mardi, novembre 19

A quiet afternoon.

I am alone in the house when I wake up. I run downstairs for a cup of coffee and the newspapers, and bring both back up into the air-conditioned comfort of the room. I pull the curtains aside. Today is a sunny day. Sunlight reaches into the room, giving a cheery airy feel. I prefer rainy days because, on a rainy day, I can hear raindrops pitter-pattering on the roof, making me feel like curling up in bed with an Enid Blyton storybook.

I pull the table with all the open textbooks close to the window, so that I can see what is happening outside the house, while I study. I watch as a neighbour sends her children to school in her grey Japanese sedan. Another neighbour’s maid stands outside the gate, waiting for the school bus. I feel like an audience watching a play from a circle seat while I pore over my textbooks.

The clock ticks. Soon it is time for lunch. I make that second trip downstairs to prepare my lunch. A simple affair prepared with the aid of a microwave oven. I bring my lunch back upstairs and treat myself to a bit of TV as I eat it.

The house is quiet and peaceful. I wonder where the cat is. Probably having the time of her life exploring the nooks and crannies in the house. Sometimes I like to pretend that I am the woman of the house, waiting for her man to return home from work. But I cannot shake the feeling that I am a guest in the house. The house does not belong to me.

After lunch, I place the dishes in the bathroom, making a mental note to bring it down a while later. I go back to my books and their many theories. Sometimes I sit back to stare into space. All the while the radio is playing. Mainstream pop with the occasional phone dedication.

Sometimes solitude makes the best companion.

Current book: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

dimanche, novembre 10

Have you ever experienced a really, really long writer's block that lasted 2 years? And counting? Contentment stunts originality.