550: coffee and popcorn for breakfast

there is nothing better than waking up in the afternoon on a sunday. last night, instead of going out with friends, my father and I sat at the roadside bar for almost five hours, talking, watching people, catching up. the last time we spent some time together was in november. I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss it. I sent a couple of emails, hoping at least some of them would make sense. it only takes one word for me to start doubting everything and last night there was one of those. I am tired of having to figure people out, trying to understand them. I wish everyone would be at least half as straight forward as I am. just say it. ignoring my question, or even entire sentences, playing games. there was never time when that interested me. but it always kept me there. for once in my life, I just want to know where I stand. I wouldn’t be able to handle another fake hope. it’s simple really.

are you in or are you out? yes or no?

we talked about this. and other things. films, music. people passing us by. I like spending time with my father; we always end up talking about psychology, drugs, medicine. it fascinates me how much he misses it, how good he was at what he used to do. sometimes I wonder whether I have some of those genes in me, too. I went to causeway bay in the afternoon, to visit an orphanage in the middle of the district. it’s ironic when you think about it, because some of those children will have better a future than my generation. but then I was also reminded of my trips to vietnam and cambodia, meeting those people. some of the kids that we had visited will be blessed to live until the age of ten. I thought about this contrast as I walked into a starbucks and bought yet another cup of insanely over-priced coffee.


February 27, 2011