october, iii.

October is the month I return to Russian classics in literature. Perhaps, it’s the gloom.

6.59 am.

I started my morning on a bad note. One of those conversations that I don’t even care about. But it’s still all on my mind and I’m living it out internally. Then the paranoia. That this will do me in. I have to remember that the paternal side is looking over me. The pigeons.

I remembered an old habit of mine back in high school. Solving a medium sudoku on the ride from Yau Ma Tei to Kowloon Tong. One day each. Towards the end of a semester, it’d take me four minutes. I should go back to this. The 25 I have now will give me a head start.

The weather is bleak and I’m back in all black. Becoming resilient to stress doesn’t mean getting accustomed to it. I stopped counting the grays. There are there because I keep failing myself on the internal work. It’s hard. Do it.

Shang Hai. Then Plzeň.

Then gloom again.