You are what you eat

There's bound to be a day when you go to a restaurant, the waiter is nowhere in sight or the person sitting in the next cubicle gets his order first even though it is apparent that you are already there before him. Indeed, such travails that include the waiter mixing up our orders or the food comes ten minutes too late that it's now lukewarm draw ire out of us. We'll shoot daggers when the unsuspecting waiter finally comes with our food while fumbling for apologies and drown him in sarcasm. Worse, we'll be more than obliged to pull the strings as irked consumers and have the waiter's lackluster performance reported to the power-that-be.

I cannot deny that I sometimes become irritated by this poor show of service, which, if happens, I'll walk out. But most of the time, I tend to symphatise with the waiters. The restaurant could be packed to the capacity or the floor could be understaffed. There are plenty of reasons to explain why the standard of the service is not up to scratch. I could clearly envision myself rushing to take orders from costumers, cleaning the table, and bringing the food to the table and in the process, getting myself all confused and burnt out. Mixing orders would only become natural after such ordeal.

Maybe it's all down to luck.   

Killjoy.

I thought the local public library would be my salvation after being deprived of this luxury called the Internet for such a long time (at the thought, I winced). In for a disappointment I was. There's no mistaking that this blithering cut-off from the World (Wide Web) is killing me slowly. I have no other (cheap) means to keep tab on my friends. I have no idea how to keep informed on the development of H1N1 in Australia. I can no longer sate my appetite for some mindless Internet trawling. This is a fecking killjoy. If I can't find anything decent to read or something worthy to while the time away soon, I fear that I might rot. It seems that I'm pretty much booked on that doomed ride.

P.S: I did manage to scrape a couple of postings with this pathetic Internet connection. Indeed I should be grateful with whatever that's conferred to me. I am now more than thankful for an existing Internet connection, never mind the speed.

A Treacherous Swine

The days seem to plow on in a neck breaking speed yet there is no sign of it letting up there. The plan is not born out of slapdash idiocy, not even from fatuous mind darting. Instead, it is very much deliberate. I guess that's the danger of planning ahead. They should nix it out from any self-guide manuals. Let us all adopt spontaneity like there's nothing else to spare.

Of course, nobody should take the fall. If any heads ever were to be rolled, that would be fearfully mine. Laundering money for a no cause is one thing, trying to shift it to a later date is another. The only weapon that I can wield is my prayers, together with others'.

One of any number of my sins is a constant yearning for globetrotting. If I have the means, I would definitely turn the world to my oyster, whatever it entails. Without a doubt, studying abroad has granted me a passage to explore different localities. It's like a door has swung open for me that behind it, new vistas emerge for me to savour. I wish to enjoy the different ways people live, the different points of view they hold, the different food they consume. After each journey, I would be obliged to proffer my stories to the ones I love, retailing them with renewed vigour. Another secret that I feel compelled to let you in is I take pride in where I have been to. Surely getting lost in an unknown Eastern European city is tempting but if it doesn't have its own Big Ben or Statue of Liberty, I won't consider it as an option at all. Hidden gem is not meant for me to find; tourist traps attract me like a moth to a lamp. I want to embark on a journey through the sparse wasteland of the Egyptian desert, climb Kilimanjaro after a self-filling work in Tanzania, conquer the Far East (Hong Kong, Beijing, and Tokyo), suffer the arduous trip to Machu Picchu, and pretend that I'm a true New Yorker. I pick the essential, in a nutshell.

I think I should start considering a career as a travel guide writer. Maybe in a parallel universe. But now, I must worry about my Australian adventure, which is close to being thwarted.

Huis

A very chaotic and cluttered hall, a bunch of seemingly aimless kids loitering around in front of the house (now manning a  burger stall. They're not that hopeless), and scorching environ. 

Indeed I'm home.

On leaving.

The company has been great. The stay exceeded the notion of bearable. A period of eight months is all for a few things to last a lifetime.

Yet, in the dying hours here, my head is filled with asinine thoughts. I can't help but to forecast that it is going to happen again. A cycle that is destined to kick in after every parting. Maybe it's not that bad. But it is remotely the best. 

Packpackpack.Peck!

I now stand in the midst of packed items, accordingly quartered to their summer destinations. It's a process not to be undermined. Soon, this creaky top floor loft would convert to a past haunting. I must admit that communication was sparse. I was and still am a blithering hopeless at socialising around. Forever an outcast, I removed myself further from the idea of blending in. I had and would never use booze to loosen the tongue nor I was a keen member of the dancefloor. All that remains is an absence, which is something that I'm neither proud of nor regret.

Night wish

I have a fleeting urge to go to Tesco. I want to stand in one of the alleys, scanning the chaotic sea of packages that contain, preferably, food. And I'll stand there, and stare blankly at those colourful displays. And I'll stand there until the guard has to evict me from the premise, for the place is shutting down. 

I'm famished and half yearning for something chocolatey. Yet my conscience tells me that I shouldn't indulge the craving. 

I've reached a point that reality doesn't make much sense anymore. Such life.