but I’m okay with it. I guess. I’m taking it easy now. going with the flow. I’m loving the nights out with friends on our roof, eating home made pizza. or pancakes at three in the morning. I should probably watch the world of suzie wong again. it depicts wan chai just as it once was, just as it is now. during one of those nights I remembered that one idea for a book. I called it conversations with strangers. it would fit perfectly.
perhaps I should have written earlier but the lack of sleep in the last few days made it impossible to put my thoughts down. everything just blurred into one big mess in my head and before I knew what was happening we were sitting together in one of the streets in SoHo, eating soups instead of dinner and breathing the same air. with one difference: now I know better than to try and understand what it all means. which brings me back to the first sentence.
originally I thought the those seven months seem like a distant dream piece would just serve to stretch my writing muscles; write a couple of thousands of words in a few hours and then delete it because at the beginning of it, it seemed so pointless. but it has been more than a week now that I’ve been continuously writing the piece and to my own surprise I am satisfied with the way it’s turning out. (read: that means that not more than one third of 20 000+ words is good enough.) one day it could be an important source for my imaginary-yet-to-be-written memoirs. who knows. I am certain that in the future my words will take me places, I just need to learn to be patient. which, for me, is incredibly hard because I am the sort of person that starts to scowl after two minutes spent in a line in a grocery store.
I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still. I don’t know who wrote this, but it is the simplest and most honest explanation out there. it’s time for dinner, a film and sleep because otherwise I might collapse.