it’s monday. late morning; chinese new year went by without fuss. I didn’t watch the fireworks and made no attempts to meet people in order to receive a lai see. not this year. I had to work over the weekend and there was no time. no time to write, or to read or to catch up on the news. and then it hits. I am taking a half hour break from work at the moment, just to type this. sorry I am not sorry. I am still struggling with the daily word count and writing discipline. I don’t know how to achieve it. sometimes I write such shit, I can’t believe myself that I even consider being a writer in this life, let alone that I should ever write anything of substance. a lifetime does not seem long enough for something like this.
january rolled into february with uneasy feeling about it. year of the horse feels different than previous years. being a permanent resident of hong kong now; I don’t feel the same anymore. sometimes I still loathe the city; but the feeling of being at home is prevalent on most days. this is important to me. but.
I finished reading the novel of africa and moved onto nelson mandela’s autobiography. his writing is surprisingly detailed and descriptive. interesting insight into his childhood, life and perspectives. I wish I could say that he has had an impact on me the same way he had one some, but I can’t. still, I have tremendous respect for him and wish to learn more. my hunger for reading has awoken and so far I’ve kept up with my one book a week plan. buying thirty titles on an impulse also helped.
february might not be the same.