. There's something about staring out the window of a moving car, bus or train. Every time, I notice something new on the same trip. A different house, a winding bike track, someone tending the garden. I always wonder about the people living in those houses, or using those tracks, or even tending to their flowers. How on earth did they end up there? Out of all places they could've been, they ended up where they are, just like how I ended up where I am. It's in these quiet moments where I try to take in everything I see and just wonder.
Back in Japan, I took one of the local train lines to Miyajima Island. There was an elderly man on the same train sitting across from me. He had noticed that I was speaking English in quite a strange accent. He asked me about it (in surprisingly good english himself). That's when I told him I was from Australia, hence my different English accent. That's when he started telling me about he's story. He was a farmer going through a bit of a rough time with growing crops in the current season. I asked him how he learnt English, and it turned out he had taught himself. He had never even been out of Japan, yet he chose to learn a different language. The conversation was short lived as he got off the train about 10 minutes later. It's not the kind of conversation I'd ever forget, yet I know that, just like thousands of other faceless strangers, I would never see this inquisitive man ever again.
With all these window observations while alone with my inquiring mind, I sometimes get a bit lost in it all. It's in times like these that I can't help but wonder, with the world as big as it is, where do I fit in all of this? I think I'll figure that out one day.
I had also gone on a trip to Japan almost 2 years ago. And watching the above clip reminded me of those dormant memories. I remember the hustle and bustle of the Japanese city night life, but what stuck with me most on that trip were actually the places where tourists didn't usually go. The places that gave me quiet moments.
Walking down a quiet street in a suburban town. Climbing up an empty set of steps with the sound of a waterfall around the corner. Looking outside the bullet train as rows of rice fields and traditional Japanese homes sweep by.
The quiet allowed me to take in all the new sights without the distraction of others. My eyes wondered, and my mind went with it.
I've started to do the same back here at home. There's something about staring out the window of a moving car, bus or train. Every time, I notice something new on the same trip. A different house, a winding bike track, someone tending the garden. I always wonder about the people living in those houses, or using those tracks, or even tending to their flowers. How on earth did they end up there? Out of all places they could've been, they ended up where they are, just like how I ended up where I am. It's in these quiet moments where I try to take in everything I see and just wonder.
Back in Japan, I took one of the local train lines to Miyajima Island. There was an elderly man on the same train sitting across from me. He had noticed that I was speaking English in quite a strange accent. He asked me about it (in surprisingly good english himself). That's when I told him I was from Australia, hence my different English accent. That's when he started telling me about he's story. He was a farmer going through a bit of a rough time with growing crops in the current season. I asked him how he learnt English, and it turned out he had taught himself. He had never even been out of Japan, yet he chose to learn a different language. The conversation was short lived as he got off the train about 10 minutes later. It's not the kind of conversation I'd ever forget, yet I know that, just like thousands of other faceless strangers, I would never see this inquisitive man ever again.
With all these window observations while alone with my inquiring mind, I sometimes get a bit lost in it all. It's in times like these that I can't help but wonder, with the world as big as it is, where do I fit in all of this? I think I'll figure that out one day.
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