let lemons be angry

Today was possibly the most eventless day possible. I'm just waiting to fly away. Short training session in the morning, followed by aimless loitering around in school without joining any group for lunch, light packing and deciding on clothes to bring, doing a little bit of this and that. It occurred to me: if we weren't thrown together by schedules, we'd always be floating around in this listless way.

So i'm ready to get away from all this. PW is finally over, but all the other work i'd been putting off till after pw is charging at me. I refuse to give them my attention. I'm going to the land of Nice Things To Eat, in particular chicken egg boy, this crispy pancake with a soft centre that fills streets with its baking aroma. And what i call illusion orange juice. The illusion is that it's sweetened. And small noisy restaurants with the menu written on the wall, where you can order absolutely anything, and where coke is served with six slices of lemon. Of course there's iced milk tea, and spaghetti from Spaghetti House, and soft white ice cream from the ice cream van that comes round when it pleases. And fried oyster omelette that my father will buy back to the hotel at ten pm to be eaten with that thrill of something close to guilt. I'm not a greedy person, but when i start on the Nice Things To Eat, i can sound pretty much like one.

Remnants of the English Patient are still boiling a hole in my heart. That moment when she's motionless in his arms and calling him an idiot, and he opens his mouth to cry out as he holds her tight and stumbles on, and the music swells and the desert all around is cruel and borderless. I think i'll have a moment like that. Wearing a symbol of somebody's affection, calling him an idiot, with nothing left to lose or put at risk. Sometimes i wish i had nothing to lose. Then i could say exactly what i want, and never be afraid again.